Okay, so there is a penis growing out of a plant in our backyard. So what, right? Wrong, it is an event. It is exciting; regrettably, it is not really a penis, but a plant called, Agave Truncata or in laymen’s terms, the Century Plant. Now, does that mean it only grows a penis every 100 years? I thought so, but about 8 years ago the first penis grew. One day, I noticed a little birdie perched upon this gigantic phallus. I said to myself, OMG and ran to tell everyone and make everyone come over to see this symbol of masculinity. After a few weeks and at full height, “IT” sprouted lovely little yellow flowers. I do not think any of you fellows will be jealous because you would have a hard time concealing 20 feet of stiff growth plus little yellow sprouts.

Here is the website where you can buy your very own Penis plant:
http://www.plantdelights.com/Catalog/Current/Detail/05247.html
I do hope this buying opportunity comes through on the blog because if not I think you will have to travel to Durango, Mexico for the pleasure of owning this plant. Actually, on second thought, if you come over to my house, we can pluck the baby sprouts along the edges of the mother plant and you can own one that way. Now do not become impatient. Your plant will have to be nurtured for years and when you least expect it, out pops its dick.

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From what I have seen of life and death, it is no joke. If you are lucky or unlucky enough, according to how you look at it, to be born there is only one way out once you are here. The way out is in a box. Upon your death, you are put into a box, which is then surrounded by concrete as thick as your wrist. So, as I see it, there is no possibility to escape the confines of this death. In the old antique cemeteries, which are my passion, you can see the earth’s upheaval, cracks, loose stones, showing a means of escape. I visited my good friend’s gravesite in a state where they do not require all of the cement encasings and sure enough, I saw evidence that she had escaped and I was so happy for her; so unhappy that I am earmarked for encasement.

Going back to the box. You exit in your box. Your clothes, toiletries, shoes, belts, purses, wallets, trinkets, kitchen items, garden tools, jewels, your computer, phones, papers, letters, sentimental cards, artwork, furniture, plus all the bits and pieces of your life get packed and exit in other boxes. Everything you are using, everything surrounding your life inside and outside in the yards, patios and garages, all get put into boxes and then, you exit many, many times. Your exits are as many as the boxes you have created. This morning, all of the items used during the preparations I made for the day I saw in boxes. There was a mythically, meditated box filled before I even got dressed. Just remember on occasions that you are pretty much just a box and perhaps you can understand your strivings a bit better when you see your boxes as exits. Escape here and now.

I am setting out to get my boxes in order. If I can streamline them now, it will be an easier egress for myself and for those I leave behind.

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Everyone has had the experience of sitting in a car repair waiting room. I have had my share. This time there was a recall # 139 and I had to return to the dealership. By the way, my car is 10 years old. I have trepidations when I go into a dealership. You have had yours. I always think they charge the highest of prices and find things wrong on purpose. The young, very young man at the counter looked at my recall notice and said, “This is an old one,”
I said, “ The recall, the car or the lady standing in front of you?” I noticed that my car in the line up was by far the oldest. The recall was years and years old and the lady, me was the oldest person in the entire dealership.
He righted himself by saying,” Well, there is an older guy around here or did he leave already. The car, well it is the oldest, but it is a “beaut” The car, a volvo has held its classic style and is a 1997 “Beaut.”
The nice, very nice young man took the keys of my car, drove it off into the black hole and said he would be out with the news.
Talking about the news brings me to a few lines I jotted down while watching the soundless news on the huge T.V. in the waiting room for customers. It was soundless, but I can still read. Within a short space of time these are the headlines as CNN flashed before me:
l. Remains of missing mom found
2. Abducted infant found, back with parents
3. Gunfire on a Virginia highway, sniper suspected.
4. 29 students injured when school buss flipped over on I-59.
5.Riot breaks out in TX prison, 1 inmate dead, 22 injured
6. Allergy meds leads to suicide
7. 1,000-pound killer. 1,000-pound woman accused in death of 2 year old nephew.
8. 5 ft. 6, 180 pound 11 year old tasered after punching officer in the face.
9, Female teacher charged with raping student.
10, 9 year-old child abducted.
11. TSA officer forced woman to remove nipple piercing as an air safety threat and was given pliers to remove the piercing herself.

The youngster with my car details came back saying they would fix the recall and wash my car. BUT, that I have some issues that will need to be taken care of some one of these days. Brakes, brake fluid, hoses and he told me that I should pepper my garage with rat poison. Nothing new, in the life and times of a car, but traces that rats had been feasting on the inside of the engine area were evidenced. So the car thing is boring, but the news items made me down hearted with worry.

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Live Simply, Love Generously, Care Deeply, Speak Kindly, Leave the Rest to God.

THANK YOU LORETTA!

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My father was kind, wise, charitable, compassionate, generous, and was strong mentally and physically. He was an unflappable man who was famous for his negotiating skills and his ability to never back down or give any information as well as tire out everyone in the session. He was community minded as well as loving and a true family man. He died yesterday morning which was my brother’s sixty-fifth birthday. My brother is in good spirits about it. Good attitude, Michael.

My father loved to collect things so I guess you would call him a collector. He collected heavy old-fashioned irons, matchbox holders, watches, pocket watches, elephants, magnets, magnifying glasses, mustache cups, and great scotch. He was proud of himself because he was sent to Los Angeles, 72 years and 5 days ago from San Francisco to open and run a Scrap Iron business. He was proud that he did it well. He provided for his family, his wife of 66 years, his children, his grandchildren and had some left some for his great grandhchildren. I would love to live to see his great, great grandchildren.

Between Skip and I we have lost five parents and each death was not short and sweet. We have the knowledge and willingness to help others who find themselves in this situation. Many have helped us and we thank you. I see myself in the future and, since both of my parents have had Alzheimer’s Disease, I feel sad about losing my frickin’ mind. I’d hate to loose all that I have worked so hard to put in it. Oh well, that’s life.

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My third set of checks arrived wrinkled and bent on some of the pages. Okay, okay, I accept because I can’t stand another round. The checks didn’t even come in the traditional check box we have become accustomed to receiving when ordering a batch of new checks, still okay, right? You have to make your own box which is tricky at best. I understand that the bank in question, whose name I can’t devulge, but has a sort of nicky name WAAAAHOOO does all their outside work in India. Oh, now I understand. Don’t you?

Everytime you want to make an old fashioned transaction, like deposite your money, they have to call a manager. If you wish to withdraw, there are a set of questions and proper answers and the showing of specialized documents, none of which I mind. Now, I am concerened that they have relaxed their rules on insurance so that you CAN put all of your eggs in one or two baskets if you are a normal depositer like me. This is scary. I am scared of WAAAAAHOOOO. How about you?

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Our bank changed ownership. That is nothing to write home about these days, but getting check is a subject, which has become near and dear to my heart. I need checks, albeit not as many as in the past, but I need checks. I needed them, so I ordered them. I did not do it online, I did not do it over the phone; I went into the new establishment and face to face with the manager, ordered checks.

The checks arrived in a timely manner. They were in Spanish. I speak English. I took them into the bank with my old checks and said, I wanted the new ones to look like the old ones except, of course, the new bank would put their logo in place of the old one and of course it goes without saying, in English. This did not happen.

The checks arrived with my husband’s name on them, then, mine. I worked very hard for some identity, a name of my own. I want my name on my checks, I want them in English and have worked very hard all of my life in one way or another to provide the necessary items to have checks printed in English with my name on them. I await the arrival of the third set of checks. The bond fire looked hot as it burned the first two set of checks. I am thinking, should I have waited for the third set of checks before I lit the fire on the first two?

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I knew not to get out of the shower through a different door than I usually use, but I just thought oh well, let’s give it a try. That day turned out to have more than the usual stress, belly aches, head aches and more. There was abuse, intellectual brain death for most of the afternoon, lies, cheating, shootings on the tele, and the news was more than I could fathom.

Oh, I am sure it had nothing to do with getting out of the shower from the wrong door, but how am I to be sure? What do you think? Try it, oh no, on second thought, don’t.

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