Martha Who?

Spring is delivering warm breezes and lush rains, and I am up to my ass in roses. I'm not a rose person, but someone who once lived here was obviously a hobbyist rosarian. All eight shrubs out back are going full bore. So I filled an heirloom vase (all right, an empty honey jar that normally holds sippy-cup straws) with fat pink flowers for the kitchen table.

Past experience led me to think of roses as finicky, disappointing plants, but these are not the spindly stalks of my youth. They look good, they smell good, they're free and they have no icky chemicals on them. Beats buying the ones flown in from Colombia.

I got spooked by florist flowers recently after Hombre brought me some astrolomeria that lasted three weeks. It was like vase of the living dead. But today I was able to kick back and watch Hurricanehead feed rose petals to the dog with nary a twinge of anxiety. Pretty cool, even for someone who's not into roses.