A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose. And So Forth

I've written about this rose before and how the man we bought this house from advised me that when it came time to prune it, to smoke a great big joint and proceed from there. 
Well, to my sometimes sorrow, I don't enjoy the effects of cannabis so I've never tried that but up until this year, I have managed to get it pruned and mostly weeded out once a year, at least. 
This is what it looks like right now.

Shameful and neglected. There are at least five kinds of weeds growing around it and all of them...you guessed it! Invasive. Pulling them is even more challenging due to the fact that the thorns on the rose canes are rhinoceros-hide pierce-worthy. This is also what makes trimming the vines a perilous procedure. Despite the fact that I have not come within ten feet of touching the plant this spring, much less doing anything to take care of it, it is blooming about as well as it always does.
Which is to say- few but powerful blooms appear. The scent of these roses is exactly what roses are supposed to smell like and get outta my face with all your fancy hybrids that don't smell like anything. 

I really am not sure what variety of rose this is. I believe it is either a Damask Rose or a Cecile Bruner climbing rose. I keep reading about the differences between those two and there are some things that make it squarely fit into one catagory, and some in the other. Both are quite old, especially the Damask which has been around since the 1300's, I think. The Cecile Bruner is a Victorian era rose. 
Whatever it is, it is hardy as hell and can climb like nobody's business. There are canes that have reached up and into the magnolia tree which abuts it, attaining a height of twenty feet or more so far. 
I do love this plant and it's flowers and I swear I will at least get around to weeding the bed it's in. The building behind it is the old well-pump shed where many things go to die around here. Things that someone does not have a need for at the moment but could quite possibly in the future. 
Someone being mostly Glen but also me. I have Kathleen's soap-making supplies in there and of course I'm never going to use them and they're probably all too old but I just can't bring myself to dump them. I will. Eventually. 

 

Also, eventually, if I don't get on it, that rose is going to eat the shed.
And I suppose that as usual, Shakespeare got it right and a rose by any other name...

The task of taking care of that beauty is one more thing I have on my to-do list in this yard. I get so overwhelmed that I am paralyzed. I've said this before. Even recently. But it's completely true. I know that if I just put on my overalls and grab the proper tools and the garden cart, I will begin and that is at least a start to it.

I didn't feel very energetic this morning and I understand why. I didn't do much physically with the boyos but there was quite a bit of emotional activity going on. The responsibility of keeping them alive is hard enough, keeping them happy, fed, and entertained is a horse of a different color. I don't think anyone says that anymore. Perhaps no one has said it since the Wizard said it in the Wizard of Oz movie. But you know what I mean. 

It took me hours to get myself motivated to go to town but finally I did with the kick in the ass I needed coming from Lily and Jessie who invited me to go to lunch with them. I needed to pick up my hormone prescription too, and that is of utmost importance. 
So I put on a bra-like garment and one of my new Flax dresses. The teal one which is almost the same color as one of my old favorites and off I went to town in my Prius, a stereotypical grandmother on the road of life. 
Or, the road of Buck Lake. 
We met at an Indian restaurant which is rather new and housed in the same building as the old Indian buffet which we loved but which did not survive Covid. This restaurant has no buffet but the food was delicious and the service was terrific and we had a good time. Owen called his mama when he got out of school, as he always does, and she invited him to stop in and join us on his way home, which he did. 
I don't care how often I see that boy (man), I am shocked all over again by his size. It's truly like it happened overnight. At least to me with my old brain which grows less than elastic every day. 
We ended the meal by boxing up all the leftovers and giving them to the growing boy (man) to take home and eat for a second lunch. I'd tell you all the delicious dishes we had but of course I've forgotten. Paneer, lentils, chicken, raita, garlic pita, and a lot of other things were involved. We shared. We also learned that at that particular restaurant, "mild" spice level is really too mild. I wonder if on the order the server writes, "WPM" for White Person Mild.
We debated the question of whether or not you can ask for hot sauce in an Indian restaurant. We meekly questioned the server and he said that no, they did not have hot sauce but he could bring us some chopped peppers and when he brought them to the table he warned us in no uncertain terms that they were HOT. 
They weren't that hot at all. 
But no one charged us an extra 75 cents, either. 

I went to Costco. I went to Publix. What else is new? 
I came home and took off my bra-like garment, unloaded everything and settled back into being home where I find my peace. 

When I went outside to take pictures of the Rose That Ate The Magnolia Tree, Maurice had to follow me out, as usual. She rolled around in the dirt, stretching and practicing her ballet moves.

Or are they jazz moves? 
Whatever they are, they are cat moves and as such, are graceful. 

On my abbreviated tour around the back yard, I checked a pot in which I had yet another giant begonia planted and did not bring in for the cold weather. Having two other pots with the begonias growing in them, I didn't even bother to cover them up. I had zero hopes of it having survived the freezes and yet...

A very small thing which brings me happiness. 

Should I comment on Trump The Christ Healing Lazarus?
No. No I should not except to say that it would seem that even his most ardent supporters are stepping back and saying, "Whoa." 
And other related things. 

I swear- he's going down. He's going down like a water mine in the Strait of Horuz. He also spoke of water boats.

And speaking of which, Mr. Moon has been out on his own water boat today after he got the floor guys all taken care of and they began their work. 

You know, water boats are the best kind of boats. Some say they are the most incredible boats of all. Some say they've never seen boats like water boats. 

I'll shut up now. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. If you want to hear about the first time I ever made soap with Kathleen, you can find that post HERE. 

There are other soap-making-with-Kathleen posts that I just went back and read and found to be pretty okay. If you haven't been here since the dawn of time and sometimes wonder about who this Kathleen was of whom I speak, these will give you some idea. Just put "making soap" into the search bar at the top left of my blog. 
I feel like all of that was another lifetime ago. And in a way, it was. But it is all still a part of my own lifetime and I honor and respect those experiences with Kathleen who is one of the most amazing, different sorts of person I've ever met. I could say "was" but she truly still "is". 
She is still alive in my heart and in the hearts of many, I am sure.