Mother and Rosa

Perhaps this post is more appropriate for next Sunday.

But patience is not ones of my strong qualities. (I'm not even sure it's one of my qualities in general...)

This is my mother:

I think this was taken around the time she got married which was... when she was 24. Mom is so pretty. I often wished that I inherited her beautiful black hair. Unfortunately, I'm the blond. One of two blonds in the family (there are 8 of us kids).

My mom loves roses. 

I remember her always having rose bushes and every spring and summer she would go out there on Saturday morning and cut roses to bring inside. She would also cut them and have me deliver the roses to neighbors or to anyone who needed a bit of cheering up. They were beautiful roses. 

When I was 23, I stopped disliking Mom so much. I grew out of my teenage angst and attitude and I actually loved spending time with her. I realized that she was growing much older. And she probably wouldn't be around for much longer. 

That year, I lived at home for six months. And during that spring and summer, I would go help my mom cut the roses. She taught me about their names and the differences. Her favorites were black magic. They are red that deepen the color towards the ends of the petals so that they look almost black. Or at least, I like to say those are her favorites. Maybe they're just mine.

When I went back East a couple of weeks ago, I ran into the U.S. Botanical Gardens. It was on my trek through the National Mall and I thought, "Why not?"

Of course, the roses were blooming. And I found a new favorite. Prairie Desert.

I loved the pink (I never like pink so that was a bit of a surprise), but I also loved the yellow. It was just... pretty. 

One day, when I have a house, I want a line of rose bushes. And you can be sure that there will be a bush of Black Magic and a bush of Prairie Desert.