Six months ago, I ordered some Mexican Sativa marijuana seeds from an online merchant in Holland. I don’t smoke pot nor do I plan to in the future. This was simply a learning experience. Since then, the seeds arrived by mail in a descrete CD case, I germinated the seeds in moist paper towels, planted them with care in tiny pots, watered them religiously, shifted them across our terrace daily to make the most of the sun’s path in the sky, replanted them into larger pots when they outgrew their homes, and picked the pesky caterpillars off the buds with some tweezers. And today I had to kill them. It made me sad. It was bad enough when I had to sacrifice the male plants to prevent fertilization. They were so beautiful. But the ladies have come to the end of their growth cycle. We clipped back the excess leaves and chopped them free to hang and dry. Since they need a dark place to dry and since we have such a small apartment, the only place to hang them was in our bedroom. And there they hang, filling the entire apartment with the sweet smell of Mexican Sativa. After about a week of this, we’ll finally be able to take them down and wash our clothes and bedsheets to prevent people (and employers) from thinking we’re junkies. Want some brownies?