My mother must have felt comfortable with the Tropicana Roses because she planted around three bushes. They must feel comfortable in her garden too cause look at them! Blooming madness, I tell you!
It bugs me when I don't know the name of a rose bush. This one blooms more now that it's older. In the beginning, it would give maybe five roses and that was it. I can't believe how many blooms there are now that's it aged. They're a beautiful yellow shade with a little blush. If I could take a rose bush from my mother's garden to plant in mine, this would be it.
My mother has the most lush rose bushes. She and my father began planting them over 20 years ago and those roses have grown like close brothers and sisters. Literally. They practically hug one another once they start blooming. One rose tangles into the next rose and so on and so on. My sister Becky and I were admiring them not too long ago and she made a comment to my mother that each one of us is going to dig up these roses and bring them to our homes one day. At the time I agreed but now I wonder if they'll feel at home away from where their roots began.
Roots. The ground from which you sprout from. I grew up in that house. My parents brought me home from the hospital as a baby to that same place. The place I couldn't wait to get away from once I turned into a young adult. Today as I stood in the living room talking to my elderly father about something he should NOT have done for his and my mother's safety I couldn't help but notice his eyes. They spoke to me as if to say, "How is it that YOU'RE telling ME what I can or can't do and how did this happen?" They looked so sad that I had to walk away cause I thought I'd start to cry. Long ago I'd taken my first steps in this same living room while he watched me with those same eyes only they were filled with joy. I don't like this growing old jazz. A friend once told me "golden years my ass." And I'm starting to believe her.