My nana used to have a patio at her apartment that was full of lush, green potted plants. I remember her taking such pride in opening the sliding glass door to take her full watering can to her little suburban jungle. She quenched each of them until the water spilled over the sides of their pots or through the hole in the bottom. Her concrete jackrabbits guarded the big pots on the ground and the hanging plants swung slightly with the North County San Diego breeze and visiting hummingbirds. Nana’s apartment was a magical place with a warm, clean scent like vanilla and dryer sheets. Her bedroom closet floor was coated in a couple of layers of shoes she always let me try on. Her hall closet was full of Mary Kay products. Lots of formula 1 skin care and night cream. Nana used to make me peanut butter and banana sandwiches, sometimes with honey drizzled on the bananas. We watched the 1970s version of Romeo and Juliet when I spent the night one time, after we watered her thriving plants. Memories of Nana, now that she is gone, hit me at unexpected times. One of these times, I thought it would be a good idea to grow some plants.  Evelyn and I decided to plant some seeds. I thought we were doing well with our plants. They were growing. Then, we went on a long weekend out of town. Now, the plants are withering as fast as I am.