This spring, when my Mom was dying, my Aunt's backyard was being re-landscaped to comply with the xeriscaping aesthetic that is sweeping New Mexico (droughts have made grass and such near-impossible to maintain). There are a lot of very beautifully designed rocks and desert plants, but the crowning glory is its rose garden. My aunt and my mom discussed the planning of the rose garden quite a bit, as they've both always kept lovely roses. My mom has always had deep love for her roses. Even through the many moves we made growing up, the roses always came along. Sadly, she didn't get to see the completion of my aunt's garden.

Last week it had been two months since my mom's death. My aunt came home from work to find her family in the garden. There was a marble plaque there, commissioned by my uncle, which read, "Camilla's Rose Garden...To thine own self be true." My mom had always loved that speech in Hamlet. She had a poster of it in her classroom, and she asked me to read it at her funeral, which I did. It almost felt like her final instructions to us. It was intense. Anyway, there is now a place, a beautiful place with roses, that bears my mother's name where people can go and talk to her and feel her presence in the light and scent of beauty. Much better than a cemetary, methinks.

The night before last, I dreamed that my hair was growing in shock white. I think it's because I always imagined that after a great tragedy, that would happen. It's in the vein of Leland Palmer and Rogue and ... um...Phyllis Diller. Continuing in the shock white category, I got a very special gift in the mail on Monday. You should have seen us all (David, Chuck, myself) opening it, like it were some magical arrival from the Technology Stork. It is beautiful, it is sleek, and it is alllll miiiine. Yum yum yum.

So, because I started with roses, I will end with them too. Rosie is a little doggy whom we plan to meet on Saturday. Just look at her. Is it love? Her guardians seem to think we might not be worthy because we are apartment dwellers, and to be honest I am terrified myself. But...I don't know, I guess if it's meant to happen it will happen. Is it meant to happen? Are we mature and responsible enough to take care of a doggy? It's a lot of work. OH, you might be wondering why we're going ahead with doggy hunting to begin with. Our building manager just left and the new one owns a GIANT mastiff. WOO HOO!

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Wednesday, August 04, 2004 : 9:36 AM     0 Comments  




 

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