In these here parts, they call me "The Rose Killer."
You see, I am known to kill them dead. Annihilate them. Slay them with tremendous powers. And, all it takes is for me to plunk them in the vase.
Yup, just plunk them in a vase. My powers are legendary.
Within an hour, each and every rose that I have lovingly ministered to, hang their heads in defeat.
I've used powders and potions.
I've cut off the bottom parts of the stems just so.
Doesn't matter; they're gone off to rose heaven.
Growing up, my daughter whisked her boyfriends' offerings right past me, as quickly as possible.
"Don't touch them, mom, ok?"
"In fact, could you stay out of my room for the time being?"
I shamefacedly nodded my head yes.
Phil brought me daisies, tulips, daffodils, sunflowers, anything but roses. Buying roses equaled money down the drain.
At our wedding, my bridesmaids carried roses. I carried daisies.
So, as we wandered through Lewis Ginter's rose gardens this past weekend, I admired. I shot photos, getting right in their faces, but not quite touching them. In fact, I held my breath whenever I was near them.
And, the last I look, they still stood proudly, their heads blowing gently to and fro.
Not a one of them looked like it was ready for a trip to the ER.
Note: I shot the photo above last Sunday at Lewis Ginter Gardens in Richmond, VA. The rose gardens seem to be enjoying these crisp fall days; the gardens at their peak. I added the words for another project I'm involved in.