His birthday was yesterday–and President’s Day is the 20th, so I couldn’t resist creating and sharing this.
My own mother planted a red Mr. Lincoln Rose in the garden back in the day–right next to the white John F. Kennedy Rose. Yes, it was an attempt at a “Presidential Rose Garden.” Neither one of them did so well, despite a certain national rose vendor’s sweet-sounding promises.
Of course, this was long before we’d heard of the Antique Rose Emporium here in Texas. Once Mom found out about “rose rustling,” she was smitten with the notion–and the Antique Rose Emporium.
Not that she came to disdain newer varieties entirely. She badgered me for years to plant a Belinda’s Dream rose in my own yard.
Which, come to think of it, is how she wound up with a bouquet of them last autumn in her nursing home:
Oh, and this bouquet–featuring the Knockout Roses that she also introduce me to–that I delivered to her pre-op hospital room last April:
In fact, I’d say that it’s because of her influence that I snapped these beauties in Paris last May on the Rue Cler:
While we were in Paris on vacation, I would send emails and photographs to Mom’s nursing home activity director, “C.” She’d print them out, put them in a binder, and walk the long hall to read the text to Mom. C. would then send notes back to reassure me that Mom was okay.
It was very comforting, to say the least.
This exchange was but one of many instances in the last year where I’ve come to more fully appreciate Mr. Lincoln’s quotation.
You can focus on the roses–or the thorns. Really, the perspective is your choice.
Happy Birthday Week, Mr. President.