Last time I displayed some photos from the Haupt Conservatory at the New York Botanical Garden, which Debbie and I visited on January 8 in order to see the Holiday Train Show.

The Train Show photos will be shown in the future, but that will take awhile since I have 79 of them to pour through…and then there are the ones Debbie took with her camera.

But that’s not all we did while we were there.  There was an exhibit called Kiku:  The Art of the Japanese Chrysanthemum at the LuEsther T. Mertz Library which I wanted to see very much, to add to the knowledge of the Edo Period I gained in my visit to LACMA last summer.

They didn’t allow photos in the museum, so I made do with photos of some public art out in front of the library.

She arose silently from her bed and walked to the bathroom.  She stopped to stare at herself in the mirror.

Sh was old.  Sometimes she wondered how that had happen, but she had been aware that she was not aging all that gracefully for quite a few years.  Daily stress can do that to a person.

So can 44 years of being on testosterone.

Now, even 17 years later, the effects of that were still there in the face that looked back..  Nothing was going to undo that…except maybe thousands of dollars of facial reconstruction.  That was money she would never have.  So she made do with the rationalization that she hadn’t wanted to stop recognizing herself anyway.

And nothing was going to change the fact that she was 6’4″ tall.

Debbie and I took a field trip on Thursday to the New York Botanical Garden to see the Holiday Train Show.  Photos of that show will come later.

Our first order of business after arrival at the Haupt Conservatory which housed the show was to locate the restroom.  While ding so we had the opportunity to tour several of the other exhibits.  In today’s edition are photos from the desert plants exhibit, with a few from the tropical rain forest and aquatic plants exhibits.

Most of the photos are thumbnails.  Clicking on them will reveal larger versions.

First they came for the K word.  But I didn’t mind.  The few people I knew who were Jewish were nice enough and knew their place in the world and they didn’t bother me, so I didn’t need to bother them.

Then they came for the N word.  Again, my humor didn’t include blackface and anyway I thought jokes based on the stereotyping of black people were vulgar.

When they came for the C word, I got pissed.  And then someone told me it wasn’t just the C-word, that there were other words that women objected to just as much.    

My whole comedy game relied on me calling people c**ts and b**ches and pu**ies.