Despite mistreatment for the sake of a decent photo before it was planted, this amaryllis is doing okay.

There was a display at Safeway over the weekend. I stood there a lot longer than I should, debating. But on closer inspection, these were the kind with meat. Not the Spaghettios I remember. So I passed on it.

Later, very much against my will, I found myself at Wal-Mart. And there it was again, right in front of me. Fate works in mysterious ways.

At home, a household member pointed out that one can had 2/3 my daily allowance of sodium. Well, I’ll just have to be really watchful today.

It’s safe to say that I’ll not be wanting anymore Spaghettios for at least six months, a year even. I’ve got it out of my system now that it is in my system, so to speak.

And no, they don’t remind me of being a child. They remind me of when my kids were little and left some in their bowl, which I dutifully finished.

Yesterday afternoon, I photographed glycerin soaps. This is difficult to do without an assistant. Once I set up the tray with water in it, I wanted lots of suds.

Glycerin soap doesn’t lather up very well. I had a bowl of water and several towels nearby. By the time I got all five bars sudsed up, my hands dried and the image focused, the top bar’s bubbles would disappear.

This took lots more time that I thought it would. But I did get a few shots, and wound up smelling very, very good the rest of the day.

If you like the photo, there are lots more over at LuckyOliver.com (shameless plug).

That’s one new term for today, the other being ’spent hen’.

So meat has now moved to the top spot in the lists of ‘most shoplifted’ items. The last time I checked one of these lists a while back, Preparation H was number one.

America’s needs are changing.

Or should I say, a whiter shade of white. Scientists are amazed at the unusual brightness of the white beetle, whose secret is a shell covered with ultra-thin scales.

Now if this duck could survive a shooting and a couple of days in the refrigerator, I’m guessing my durian could do the same. While not shot, it was split. Will it crane its stem and look at me?

It hasn’t been eaten for various reasons. Last night I made a beef pot pie, which disappeared before I could take a picture. It was filling. Just ask any household member. Then I’ve been eating fruit plate lunches, and while it could be argued that durian is a fruit, there’s little room on that plate. Not after the banana, the orange and the Laughing Cow cheese wedges.

Then there’s the raw egg analogy. Many years ago, a teacher talked about trying to swallow one. He claimed that as soon as he got it down, it slipped right back up again. Over and over. This will happen when I try the durian.

The logical thing to do would be to go to Indonesia, and get one fresh from a tree. But the weather can get violent over there, and maybe I’m more afraid of Indonesia than I am of the durian in the fridge.

In which assorted medical types present an x-ray that shows an accessory pouch attached to a human stomach. Not since stomach ulcers were reported to be caused by a bacterium has there been such excitement in the world of abdominal matters.

There have been discreet suggestions that test studies may be skewed somewhat due to the bribing of volunteers with the promise of pie.

The authors conclude that the dated theory of dessert simply falling “in the cracks” between other stomach contents is “absurd”.

For days now, it has sat patiently on the dining table, odorless, but compelling. I took photos in its mesh wrap. Actually, I’ve been kind of afraid of it, unable to pick it up except by its mesh top due to all the spikes.

But this afternoon, I took a knife to it. Mostly because a member of the household noticed that it was beginning to split on its own. How can I describe this. As you can see, there’s an element of alien autopsy to it.

Perhaps later this evening, some will be eaten. It is still a heavy presence over there, now wafting a slight, very earthy smell.

I think it’s still alive.

Yesterday I got behind a woman with long blondish hair, who was having a long conversation with the checkout guy at Trader Joe’s. Busy day, lots of customers. She had an unusually deep voice, but that happens. I was wishing I got in a different line when something fell at my feet. It was a Visa card.

‘M’am’, I said. ‘M’am? Is that your charge card?’ I asked.

M’am turned around, revealing his true gender, said I’d done my kind deed of the day, and I was mortified. The clerk seemed highly amused. Then I was worried I’d run into the guy in the parking lot. Which, of course, I did.

That’s when I noticed he had put on white Garry Larsenish-sunglasses of the kind few individuals of the masculine sex wear.

Life is so confusing.

For those guys really pressed for time, this drink probably beats the usual breakfast smoothie, especially if an alcohol buzz is seen as a plus before the commute.

So far, my durian has no odor. I wonder how a fresh one would compare to surstromming?

Today, while out scouting for suitable fruit for photographing (when I should have been working at my day job), I came upon a durian. For some time, I’ve been wanting to try one, based upon what Alfred Russel Wallace has written. Plus, a friend from Malaysia said it was all her husband would eat while getting used to his new braces. When I pointed out that the durians found in local Asian markets have been frozen, she insisted that they are still very tasty.

Strawberries were also on my list of subjects, and surprisingly, some were to be had at a fair price. I know that January strawberries are going to fall short in taste, but after the photography, perhaps they will be heavily sugared before eating. Who knows where they came from. Strawberry plants in the growing regions around here have brought out their mittens and mufflers, and put on an extra quilt at night. The water in the pot housing my new deer scare was partially frozen this morning.

Photos soon. My next task is to figure out how to open up the durian. That may prove to be less daunting now that I have inherited my dad’s meat saw.

For those who remember the old Mac game, a good use of Silas would be as the whip henchman. In place of the original guy, there Silas would stand, flogger in hand. After Prince Duncan got his punishment (cue the sound effects - was it tuh - AAAH?), then Silas would grimace, focus and by golly, he would flog himself. Grab some elixir, and get the hell out of there.

For the curious: no, I’m not weird like that. I am just ticked that The Da Vinci Code was such a relentlessly bad film.

Relax, there’s not one. Yet.

I had the misfortune to try to eat dinner during The Da Vinci Code. Each time Paul raised the flogging device, I put down my plate of braised pork and veggies (as did other family members).

If you braise pork belly just right, which I manage to do from time to time, it takes on a melting texture that is quite fine. I resented that I had to put down my plate so many times.

Days later, I am still resentful. So, if there were a Silas action figure, I could push a button, there would be a meaningful pause as he prepares himself mentally for the pain, then would come the flog. The beads of blood would appear.

My plan to lose ten pounds would take on a new dimension.

As if that weren’t bad enough, I was in there with a staff member. If you’ve ever been in a mortuary, you know what these guys can be like.

I wanted a table of some sort for the iMac during the slide show that was going to be the last half of the funeral service for my mom. While the iMac has a small footprint, the monitor is 19″. The flimsy fake columns wouldn’t work, the podium was slanted, the chapel tables too low.

The guy took me into room after room, preceding each entrance with a flourish, promising that I would not have to bring a big speaker or some such tall device from home. Each door shut automatically.

At the last room, I held the door open as a reflex, but as he took me deeper into the room, I let go. The door closed with a hiss. We found a suitable table. But when he saw the door, he said, ‘Uh-oh.’

He began pounding on it. It was cold in there. No one came. The chapel was the other way down the hall where my family was having the visitation. He pounded louder.

Luckily, his female companion in the lobby heard, and rescued us.

Braised pork butt with pork belly, potatoes, onions and cabbage, two kinds of gravy: the pot juices and a cream gravy.

It is a bad sign when I drift off before a third of the movie is over. The other two viewers are in there making scathing remarks. I kept waiting for Tom Hanks to turn to the camera, laugh uproariously, say ‘Gotcha’, and then move on to the real movie.