There is a little lady who stops by my office frequently and delivers a bag of Neiman Marcus cookies, a dozen or so, stuffed into a ziploc bag, labeled "For Melinda" or "For Melinda's family". Is there anything that could brighten a day more than getting cookies delivered... with your name on them, no less? She is elderly, and of late, her memory is failing. Sometimes the cookies are a little too crisp on bottom or a little too salty. But it makes my day nonetheless.
Overslept. Burnt the toast. Twice. Boy comes home with bad grades. Didn't follow the directions. Someone else's screw-up takes over the day. Mind whirling, trying to figure out how to unscrew the screw-up. Late delivery. Late leaving for home. Homework. Dishes. Supper. Baths. Bed. Still whirling. Wine. Bread. Bed.
It is the Labor Day holiday weekend, no work on Monday. In homage to the "labor" bit of Labor Day, I got up early to do sheet washing, cabinet wipe downs, followed by supervising the kids in the pool.
My rose bushes are mere feet from the pool, and in classic feminine multi-tasking syndrome, I thought to dead-head them, pull weeds from around their bases, and clip out any bad/diseased places.
They are Knock-out Roses. Lovely shade of hyper pink that bloom 8 months out of the year. As I worked I reflected on the fact that rose bushes, and their care, are a metaphor for life. Dead heads that are removed, fading older blooms replaced continually by new, tightly wrapped buds. Unseen thorns that prick and scratch at soft flesh. They grow better each new season with a bit of pruning and one must keep vigilant for pests and fungus while providing the right amount of water and fertilizer. But the end result is worth all the effort and work.