I seem to have lost my Aflac flyer. A period of mourning will now commence. (To find out why, click here.)
My hammock chair is quite possibly the best purchase I’ve made in the last 12 months. Swinging gently in the breeze, cradled in my chair, is like being cuddled in palm of God’s hand.
I test-drove this one in Provincetown, but mine is blue
The roses are all doing just fine, thank you very much. Blooming industriously, just as they should.
Honey Perfume Roses from my garden
My sunflower patch actually has sunflowers this year! (As opposed to last year—click here to read about that little adventure in gardening.)
My sunflower patch
I have a mixture of happy yellow and these glorious orange/rust/burgundy colors. All good.
I love iced tea more than any other food or drink. Yes, even more than chocolate. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think to myself (after all, who else would I think to?) “I’m now going to drink copious amounts of iced tea.” I drink mine with lemon. No sugar, artificial sweetener, plant-based sweetener or anything even remotely sweet. (Sweet tea: Ick. Pooh. Bleah.) My whole family (the blood relatives, anyway) drink it that way. Apparently this stems from the sugar rationing imposed during WWII when my great-grandfather declared that we didn’t need to waste precious sugar on tea. I come from a long line of good cooks, so I’m betting he wanted it all used for desserts.
Although this has been a remarkably wet and relatively cool summer for North Texas, it’s really just too darn hot right now to do anything. Except swing in my hammock chair, preferably in the early morning and/or late evening hours. I can see my roses and sunflowers from there. The best case scenario includes a tall glass of iced tea to sip while I chat with God and admire the view.
So that’s what I’m going to do now.
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“What a lovely thing a rose is!”
“Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”
My baby rosebush
This is one of my new roses. It’s a Honey Perfume and while I don’t think it particularly smells like honey, it does have a lovely scent of rose. I’m terribly proud of it, especially considering that only a few weeks ago it was a bare-root stick of a thing. I bought it as a companion piece to the rose I’ve been hankering after for years, a Hot Cocoa rose. This year I finally snapped and ordered one, then had to install a whole new flowerbed to hold it and its little friend. (It hasn’t bloomed yet but it’s on the verge. I’ll post a pic in a couple of days when it bursts forth.)
That’s it, really. I don’t have much of a point today other than to say I completely agree with Mr. Holmes. We have much to hope for from the flowers.
*I realize that to be technically accurate I should cite Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as the author of that statement, in The Naval Treaty, to be precise. However, as a devout Sherlockian, I am honor-bound to carry on in the belief that Mr. Holmes was (and is) a real person and Sir Arthur was merely the agent who facilitated the publication of Dr. Watson’s stories. Therefore, the statement stands as shown. So there.
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