It's a well known fact (on the internet) that computer geeks hate candy peeps. Monkey doesn't know why; but geeks consider the confection an abomination and that's good enough reason for Monkey to hate peeps, too.

"That makes me a monkgeek!" he asserts chewing and chewing and chewing on a dayglow pink peep. "I like to bite their heads off first. That's how much I hate 'em. Gimme a yellow one and I'll show ya again."

Monday, 12th   It's orange blossom time!

Monkey's town wafts redolent of citrus flowers: orange, grapefruit, lemon...

"Don't forget my mock-orange* bush," he reminds. "It smells just as good and has no thorns."

*a.k.a. Mexican Orange, Choisya ternata.

Tuesday, 13th

"Ouch!" Monkey yelps brushing against another thorn. "Take the picture! Take the picture! Lemon tree is pretty and the flower's sweet, but the fruit's impossible to eat. So take the picture, already!"

The webmaster apologizes for Opice's blatant plagiarism. Hey La Mancha-monk, credit your sources! What? Oh, Monkey says he can't make little quote marks in the air because he has no fingers, only mitts. That lame excuse will never hold up in college.

Wednesday, 14th

"Ah, much softer. I love these* almost as much as their cousin, freesia, which I really, really love because they smell so good (even if some aren't as pretty); but that's not their fault. You like 'em best, too, don'tcha?"

It seems this is webmaster's week to apologize. Monkey doesn't get it when it comes to ambiguous antecedent references, despite my repeatedly drilling him and his Czech nephews, Lukáš & Vášek, on the importance of being precise about which it you're referring to when talking about it with him.
                                                                     *a.k.a. Harlequin flower, Sparaxis tricolor.

Thursday, 15th "Ides of Taxes"

"'Tiptoe, thru the tulips...'" Monkey sings, ignorant of the song's association. Nor does he care that this is Tax Day and these are Calla Lilies. Oops, shouldn't have mentioned that second bit.

"'The calla lilies are in bloom again...'" Opice, please, don't go there.
"'...such a strange flower, suitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something...'" He stops, laughing. He doesn't know how Katharine Hepburn's quote ends and never cares.

"'[M]y wedding day...' Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. 'I won't grow up...'" he launches into Peter Pan's song. Only Monkey can run from Tiny Tim to Hepburn to Mary Martin in three sentences.

Friday, 16th  Monkey on Ice (plant), Carpobrotus chilensis.

Chillin' along the freeway. No kidding, this is an elevated freeway embankment in Opice's town. The sunken freeways are also landscaped, but Monkey was talked out of trying to shoot a foto down, along one of them.

Some people on the Central Coast consider ice plant a transplanted weed, perhaps from South Africa. Some people in the Central Valley consider Monkey a transplanted cretin--no ifs ands or buts. They are wrong (the 2nd. they). Monkey once visited Knossos--but he's not from there. And he's never jumped a bull despite what he'll tell you about that trip if given too much ouzo.

Note about link to Knossos fresco: great website, but major bandwidth required to fully explore.
Do not overlook Opice's bull-jumping link!

That's a fantasy, of course. He's never met the celebrity, tho he's written her several times hoping for an autograph.

"Every time I see that lady in her yard, I think of Dolly's..."
Je ne sais quoi, I cut him off.

"They both have major..."
Joie de vivre I firmly shush again.

He looks at me intently. "That's a language for something, isn't it?"
Very special something I assure.

"Ok. But if I'm not supposed to talk about her hair in English, how come you can out of English?"