Did I ever tell you that I was allergic to roses?
Mother loved roses. Where ever she lived, she had a rose garden. When we moved into #20 in Chula Vista, she was delighted to find several old fashioned roses like the Belle of Portugal next to the garage or the pink Cecile Brunner climbing happily next to the breakfast room. At her last HUD apartment, she got permission to plant roses on the back of her building. Often when I drive by it on the way to work, I wonder if they are still there behind the new fence.
Me. I avoid roses except once a year. There’s a local hotel that landscapes it’s grounds with roses. I take my meds and spend the early part of many days at a convention photographing roses. I get as close as I can always hoping for a bee or ant or other bug to liven things up.
I remember the old roses from my childhood with great fondness, but I like my photoshoped roses far better.