Sorry to hear so many of you have had bad experiences. I am very new to brugs and I think it is wonderful that you are willing to share your beautiful plants with us newbbies. Please don't stop sharing with the rest of us newbbies because of a few rotten eggs in the basket. I had one person in VA send me some cuttings for postage and I will be ever so grateful. Unfortunatelly for me the cuttings did not root but just the fact that he shared his beautiful plant cuttings with me was great. And if any of you want to share with me at any time just let me know. I promise I will not stiff you. One of these days I will succeed with the brugs!!! So until then, a big thank you for all of you willing to share. - Jardinera

Since work put me behind schedule this week, I'LL EXTEND THE SIGN-UPS TILL MONDAY 5/19 AT MIDNIGHT CST. Melati--just got your message and will take you off the list. Hope everything works out.

One reason I thought Krossa Regal is that I have no idea who donated the plant, and they may very have remembered the name wrong (Kossica/Krossa Regal??) Oh, well, I guess I will just have to wait until it grows a bit... it could be like I've seen mentioned here - the center of most hosta looks vase-shaped due to reaching for the light - the division I bought could just be from the center. I doubt I will get a bloom scape the first year - but if I do, I will photograph it and post it here. BettyLu

It's so odd to read this here, as last night I was feeling nostalgic about our long-ago trip to Guatemala and so went to YouTube to watch the videos there. I was eleven when my parents and I made the trip by car, driving from Chicago to Guatemala City, six weeks altogether. It was the fifties, there were very few Americans traveling by car in Central America then. We felt perfectly safe, except for an event in Guatemala City. We spent considerable time in the Highlands, visited Lake Atitlan, sailed across it to watch a feast day celebration in one of the towns ringing the lake, stayed in Antigua, but best of all, spent two days in Chichicastenango. Chichi has a very famous market, huge, with all sorts of merchandise, well-organized. Also a notable church: the worshippers climb the steps swinging their incense burners and praying. Afterwards, they climb a nearby hill to pray and offer food to a black stone, an idol left over from pre-Christian days. Fascinating. We stayed at the Mayan Inn, a charming hacienda-style hotel, with tropical flowers and birds, soft marimba music, and delicious food. It's still there, I think. On this entire trip we did not eat any food that was not washed and peeled and preferably cooked, and drank only bottled water, usually mineral water. Even so my father got quite ill returning through Mexico City; he was in bed in the hotel for a few days, with the doctor regularly visiting him. Guatemala City was an experience. We stayed at a lovely old Swedish pension with a large courtyard and very nice owners. On the day we arrived, we checked in, and went to park the car (at a garage, almost a mile away). We were walking into the city's main square when suddenly machine gun fire erupted and everyone ran in different directions, a mad rush of screaming people. My parents and I found shelter through an open door and into a garden, which turned out to be a Red Cross hospital. We sat there for many hours into the night, watching the wounded being brought in. A doctor explained to us that this had been a coup attempt. Late at night we crept back through the streets hugging the buildings. There was a curfew and no one to escort or drive us. At our pension they welcomed us in, in tears because they thought we were dead! Later, around 2 a.m. our room lights were suddenly thrown on by soldiers who came through our room, overturning suitcases, searching our belongings. Then they apologized to my mother! We settled down in the city and then my father left for what had been the main goal of this trip - a visit to Tikal. At this time, Tikal was completely unexcavated, hidden deep in the rain forest and totally covered by vines and other greens. It looked like a massive green mountain. There were no roads there. My father flew with a bush pilot far in, then hired an Indian (Mayan) guide to take him up by mule. The guide used a machete to cut down the vines as they rode along. They were gone for a week. No communication whatsoever! My dad, a truly fearless archaeologist, loved it. Meanwhile, my mother and I stayed in the city, reading and writing letters on the pension's veranda, exploring the beautiful gardens of the city, and shopping. All in all, we considered it an extremely successful trip, except for my father's illness, which he wrote off as "something a traveler has to expect". Meanwhile, watching the videos of Chichicastenango last night on YouTube, I noticed that nothing has changed in the town. It is as poor and under-developed and colorful and friendly as ever.