The Rose we call ‘Mum’…

…It was bought for me, by some friends, along time ago when my Mum passed away.
I’ve mentioned before that we dug her up to move house with us.

It would be a bit odd if people overheard our conversations about it sometimes,
‘Your Mum’s out, on the patio’.
‘There are some bees round your Mum’…
‘Your Mum’s going a bit leggy, I hope we don’t lose her’…
You get the picture.
But it has, weirdly, become symbolic of Mum now. (And, just as she always had, it has a beautiful fragrance). I’d be very sad to lose it.

I’m writing a (little) talk which is driving me up the wall during the day and keeping me awake at night. I need someone following me around, permanently, to help me say ‘no’, next time (in case I shall ever be asked again, which is a big assumption).
I have no one to blame but myself. (Not helping).

Hence this very quick blip from when Himself made me go outside, in case I forgot totally about fresh air.