Coming out of the Pot Closet

Recreational Marijuana

I have to vacuum before my mother arrives from Arizona. I’m 40-something years old and I still want her housekeeping approval. While we’re close, and speak on the phone every week, we haven’t seen each other 1:1 for a while. I’m freaking out because I think she’ll have an aneurysm when I tell her how I’ve been paying my bills the past three years. The time has arrived for me to come out of the Pot Closet to my mother.

How did I get here? I was laid off from my event-planning job while dating a “normal-looking” guy, who owned his own landscaping business. “Larry” also happen to own a basement full of marijuana plants for extra spending money (on prostitutes, as it turns out, but that’s a different blog post). He taught me everything I know about being a Pharmer — from cloning and transplanting, to providing my babies with the proper nutrients and watering techniques.  I learned a lot – about the miraculous cannabis plant, and about the lying, cheating asshole. I dumped him (for the aforementioned activities), but decided to double down on my lifetime commitment to Mary Jane, and set up my own grow basement. And why not? My kids had just left for college, so I had the place all to myself. No job, no man, no kids, no money.

Fertile Soil 

It turns out that I have two green thumbs – up! I love my new life as an MMJ grower, and am thriving on my own. Now all that is left is for me is to figure out how I will tell mom. Maybe like how I begin my day with a mug of coffee and the, waiting for the lights to click on in the secret garden. Like the “Witch and the Wardrobe,” I’ll open the ordinary door and enter a magical kingdom. Fragrant, orderly, it’s the opposite of twilight, lights flickering bright and brighter as I make my way through the strategically aligned rows of indicas and sativas. It’s otherworldly, and it feels nice and cool – my Zen. Surely, she’ll understand.

I won’t, however, tell her about the days her only daughter walked up and down Rainier Avenue with a Nordstrom backpack, loaded to the gills with fresh chronic, waiting for the dispensaries to open. It’s hard work, and contrary to the would-be Starbucks Billionaire visions of the Green Rush, not all that lucrative. It’s long work, short pay, and lots of paranoia for today’s grower. Most of us do it for the love of the plant, and the good it truly does for those in pain with no other recourse. But the marketplace is flooded. Back in early 2010, G.A.M.E. Dispensary in West Seattle was donating $2,800 per pound – before they shut down and the owner went to prison. B-B-B-Busted Talk about the wild wild west! Today, most dispensaries will offer $1,000 to $2,400 per pound. And since I live and work in Seattle, and we’re going legal soon, who knows what will happen.

But for now, my immediate concern is how to tell my mom that I grow weed without killing her.