Grateful For Good Company

Well here it is at 1:30 am and I have unfortunately been blog hopping. I found a lot of unhappy people. ( I wasn't cruising gardening blogs). There seems to be a large number of negative, unhappy, victimized and hopeless bloggers out there. I will happily begin cruising gardening blogs again tomorrow. At least we know spring is coming and the seasons change. Life gives us yen and yang. I trust that there will be flowers.

Paul Neyron

Here is one of my first antique roses. I bought it about twelve years ago from Mr. Foster in Kaufman. This variety is Paul Neyron a hybrid perpetual developed in 1869. This is most likely the rose that was spoken of when our grandmothers said cabbage rose. This is a late summer picture. The blooms are much bigger in the spring. It is a reliable repeat bloomer, but it does get some black spot.

My Peeping Tom; A Rose Bush Story

About twelve years ago I was a 32-year-old divorcee trying to take care of my 18-month-0ld and myself. I bought the little house we live in now and set about creating a new life for us. The very first thing I did was start making flower beds. I was able to afford just a few antique roses. So anyway, I was making flower beds and taking care of my baby and working and jogging and in general just living my life minding my own business.

One night in July I came home a little late and still needed to water my new lovely roses. So I get the monkey to bed and go outside in the dark. I was watering and watering and dragging my only hose around the house from the front flower beds to the back. I came around the corner and saw a tall man looking in my bathroom window. Now a smart woman living by herself would have run back inside and called the police. I am not that woman. Instead I say, "What the hell are you looking at?" He turns and looks at me, takes a couple of steps towards me and says, "What are you looking at?" Again, I should have run away. BUT NO, I decide to spray my peeping Tom down with the water hose. He says, "DAMN GIRL!!!" and runs away.

Now I get smart go inside and call not 911, but my parents. They tell me to DUH CALL 911. So I call 911. My younger sister was a senior in high school and she calls one of her guy friends who is on the football team. Within about 45 seconds of the first phone call I have half the small town football team and all of the small town police in my front yard.

Here is what the first officer had to say to the dispatcher. "The suspect is a young white male age 18 to 25, and, um, he is soaking wet."

Later that week, I had a fence built and brought my shepherd home from the exes. At that point, my peeping Tom had no choice but to go to the front windows. He came back about three more times. The next time, my dog growled and he ran away. The third time Manly Man, then Manly Boyfriend, ran him off. The fourth time I let the dog out, she chased him away, and he never came back.

We all lived happily ever after.

The End.