Monday, May 23, 2011

Why I Grow Roses

By Loris Nebbia
It happens every year. A friend comes to the door on the same yearly errand. Business finished, she turns to small talk. “Your roses have black spot.” She points to the bush burgeoning with pink buds, already fragrant with the scent of green apples and sweetness. “Oh, well,” I say, as I do every year, “that’s just the way it is in Maryland. And I haven’t had time to treat them. But I’ll get to it.”
“I wonder if they’re worth it. Look at that.” She shakes her head. I roll my eyes and murmur my good-byes and shut the door. I love my roses.
As well as a garden full of roses, my husband and I have been blessed with three sons. Our eldest son was a lovely baby—big brown eyes, a quick and ready grin. He had an eagerness to learn and a cheerfulness that was more dependable than the sun. His disposition for language was shown early. His father and I took him everywhere with us and he was no trouble; we couldn’t wait to see him in the morning, were thrilled with him; we delighted in him.
He was just the sort of older brother I’d hoped for my younger children...(Read more)

1 comment:

  1. I just love this piece, Loris. It's beautiful and imaginative and hopeful and inspiring. Thank you!