Our really hot weather burns the roses, so I went out early to pick a few.
I often think of Carol when I cut them. I still think of them as hers even after fifteen years.
She was the previous owner of the house and planted beautiful tea roses in the yard. We only met her two or three times, but I'm thankful every spring for the legacy she left behind.
A day in May dedicated to remembrance can include more than appreciation for those who have fallen in the line of duty.
Memorial Day reminds me of roses in particular. We had profuse climbing rose bushes along the walls of our yard when I was a girl, so we never bought flowers to take to the small village graveyard at the foot of the mountain where my Father's family is all buried. We would place them in tin cans full of water at the many handmade markers in the dusty New Mexico landscape of the burial ground all surrounded by cedar posts and barbed wire. Family members were the only caretakers then.
We would go on a picnic after, near the mountain streams. A tradition that we kept up while our own family was young.
It was Shakespeare's Ophelia that pronounced that rosemary is for remembrance as she handed Hamlet the sprig. But for many of us, roses are for remembrance too. . . .
Wishing you a lovely Memorial Day weekend!
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