On My Grandmother's Roses

Now My Own.

While I can't claim to be the gardener of my mostly recently (purchased) abode, my husband does all the grunt work and I (gladly) share in the sun-basked glory.  With flowers blooming in every direction and the majority of (his) herbs blossoming with great success, it's the red roses we stumbled upon against the light-colored brick garage that remind me of my grandmother's garden.  These roses existed before we arrived-underground and in rare form only-as we watched and hoped at the first sign of spring that their multicolored petals would greet us with fertility and delight.  Once arrived, unexpected childhood flashes of buzzing bees and prickly thorns amidst Fisher Price toys and afternoon snacks in my grandmother's Brooklyn garden came pouring back.  And with each care and caress of our current garden, I'm reminded of a generational commitment to bring life to a backyard oasis reserved only for a select few.  Enjoy!

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