Our neighbors to the east planted trees a few years back that have not blessed our small rose garden, so we had been contemplating moving the flowers to another area with more sunshine. But that isn't the reason for their demise. Nor was it caused by an "extreme" winter. Apparently it was just the timing of an early frost in the winter and a late frost in the spring. The honeysuckle on the north fence also succumbed, as did many small perennials that I will tally once I compare the survivors to a panorama photograph from last summer.
The loss of one particular apricot colored rose, with the delicate crimson edged bud, is painful. My friend Judy gave it to me for mother's day in 1977. She was killed in an automobile accident later that summer. The following year we moved across town and WR dug the rose and transplanted it for me. It has bloomed and bloomed these many years. Yesterday he stopped in the middle of something he was working on and said, "Hon, I'm so sorry about Judy's rose." Me, too.
Another Mother's Day has passed and I am reminded how I still miss my Mama. A sweet validation of Mama's life was spoken recently to my sister Sandra. When Sandra attended her 50th high school reunion the first weekend in May she arranged to spend extra time with an "old" school chum who, along with her little sister, spent hours of their youth in the care of our Mama. During a conversation about "the good old days" the other woman reminisced about her love of coming to our home. She attributed the "positive values" that she esteemed in her adult life to what our "mama" had taught her as a little girl. Our Mama had very little in material things but a wealth of love and character.
A few days before Mother's Day we called Aunt Delores to see if she was free for lunch. She wasn't. That 90-year old woman was busy in her kitchen preparing a casserole for a funeral dinner. Plus, she was going to go down to the church and help serve the meal the ladies were preparing for the family and friends of the deceased. Yes, she still drives. She still cooks, cleans, and lives in her little house next door to her daughter. Her hands are never idle and she is always so positive.
Auntie Fern turned 102 last month. She isn't as lively as she was a year ago, but is still living in the retirement center and using her walker to go pick up her mail and have meals in the dining room. The biggest crisis happened last week when we thought she'd thrown away her expensive hearing aids. Thank goodness they were found in a robe pocket. She is deaf without them. But, she was hearing very well the other day when I asked her what she would do differently if she could start all over at age 60. Her brows kind of furrowed for a moment and then with her trademark grin replied, "I would just love you all more."
May has arrived and with it another photo for the First of the Month, hosted by Jan @ Murrieta 365.
The goal is to capture one thing repeatedly on the first of each month. It can be a landscape, a person, an animal, a project; whatever your focus is, is fine. It can even be a record of where you are each First of the Month.
My theme is my three grandchildren, Zbub, Mizelle, and Dinkum. It is called:
Watch them grow!
Zbub took a minute away from climbing the spider web to push his siblings on the swing.
I am a grandmother, a wife, a mother, a sister, and a friend.
I know that a woman who will tell her age or her weight will tell anything. I won't tell mine, so you can trust me. I have a cat. I have a duster that I don't use.
The photo header is one I have taken of Gram's antique writing desk. My dust.