My Father has about ten to a dozen plants. By the way My Fucking Father has bitched at me about how to water them while they're gone, I think he loves those plants more than me.
There is a big, potted plant whose name escapes me. My Father loves this one in particular because, once in a while, it pops a stem of flowers that, at its peak, emanates a very fragrant scent. He might think it brings him luck. Could be a Chinese thing.
I've seen this bloom once before. Well, starting about, oh, I want to say the 4th or the 5th, it bloomed again. You know, just a couple of stems with balls of blooming things on them yay apart. And it gave out a scent. Hoo, yes it did. It at first was fragrant. Then, maybe because it was past its peak, the scent got foul but not weaker. I could enter through the front door after work and breathe in, and the scent would be borderline noxious to the point my head would whip back. I guess that means I'm watering it right, Father. In fact, I feel as though that if I had the time to water that plant in the morning, I would smell it after coming home from work at night.
Still is fragrant, a little. A few days ago I saw the spindly petals on the floor. It's looking more brown than white, the bloom. It doesn't have a long life cycle, but I don't remember it being long the first time it bloomed.
To everything there is a season.
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