Really Big Show

A couple weeks ago the overgrown succulent in my front yard threw up a spike from the center of its massive and dangerously pointed leaves. I thought it was about to flower, but as the days pass, the asparagus-like protrusion continues to pierce the air, surpassing the height of the nearest trees.The bigger it grows, the more phallic it looks; especially mid-day, when the top wilts to one side in the heat. I felt myself flush when a car slowed down as I snapped this picture the other day--as if I were purposely flaunting the vulgar plant bordering my neighbor's yard.

Eventually I searched the Internet to find out just what kind of plant suddenly sprouts a thirty-foot penis after sitting quietly all this time. Turns out it's a relative of the century plant, which only blossoms every twenty-five years (Obviously whomever named the plant couldn't count) then dies. Sad, huh?  Not really. I can't tell you how many times those needle-tipped leaves have poked me in the arms, legs, and ass while working in the yard. Besides, it's not like there aren't at least a dozen clones growing around the Big Kahuna, just waiting to take its place.

Still, I can't seem to take my eyes off it. Not just because of its thick base and prodigious size, but because the idea of something so magnificent throwing a party for itself before it dies makes me uncomfortable. It's as if it's squatted there on the bank all this time just waiting to blow its wad on one big showy display and then that's it. Poof. Done. Kaput. Normally I wouldn't be so obsessed by a silly plant, except that it makes me question my own life. What if I've already shown my best stories, written my best poems, spent my best words? What if the last best thing I did was my parting flower?

Something happens when you turn the bend toward fifty. Suddenly you feel the lifting weight of life's numbered experiences and you begin to wonder if you've made the best of them. You wonder if you've done enough, if you've tasted every bite, and if you'll appreciate the delicate spine of a succulent leaf as it reaches for your tender skin on a long-legged afternoon.

Technorati Tags: aging, perimenopause, menopause, hot flashes, essay, blog, century plant, baby boomers, writing, writers, poetry, prose, women, hormones, massage

Comments

[Karl]

OK, having just spent the last 20 or 30 minutes randomly perusing your archives, I have three complaints.

1. There are a bunch of photographs missing with big "image missing" graphics in their stead.

2. Where is the chronologically listed archives?

3. Why on Earth didn't you alert me to your presence sooner? You are so getting added to my list of regulars. Thank you for dropping by my blog. :)

[ellie]

Dear Karl:

I'm honored by your kind comments on my blog. In answer to your questions:

1. There are a bunch of photographs missing with big "image missing"
graphics in their stead.

I wasn't aware of this until now. I know I took a couple down due to
bandwidth theft from porn sites, but only 2, I think. I'll scroll through
the archives and replace as I go. Thanks for the heads up.

2. Where is the chronologically listed archives?

Oh you're going to love this. I removed it after reading your blog-hating
post tonight after deciding my sidebar was too cluttered. Irony has a funny
taste, eh?

3. Why on Earth didn't you alert me to your presence sooner? You are so
getting added to my list of regulars. Thank you for dropping by my blog. :)

You're very kind. I found you via "recently updated" list and would have
spent more time there if I hadn't started critiquing my design.

Thanks for stopping by and for the linky-love.

ellie