Rosy Memories

 

For some unknown reason, as I was drifting off to sleep to the music of the Irish Tenors early this morning, I remembered the first thing I ever wrote — a poem called “My Rose”.  I was in the first grade at St. Martin’s School on Highway 81, the place I grew up.  The ladies in the Altar Society would put fresh flowers in the church on Fridays when they cleaned it, discarding all of the dead or wilted ones, and I found a wilting pink rose in the discarded pile one day.  It still looked pretty to me and the fragrance was so sweet I just had to take it home with me to give it to my mom.  She gave it the proper attention, then suggested that I plant it outside and see if it would grow, thinking, of course that it would be another of her “busy” activities for me, like catching birds by throwing salt on their tails.  Oh, yes — we spent many summer days trying to catch birds this way!

Well, mom gave me a teaspoon, a small cup of water, and her good wishes and pointed to an area next to the rose of Sharon bush where she assured me it would be the perfect spot, never expecting anything to come of it.  I planted my little rose, poured the cup of water on it and went inside and wrote this poem:

I love to see the rose that in my garden grows, I water it every day, and it will grow without delay.

I love to smell my rose, and watch it as it grows, —

and I forget the last two lines, but I think you can get the idea. Not exactly Dickinson, here.  And then, a few weeks later, my aunt gave me a bottle of cologne she had received from someone she worked with.  Being a six year old, and having a gift of cologne from my aunt, I of course thought it must be the best smelling perfume in the world!  Mom took a whiff and suggested I pour it over my rose to give it a good smell!  Hmm, I wonder what she had against that poor little rose?   But wonder of wonders, that little bit of faded glory took root and grew!  And grew, and grew and kept on growing into the most beautiful bush with loads of the sweetest roses we ever had!  Pale pink, heavenly smelling roses that filled every mason jar that wasn’t filled with food, often accompanied by sprigs of forsythia, bridal wreath, larkspur and iris along with any wildflowers that I could find.  My first venture into flower gardening and my first green thumb!

Since we didn’t have a camera back then, here are some photos of my present day plants, most of which you have already seen, but hey, I love ’em so it just is what it is!

Okay, this device is not doing what I want it to do.  The photos are at the top instead of down here.  At least I hope they are still up there.  And all the saved photos that were in my library this morning have disappeared now, unless I can find them again on another device, but that will happen later.  I have other stuff to do right now and am too tired to keep working on things that seem hopeless at the moment.  I’m an optimist, and I know they still exist someplace and that I WILL find them, but not right now.   Right now I have to do some stretching exercises to get some pressure off that sciatic nerve before it drives me bonkers!  Till the next time, Namaste!

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