When you went to London, what did you see?

Some folks go to London to see all the traditional sights:

Of course you wouldn't want to miss this sight:

(That's my mom...oh yeah, and some famous rocks...)

My mom and I got to go to London together, just us two girls, in 1986.
She called me up one day and asked me if I wanted to go with her to England.
I said "YES!"
She said "Well, what about the kids?"
(Referring to my two children, her two grandchildren, then eight year old Laura and six year old Jeff.)

My answer:

"WHAT kids????"

And with that, away we went.

It was October, and the London news papers ran articles commenting on the unusually fine fall weather.
I wasn't the least bit surprised.
Wherever my mom goes, the weather is always just lovely.
(If you want to travel and have good weather, check with June Dustin and match up with her travel schedule. Frankly, travel companies would be wise to pay her to travel with them...there would be no complaints about the weather that way.)
When we flew home, there was not a single cloud in the sky between London and San Diego.
There was a note of that fact by the pilot when we landed. He had never seen such a thing before.

Another funny well known fact about my mom: Wherever she travels, she always makes friends with cats.
She has been all over Europe, North America, Mexico and the British Isles.
Her travel photos are a nice mixture of scenic and historic places.
And local cats.

These two London cats were lucky enough meet Mom, and get a cuddle as well.
I'll bet those cats bragged about that for awhile.
It is also a well known fact that any cat that my mom owns is a very lucky cat.
Frankly, I think anyone who meets my mom is lucky.
She is one sweet and caring lady.
And today is her birthday.

I'm hearing the people out there say:

Happy Birthday!

And all the cats out there say:

PURR...Meow!

(Happy Birthday Mom with lots of love from all of us!)

Here we go again....

Wherever Bernie is perching...

Our two cats are also perching.

Which would normally be fine, except right now, right outside the office window...

These two mockingbirds are also perching.
And they DO NOT like having two cats looking out the window at their tree!

The birds spend ALL yesterday afternoon bouncing around the tree, squawking cheet chee-t cheekk-up
at the two cats, who frankly couldn't have cared less.

It was a long, long noisy afternoon.
I think I will encourage the three guys (Bernie, Tiggie and Hart) to take the laptop into some other room this afternoon, and give those poor birds a break.
Even if they don't need one, I certainly do.
Gads those birds are loud!

Fashion as Diversion

I try never to look while someone is jabbing me with a needle.
Yesterday while the nurse was busy missing my vein on the first try, I was busy keeping my mind and eyes occupied with looking at the fashions in one of last April's fashion magazines.



Is this a yummy corset or what??? Just wide black piece of lace wrapped around a cotton sundress, then tied on with a ribbon.
Fresh and glam all at once.
Must find out when you can get lace that is that wide!



Then there was this amazing dress. Smocking for grown up girls.
Isn't it lovely to see dresses with such amazing details?
Wouldn't this be incredible on a wedding dress?
And those sleeves...can they be dropped to make this an all season frock?
I am in love with this design!

(The needle stick was because I had my colonoscopy done yesterday; all is well! Or at least the injury is healing well.
It was necessary to put me under while the scope was being done, which of course meant having an IV inserted in a vein. I am a "hard stick", that is to say, it is rare that the medical personnel hits a vein on me on the first try.
I try never to look while all this jabbing is going on.
This time I paged through an old magazine.
It worked, I hardly felt a thing.)

Prom Dress take 2: Meeting Lovella's Challenge

After I posted this picture of myself in my Senior Prom dress, my fellow blogger and dear friend Lovella decided to up the ante.



In my post I mused about today's high school graduates, and how we could still celebrate graduation if we wanted to, by painting our graduation years on our car's back windows.
A simple user friendly suggestion.

Never trust a Mennonite...they look sweet and innocent, but they are really wile crafty gals.
Lovella later emailed me and said that my post had inspired her to get out her graduation dress, and to try it on again.

She didn't have a prom dress, there was no dancing for her back then, dancing which could lead to you-know-what according to her church at the time. I danced; I must have done something wrong because it sure didn't lead to anything more than a gentle hug from my date. Fine with me...he was my brother's best friend and when no one asked me to the prom, he took pity on me and offered to be my escort.

Anyway...Lovella then merrily emailed me that she had tried on her dress, it fit perfectly, and she was going to post a picture of herself in her graduation dress today.

Humph.
Will see about that...

I marched straight into my guest bedroom and pulled my prom dress out of storage.
Unzipped it, and stepped into it.
It was a tiny bit snug in the hips, but not too tight.

Ta-dah! It still fits!
Well, almost. The ta-ta parts have gone from girlish to matronly, whoo hoo...cleavage at last.
I couldn't zip up past my rib cage.
Like I care...if I had had ta-tas back then, I probably would have had some guy asking me to the prom. Silly me, silly times; no Victoria Secrets to secretly add alluring curves to those who were lacking.

Lovella's lovely yellow dress was sewn by her mom, my pink gown was likewise sewn by my mom.

That tradition has fallen by the wayside in my family; my own daughter's prom gown was a stunning black dress created just for her by a professional seamstress. My alteration skills just were not up to the challenge.

Lovella has posted her encouraging and thoughtful reflections on her post today, as have other bloggers with fond memories and pictures of their prom/graduation dresses.

I hope you will visit her site, she has a message for all of us that shouldn't be missed.

And I hope you take a moment to see some of the other dress links on Lovella's site.

****

Bernie is out of town right now. We had talked about taking a picture of me in my gown with him in his tuxedo escorting me to the prom as should have happened all those years ago.

We planned to put on some music, and dance to the songs that bring back memories of our high school years, at different school and at different places in our lives.

It would be lovely to dance with him in this dress.

And to see if maybe the Mennonites were right about what dancing would lead to after all.

The Old Swimming Hole

According to the calendar, it isn't quite summer yet.
According to me, summer is here, and then some.

For me, summer is when the temperature soars to over 80 F for a week.
Or in our case, over 90 degrees for several weeks.
Yup...when the old temperature reading hits 94 degrees everyday like it did last week, spring time is officially over and done with for another year.

In our neighborhood however, summer officially begins the first day that the neighborhood pool is open for business.

AH yesss.....
To get the pool, all we have to do is ride our bikes down the street one block, and then peddle on through the woods (about a five minute ride) and then go across a wooden bridge that spans the small bayou.
Once we get to the pool, we find a lounge chair in the shade, take a dip, and then kick back with a book or a magazine.
Sweet.
The pool even has adults only swim for part of every hour for the grown ups who don't want to dunk with the kiddie set.

We went to the pool yesterday, on a Saturday, at 4 pm and practically had the pool to ourselves.

A couple of families from our block were also cooling off with their kids.

There is a baby wading pool next to the pool house. The tiny tykes were splashing around with enormous paintbrushes that they were using to create drawings on the pool deck using just plain pool water.
Clever idea, wish I had thought of it when I had tadpole sized kids.

On the other side of the fence is a wonderful playground.
No one was playing there at all.
It amazes me how blessed we are with things for kids to do, compared to the rest of the world.
I wished I could have magically transported kids from trouble places for a day of fun with us.

What a pity to have a playground like this and yet there be no one there to enjoy it!

The blue water slides at the side of the pool was a new feature for this season.

We asked the teenage lifeguard if adults could go down the slides too.

He said yes.

Bernie was busy swimming laps when I decided it was time to give the slides a whirl.

I carefully climbed the steps up to the opening of the straight slide, wondering if I would knock my head or clunk my back if I tried it.

(The caution adult mind is an annoying spoil sport at times...)

I whooshed down the slide with a hearty scream.

(What fun is it to go down a slide without screaming?)

Bernie swam over to me.

"I heard you scream before I saw you come out."

"Yeah, I know. Screaming is part of the fun."

"Yeah, you are right. You've got to scream if you want to have all the fun."

I gave the twisty slide a try next.

(Secretly worried about how low the exit point was to the edge of the pool.)

I had hardly gotten whee! past my lips when I was already rocketing into the water.

Bernie was waiting in the water near the edge of the pool.

"So it was fun?"

"Yeah!"

"Which one did you like better?"

"The straight one."

"Really?"

"I just like coming out higher above the water. Come on, let's both go down the slides together, you take the curved one, I'll take the straight one."

We pulled ourselves out of the pool and walked over to the slides. Bernie climbed up and out of sight before I had put one foot on the stairs.

Just as I grabbed the hand rail to start climbing I heard the lifeguard speak.

"Ma'am...only one person on the slide at a time."

"Oh. I'm sorry...I didn't know."

"You will have to wait until he is through the slide before you can go."

"OK."

(I felt rather foolish that as a 54 year old woman I was being admonished by a kid probably not even old enough to drive....)

At that point Bernie came whooshing out the end of the slide head first and careened into the water with a huge splash.

"Sir...."

Bernie righted himself and shook his head.

"Sir...it is against regulations to go down the slide head first. You can only go down the slide feet first."

"Oh. OK. Sorry. I didn't know."

We sheepishly climbed out of the pool, under the watchful eye of the polite young man in the lifeguard chair.

This is getting to be a disturbing trend. Bernie and I have always tried to live in a law abiding, non-rebelling fashion.

Lately thought, whenever we get around holes filled with water, we some how find ourselves in trouble with the law.

I scarcely know how this can be.

(We didn't bother to point out to the young man in the red suit that obviously you actually could go down the slide head first just fine, and the correct word to use should have been "may" instead of "can." I figured we should just lay low and stay out of trouble, we've got a long summer still ahead of us, and the last thing we need is to be blackballed from the neighborhood swimming pool just for the sake of semantics!)

Organizating still...

A quick update on my medical issues: I saw my GI doctor on Tuesday and he said that the tests show I had experienced something called ischemic colitis. Essentially it is caused by a blood vessel in the colon being damaged due to ???? (former abdominal surgery, a twist in the colon, a hard bowel movement, hard running, ???? nothing for sure) and that causes the wall of the colon to bleed. Ischemic colitis comes on suddenly, usually without warning, usually to people over the age of fifty.

The treatment is antibiotics and fluids, in a hospital setting, staying off foods for awhile until the bleeding area has a chance to heal, and the total healing process takes two to six weeks.

After that life goes back to usual with no changes in diet, and recurrence is rare. Nothing really can be done to prevent it besides the usual "stop smoking-watch your weight-exercise-avoid stress" mantra that is indicated for anyone with a pulse. I never have smoked, ever, and the rest of the stuff has always been part of my life.

I am SO very pleased. The episode had nothing to do with anything I might have inadvertently done (aside from those two c-sections and hysterectomy...like I had a choice in these?) AND the fact that I don't have to worry about a flare up in the future or modification of my diet is SWEET!

A scope is still going to be performed next Tuesday just to be sure there isn't anything else going on. I expect all will be well, and the doctor said that likely by then he won't even be able to see where the injury occurred. My innards are still trying to figure out what "normal" is after what they went through, and the doctor said that is OK.

Thanks for all your concern, prayers and notes. They were a real encouragement to me!

Now back to regular bloggy life:

If you have been reading this blog for awhile you know I am on a steady campaign to organize and pare down my belongings. I have a master list of places in my house that I either need to organize or re-organize, or re-evaluate. While Laura was living with us she was a great help in assisting me in this process. We got through a lot of the list together; lucky me...she is is an awesome organizer!



The one area that we didn't get around to tackling was my jewelry collection. Above: One of two drawers filled with boxes and bags of jewelry.

I also had these jewelry organizers taking up another dresser drawer, and one small hanging organizer in the closet. And I had a small bowl and a basket on my bathroom vanity for my most favorite every day rings and earrings.

It seemed like I had my usual selections where I could easily grab them, but every time I wanted to wear the rest of the stuff I had to play a game of hide-and-go-seek, digging through drawers and baskets to find what I was looking for.

That always left the drawers in a mess, and me feeling rather frustrated.

Aaaggghhhhh....

I really did like how easy it was to find the jewelry in the one tiny hanging jewelry organizer.
I got thinking....If only I could have more of those hanging organizers, only bigger. Much bigger.
A quick seek on Amazon.com for "jewelry hanger" turned up these EIGHTY POCKET bad boys!

I bought two at a cost of about $20 total, including shipping.

Now one side is just for earrings (and a few necklaces in the deep bottom pockets...)

The flip side holds my pins and broaches.

Most of them had belonged to my grandmothers and grandmothers-in law....they are treasured.
~~~
The next hanger is for fancy "diamond" party jewelry (cuz I have sooo many formal glitzy event in my life, or at least people seem to think I do, based on how many pairs of sparkly earring I've received as gifts. Oh well, maybe one day I'll have a granddaughter who will enjoy wearing them for dress up fun!)
~~~
Then under the sparkly stuff are my pearl necklaces, (of various colors and lengths) then at the end are my bracelets.
~~~
The flip side holds all my other kinds of necklaces, slides, chains and pendants.
~~~
The two hangers take up about three inches in my closet, instead of two whole drawers in my dresser.
Added bonus: I can see every thing I own at a glance!
~~~
Some pocket are shared: all my kitten pins are in one pocket, all my red-white-and blue flag stuff is in another.
~~~
I've put small notes in the pockets that hold family or sentimental pieces, just in case some day someone want to know about them...
~~~
A few pieces were weeded out, and I still intending to weed out a few more pieces, but cautiously. Jewelry seems to swing from chunky to delicate, from glittery to natural through the years. A few pieces that I had mentally written off a few years back now look perfect with some of current fashion trends.
~~~
One idea I want to try: I'm thinking of getting some paint swatches, and placing the colors behind the pieces.
The pink based pieces will have a pink paint chip behind them, lavender lavender...you get the idea.
Right now everything is organized by color, but I have to really look at the pockets to tell with some of the more delicate pieces.
Paint sample chips are free, so I'll give it a try and see if that makes identification easier.
~~~
Now I just need to figure out what to do with those organizer boxes! Any ideas?
Wanna come over and play dress up with me?
Oh come on...it will be fun!

(My and my childhood girl friend Emily, all dressed up and no where to go...but boy did we look good!!!)

High School Graduate: Class of 1972!

Senior prom...a dream gown made by Mom from a silver threaded pink brocade, pink crepe, and gloves!

The La Jolla High Viking girls graduated in red robes, the boys wore black. (Somehow that bothered me; red did not seem as official as black!)

My parents and I had pooled money to buy me that snazzy new 1972 Datsun 1200 fast back, in my favorite color: forest green.
A zippy four cylinder stick shift!

Yes, life was sweet! I was a high school graduate!

Today, just thirty six years later, I tooled down the road on my way to work in my practical Toyota 4Runner. I held steady as several cars zoomed past me.
"Class of 2008!!!" was painted boldly upon those car's rear windows. The sense of pride was palatable; they were part of this year's graduating class. They had had a year of being top dogs, the top guns of Kingwood High, now they were taking to the road as the newly graduated.

Since this time last summer they had swaggered and counted themselves mature, and far along in the world.

During the year senior pictures were taken, in many charming poses, and later the pictures were enclosed within announcements along with quaint little calling cards. What a thrill it was to see their name in formal old fashion script engraved upon those tiny cards. The family address book was consulted, the announcements are to be sent out to far flung family friends and relations, who deserved to be informed of the stellar event: High School Graduation!

Pictures and more pictures in prom dresses and tuxedos, and still more on graduation day.

Oh the giddy glory of it all....

I had to laugh a bit, in a world weary way as I watched the cars weave through the lanes ahead of me. In a few short weeks the feted and glorified teens will suddenly come to the scary realization that they actually are the lowest of the low on the totem pole of adult life.

Perhaps these newly hatched high school grads will enter the work force only to discover that their ballyhooed high school diploma scarcely entitles them to wages that will cover even their most meager needs at first. Time and experience apparently is held with greater esteem than the paper certificate of graduation.

Perhaps they will blast out of town at summer's end to a new life at a prestigious college. More glory that, yet it won't take long to discover that there no one will care about how cool they were back in high school.

The treasured high school ring will be tucked away and the prized letterman jacket will get pushed to the back of the closet.
Only a geek would dream of wearing those items once the next senior class begins their reign.

Slowly it will dawn upon them: never again will there be such an undeserved sense of accomplishment as was felt simply because they were a high school senior.

College graduation...graduate school graduation...no, they don't hold a candle to the big high school thing, at least around here. The twenty one, twenty two, thirty two what have you year old college graduates simply don't radiate the bloom of innocent and ignorant youth; no one at that age wants that many pictures taken, and proms just no longer make sense. Let's just hope to land a good job, get an apartment and pay off those student loans.

As the cars with the painted windows roared out of view, I silently wished them well, and hoped they would drive carefully, and live long long lives, long enough to once again enjoy their letterman jackets and treasure their youthful exuberance.

Perhaps a new custom should be embraced: Each June all high school graduates should paint their car's windows once again.

"Class of 1972!" "Class of 1945!" "Class of 2006!" our cars will proclaim as we long ago graduates go about our daily life.

And for a day or two, or until the rains wash the paint away, we can savor once again how life felt back when we were freshly graduated from high school.

(PS: I still have the pink brocade gown. And I think I still have my own box of calling cards somewhere. Unfortunately I don't happen to still own that car.)

Two year blog anniversary

Blogging:

Sometimes it is about the tiny details that shine upon a closer examination of a larger picture.

Details that grace the rhythm of life, like the tiny hearts that embellish the scalloped edge of a coleus leaf.

Other times blogging is about the unexpected, the turning points that punctuate life with color and echoing layers of motif.

Blogging is taking the time to see both the long view, and the up close views of life.

It takes a passion to write where I went, what I saw, what I heard, how it felt and what I think it might all possibly mean.

Blogging is the new form of an ancient art.
Journals and letters, the forefathers of blogging, have flowed from writers throughout the ages. In those writings, people of all persuasions have sought to wrestle with words to record their observations and experiences.

Right now we are reading the book John Adams. As we read the letters penned by Adams and his wife, we found ourselves transported into their times. Last night we read the letter that Abigail wrote John wherein she described the anguish she felt as she heard cannon fire in the neighboring town, and rush to climb a hill with her son in order to see what was happening afar.

Writing about....

Where she went, what she saw, what she heard, how it felt, and what it might all possibly mean.

As she penned the letter, she recorded her thoughts, and wondered what was to become of the world because of that battle at Lexington and Concord.

My own writing....well, happily much more mundane. I began to blog hoping that blogging would be a springboard for further conversation between my friends.

It didn't take long to discover that would not be the case.

Instead I found that I was writing monologue for my own enjoyment, capturing moments of my life and experience via word and picture for my later consideration.

It was upon later consideration that I discovered something new: that my memory is an unreliable thing; I've learned it is inclined to forget. It has only been one year since we went to Switzerland; when I revisited the time via my blog I was surprised to find that I had already forgotten many details about our adventures.

If I can't remember something as extraordinary as a trip to Switzerland, then what are the chances I'll remember the lovely moments of ordinary life?

So the blogging serves as a memory aid for my unreliable mind.

(Wish I would have been blogging for some of our other travels...and think how blessed are the younger writers who keyboard into eternity their reflections on their weddings, pregnancies and child rearing.)

For the most part though, blogging has been the challenge and training needed for me to seek out and become more aware of whatever in life is:

beautiful

poignant

joyous

lovely

honorable

curious

humorous

creative

adventurous

inspiring

thought provoking

kind

(and yes, fashionable...)

...

I think every life can be enriched by actively seeking to find such things.

And so, two years later, I'll continue to blog. Perhaps though not quite as often or as regularly as in the years before. I need to make a few changes in my world, in order to find more balance.

I have realized that while I treasure the brief comments of my readers (and yes, I treasure my reader's blogs as well, and find myself referring back to wit and wisdom shared by fellow bloggers across the globe), I find that I am yearning more for dialogue than my current series of monologues.

...

At times I have written my thoughts, and wondered if I was a madwoman speaking to an imaginary crowd. I wondered what thoughts or rebuttals might have been shared if comments could have be spoken face to face rather than tapped out into a tiny electronic square.

Perhaps it is selfish to want more; isn't it enough that my writings were read, and even more so enough that a sentence was sent in response? Greater writers and journalists than I have managed to continue writing while being the recipent of far less!

...

I realize that I must try to find people and places where such dialogue is natural and flows readily. I want to be able to share in other's lives, and go beyond the short visits to the limited spaces that are opened to visit via blogdom. In short, I need to forge deeper friendship in real time. Friendships that share auditory laughter and yes, disappointments, fears and frustrations. Friendships that dare to confess aloud both the hopes and failures that are common to daily life.

...

When I read a blog and laugh, I wish the writer was laughing with me as well. When a blogger is silent for a time, I wonder if the silence is to make space for good times, or a symptom of dark times that is swallowing up the creative flow. Sometimes I ask, via comments, knowing I may be exceeding the bounds of the blogging space. I remember though, it is a real person writing, and real people deserve my concern and care.

...

A few fellow bloggers along the way have opted to add venue for deeper discussion; emails and phone calls enrich the relationships. It has been a blessing to have a note asking how I am faring, or a private comment about something that really is best not shared for all eyes to evaluate.

I welcome those who would wish for more to send me contact information; perhaps we will find we have even more in common that we thought! (Just use that "Do not publish" phase in a comment to send an email or phone number, I will respond in kind!)

...

I also have realized that while I began blogging with a committment to write daily for six months, that I did so planning on using the blog as "finger exercises" such as pianist might perform before tackling a larger composition. It didn't take long for the finger exercise to become my only writing; and often became sloppy writing at that. A picture is worth a thousand words, and I used my pictures accordingly. Not such a bad choice really...but the true writing, the grappling with words and phases to convey images and thoughts was given a lick and an unfulfilled promise.

....

A post here rattled me out of my rut; do not read it if you are not seeking to write beyond blogging. For those of you out there who do seek to polish your writing skills, Ms. Hobb's post will provide a lively correction to some of the questionable habits adopted because of blogging. After reading her post, I realized I must make amends, and use my writing time wisely.

...

The signature phase of any two year old is the adamant, emphatic monosyllable NO!

Will this apply to the upcoming year of blogging as well?

...

I think not...not when there are still pictures and stories to shared and recorded for future enjoyment.

I simply hope that I will find that I grow and branch out in my life, and that the growth and new branches will enrich me and will be reflected happily within my blog.

Heritage roses field trip

Last weekend there was a short article in our local paper about a Heritage Rose garden and rose sale that was scheduled for Memorial Day weekend.
The article said that the garden had been created by a couple who had scouted heritage roses from across the land, finding them growing beside abandoned farm buildings and against house foundations where the house had long since vanished.

This particular rose garden and rose sale was likely to be the last chance for the public to view the garden. The wife had died awaiting a heart/lung transplant. While she waited in the hospital, she had sketched plans to create a rose garden based on the plans created by Gertrude Jeckyll, (a famous name in roses...), plans that Jeckyll herself never saw realized.

There were no pictures with the news article. Just time of the sale, and location, and the belief that this was the only privately owned heritage rose garden open to the public in America.
Once the rose sale was ended, the garden would be leased to a wedding company. After that lease went into effect, I doubted people would be allowed to just wander through in the future.

But....it was a very, very hot weekend. Was I really interested in meandering through a garden in high heat and equally oppressive humidity? And what about the time and money aspect: The garden was seventy miles from our house. Going there would shoot up the better part of a day, and a good part of a tank of gas as well.

Monday gave us an opportunity to buy camera chips at a steal at our local electronic center. We decided to stop by the National Veterans Cemetery to pay our respects, then head to the store. That would put us almost half way to the rose garden....

Bernie and Laura gave in to my wishes. The drive south of Houston to the garden took us thorough farm land and tiny towns that we had never heard of.

I was totally unaware of the Town of Needville. I still don't know how it got it's name. I do now know the high school is home to the Fighting Blue Jays.

Somehow that doesn't seem like a very intimidating name for a football team...

After the wife died, her husband did create the garden she had sketched. Their tidy house is still on the grounds. He didn't name the garden after his wife, but rather after the person who inspired the garden originally.

As it turned out, there really wasn't a lot to see. It was still a rather young garden. In time the roses will climb up the poles and cover them like enormous rose hedges.

I loved that each rose was labeled with both it's name and creation date.

Mrs. Isaac Pereire was both lovely and fragrant.

Chestnut Rose...I wondered if those who fought in the War of 1812 had seen this rose and tucked a blossom into their darling's hair before they left for battle.

1927...the year my mom was born. I wonder why Robin Hood was chosen as the name of this oh so pink tiny rose? I would have named it Maid Marion instead....

The heat had curtailed the rose's flower production. There was not another soul around beside us three; it was almost a reverent experience to be walking in the garden dreamed of yet never experienced by the deceased lady. The garden was still so young but she did not get to see it built nor would she ever walk it in when it came into mature glory

The property will be lovely for weddings. A fish pond with water lillies reflected the dreamy blue sky, while the windmill lazily turned with the occasional heat relieving breezes.

Over another larger pond was a cover bridge with a pathway leading to a beautiful white gazebo surrounded by roses as well.

To the side was a chapel with a stained glass door. The room inside held two pews which would hold only two people each. A bride, a groom, a minister, and two sets of parents would be all that the room could possibly hold.

Another rose garden was beyond, an informal garden named The Mary Martha Garden.
The yellow rose above that was found in that garden was named "Mermaid"-much to mermaid collector Laura's delight. The rose was named in 1918...when the world was at war, and many were lost due to the Great Influenza outbreak of that time.

Even in war and pestilance, there was time to create beauty and tend flowers.

I confess: The tipping point for me to want to make the trip to the garden was to see this particular rose. A rose that people have enjoyed for over two hundred years!

The only blossom was sadly withered in the heat, but the bright orange rose hips and vibrant leaves still made the bush a lovely specimen.

(Above: the Mary Martha Garden)

I've been to many lush and elegant gardens and blogged about several of them. While I was walking about I wondered what I could say about this one. Would I encourage people to make the long drive to see it? Was it worth seeing at all?

In the end I wondered if I would have been more impressed if I had seen it on a brisk sunny day when the roses were covered with blossoms and sweat was not running down my brow. I probably would have been.

Still...there was something about seeing a garden built simply for the sake of love, to bring into reality the vision shared by two women, neither who had ever met, neither of whom will ever see the garden themselves, yet they will remained forever honored by those who walk about and see roses that generations that have gone before have treasured.

Like many treasures of life, the garden may not have been glorious, or breathtaking. But somehow it was still fulfilling.

PS: Seriously better pictures of the garden can be seen here on Laura's blog. Her eye and her camera...gee, her pictures just rock.

Summer Garden: Before and After

Just a few scraggly pansies were left from our January planting.

Out with the pansies, in with the zinna, pentas, inpatients, begonia, , coleus, caladium, petunia, portulaca, white Mexican heather, Mexican petunia, and a border of yellow japanese sedum.

I love it...and I hope the butterflies and hummingbirds will love it too.

You can see some close-ups of the flowers here.