Winter
Posted on January 17, 2010
Today was a race against time to cut back my rose bushes before the big El Nino rains set in. There was just no way I was going to spend the next week and a half or so looking out my kitchen window, rain coming down, at the sad state of affairs of my garden! I'm a good two weeks late (for California, anyway)! This is a job I usually do on New Year's Day, but we were traveling this year. And then life got in the way, as it has a habit of doing.
So I'm out there, nose running, glasses slipping down my nose, cursing my gardeners, who are about to get fired now that I've had a good up-close-and-personal look at the tangled mess of a jungle out there. Out with Alphonso and in with Jaime, because I know a guy who knows a guy.
At the same time, I waxed nostalgic thinking about my dear mother-in-law Beryl. She taught me to be bold and brutal when it comes to cutting your rose bushes back every year. Don't be afraid. The more courageous you are, the more the roses will love it. Isn't that a great metaphor for life? How many women can claim they truly loved and were truly loved by their mother-in-law? I know I'm very blessed. And we miss her.
So I got the job done in time--at least the ones that will be in my line of sight from the kitchen window for this next rainy spell. I won't have to look out and feel guilty or sad about it now. 21 down and only 19 to go! At some later date. And Alphonso will be history for 2010.
And I owe my husband John a new pair of work gloves.
In the meantime, I picked the last remaining red rose and stuck it in a vase for the kitchen. I remembered a poem I wrote when I was a young(er) woman. Oddly enough, the poem is about aging. Nevertheless, here it is:
WINTER SOLSTICE
by Maggie Mayall
Worn-out browns and faded golds
Say Time has run out, Autumn is old
The wind sings "Winter" in my ear
She pricks my cheek with a chipped ice tear
But there is a rose on the rose bush there
She clings to vines that have long been bare
A lonely trophy of a timeless Spring
Confronts the threshold of Wintering
So I'm out there, nose running, glasses slipping down my nose, cursing my gardeners, who are about to get fired now that I've had a good up-close-and-personal look at the tangled mess of a jungle out there. Out with Alphonso and in with Jaime, because I know a guy who knows a guy.
At the same time, I waxed nostalgic thinking about my dear mother-in-law Beryl. She taught me to be bold and brutal when it comes to cutting your rose bushes back every year. Don't be afraid. The more courageous you are, the more the roses will love it. Isn't that a great metaphor for life? How many women can claim they truly loved and were truly loved by their mother-in-law? I know I'm very blessed. And we miss her.
So I got the job done in time--at least the ones that will be in my line of sight from the kitchen window for this next rainy spell. I won't have to look out and feel guilty or sad about it now. 21 down and only 19 to go! At some later date. And Alphonso will be history for 2010.
And I owe my husband John a new pair of work gloves.
In the meantime, I picked the last remaining red rose and stuck it in a vase for the kitchen. I remembered a poem I wrote when I was a young(er) woman. Oddly enough, the poem is about aging. Nevertheless, here it is:
WINTER SOLSTICE
by Maggie Mayall
Worn-out browns and faded golds
Say Time has run out, Autumn is old
The wind sings "Winter" in my ear
She pricks my cheek with a chipped ice tear
But there is a rose on the rose bush there
She clings to vines that have long been bare
A lonely trophy of a timeless Spring
Confronts the threshold of Wintering