Pondering Potted Plants

The cute miniature rose in a small patriotic pot on my kitchen table is dying.

I've been watering it, although I admit somewhat sporadically. This morning I read that one is supposed to cut it back one third after flowering, so I cut off the dead blossoms. It looks really bad now.

I have another plant that I'm trying to keep alive. I water it, quite faithfully, but it continues to drop leaves randomly on the kitchen floor. I put the basket containing the plant on the kitchen floor because I figured it was safer. The basket was previously on a table in the living room, and I hadn't realized water had overflowed the plate under the basket until I found wet magazines and books on the table.

The already-damaged wood top of the table now has warped strips that bulge up from the surface.

I'm not very good at taking care of plants. I wish people wouldn't give them to me. I feel a rather hopeless obligation to try to keep them alive, which detracts from any enjoyment I might receive from the plant.

It seems that I expend enough energy on family and friends that the care of my little dog, Libby, stretches my levels to the limit without throwing potted plants into the mix.