Coming Up Roses
“A rose can be my garden . . . a single friend, my world.”
One year ago this month my husband and I started a new and long overdue chapter in our married life. We found a home we loved.
It has been a continuous and expensive process, making it our own. The wish list is a mile long, and there is never enough money to do it all as fast as I want to. The house was completely move in ready and remodeled, and I am grateful. So for us it is about wants more than needs, to put our personality into it. Our little piece of heaven we will never want to leave.
Looking around, there is magic in every unassuming corner of this place. We have three beautiful rose bushes in our front yard. What a blessing it is to step right outside my front door and snip a few buds off from time to time. Just like that, and I have gorgeous flowers in a vase, a pretty splash of color in my living area, or adorning my kitchen counter.
The other day I went out into the yard and looked very closely. It felt as if I was noticing the magic of them for the very first time. Petals as soft as a feather pillow. The intensity of the thorns. The contrast of the hues, from deep pink to creamy pale yellow. I even spied a ladybug enjoying the beauty of it all. And this little friend had a lot of dark spots on its back. I read somewhere that young ladybugs have bright, vivid spots. The older they get, their spots fade. How interesting.
Observing my rose bushes so intently, I realized just how much I love our home. How grateful I am to be here and for how safe it makes me feel. How comfortable it is, and how everyone thinks so. That means a lot. It isn’t the fanciest, biggest place there is. But it’s home.