Have I blog posted about this before? Maybe, maybe not.
I remember that Grandmother, out of the blue, purchased a rose bulb to plant in the front yard. It surprised My Father, who, one afternoon while I came back from dinkin' around town, was tilling the dirt in order to plant that bulb. I don't remember what we said, but it was the only time I could tell he was being sarcastic, as it was totally not his idea to plant or even to buy it.
It looked great. First year it didn't grow much, but it bloomed these pink and deep red roses, and they smelled good. I was not a fan of flowers in the front yard because I was scared some asshole neighbor was going to trample on them. But over the years (and this was at least a decade ago) I have come to believe people are just not going to come over and stomp on our flowers. And besides, with each passing year, that flower would grow and grow, and the blooms would get deeper in color and more fragrant. I had to buy a stand so that the flowers, now spreading out all over the place, wouldn't tip over and break off. And at some point the flower outgrew that stand.
But then ... well, I don't exactly know what happened. This rose flower was at the end of a row of flowers. There came to be a flower right next to it. I don't remember if Grandmother or Mother bought it, or if it had just been around a while before Grandmother's new flower. But at some point, several years into the life of Grandmother's rose bush, this flower right next to it started to grow bigger. Pretty soon, I saw something that I still find kind of disturbing: Grandmother's rose flower stopped its growth, and the blooms did not bloom as vibrantly, or as long, or, especially the leaves closest to this adjacent bush, at all. Meanwhile, this other flower started growing rose flowers, too. I seriously don't remember this being a rose bulb, but it started to act like one.
None of us have tended to these flowers, nor any of them in them in the front yard. There used to be several, but now they are either dead or converted into weeds ... save the two at the end, one growing taller and out of control to the point where Mother probably banded the most wild stems together with plastic ties, and with its stems now having developed thick thorns. In the meantime, Grandmother's rose blooms, but for the past several years only some of them bloom fully. Some actually start to emerge, only to stop and die off. And the half (maybe two-thirds) of the flower that faces this big one now don't bloom at all. Yes, neglect has allowed what appears to be dominance, if not cannibalism, of one flower over another.
Last night I put some boxes into the car in anticipation for the alumni event over the weekend; thought I would drop them off today at the host's house after work, and I was afraid I would forget if I waited until the morning. I usually dash in and out of the house, but this time I realized I should literally stop and smell the roses, which I did. Unfortunately, I noticed that some of the petals, from both flowers, have started to fall off. When Grandmother's was the only bloom, those flowers would stay bloomin' for weeks. And now, even though they look great and smell a little bit nice (although the fully-emerged ones are now pink and not red), the roses aren't as vivid as they were in the past.
Guess I could do something. That rose bulb represents the last living thing that is a connection to Grandmother. But I probably won't. I mean, what do I know about gardening?
The surface beauty of seeing roses bloom perennially hides the sinister war underneath. But I see. I can't help but see.
I remember that Grandmother, out of the blue, purchased a rose bulb to plant in the front yard. It surprised My Father, who, one afternoon while I came back from dinkin' around town, was tilling the dirt in order to plant that bulb. I don't remember what we said, but it was the only time I could tell he was being sarcastic, as it was totally not his idea to plant or even to buy it.
It looked great. First year it didn't grow much, but it bloomed these pink and deep red roses, and they smelled good. I was not a fan of flowers in the front yard because I was scared some asshole neighbor was going to trample on them. But over the years (and this was at least a decade ago) I have come to believe people are just not going to come over and stomp on our flowers. And besides, with each passing year, that flower would grow and grow, and the blooms would get deeper in color and more fragrant. I had to buy a stand so that the flowers, now spreading out all over the place, wouldn't tip over and break off. And at some point the flower outgrew that stand.
But then ... well, I don't exactly know what happened. This rose flower was at the end of a row of flowers. There came to be a flower right next to it. I don't remember if Grandmother or Mother bought it, or if it had just been around a while before Grandmother's new flower. But at some point, several years into the life of Grandmother's rose bush, this flower right next to it started to grow bigger. Pretty soon, I saw something that I still find kind of disturbing: Grandmother's rose flower stopped its growth, and the blooms did not bloom as vibrantly, or as long, or, especially the leaves closest to this adjacent bush, at all. Meanwhile, this other flower started growing rose flowers, too. I seriously don't remember this being a rose bulb, but it started to act like one.
None of us have tended to these flowers, nor any of them in them in the front yard. There used to be several, but now they are either dead or converted into weeds ... save the two at the end, one growing taller and out of control to the point where Mother probably banded the most wild stems together with plastic ties, and with its stems now having developed thick thorns. In the meantime, Grandmother's rose blooms, but for the past several years only some of them bloom fully. Some actually start to emerge, only to stop and die off. And the half (maybe two-thirds) of the flower that faces this big one now don't bloom at all. Yes, neglect has allowed what appears to be dominance, if not cannibalism, of one flower over another.
Last night I put some boxes into the car in anticipation for the alumni event over the weekend; thought I would drop them off today at the host's house after work, and I was afraid I would forget if I waited until the morning. I usually dash in and out of the house, but this time I realized I should literally stop and smell the roses, which I did. Unfortunately, I noticed that some of the petals, from both flowers, have started to fall off. When Grandmother's was the only bloom, those flowers would stay bloomin' for weeks. And now, even though they look great and smell a little bit nice (although the fully-emerged ones are now pink and not red), the roses aren't as vivid as they were in the past.
Guess I could do something. That rose bulb represents the last living thing that is a connection to Grandmother. But I probably won't. I mean, what do I know about gardening?
The surface beauty of seeing roses bloom perennially hides the sinister war underneath. But I see. I can't help but see.
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