Owls and Orchids

image from sendflowerstomumbai.com

There is a great deal to be said about the amount of work needed to produce beautiful blooms such as these. As a rose lover, I can appreciate the hard work needed, especially in our hot and humid climate. Roses not specially bred here have a hard time. Similarly, those which have been bred for colour have often lost the beautiful scent we associate with roses.

image from hdw.eweb4.com

There are a lot of tears shed over roses which develop a vast range of diseases from bud to bloom  and ruin many months of hard work.

image from marinrose.org

There are many examples, but since it is almost like a physical pain to see a beautiful rose so ‘damaged’ I didn’t want to add any more.

From medieval times roses have carried great importance.

We have lost much of the ‘language of flowers’ where each flower had its own meaning, even down to the individual colours of blooms.  Anyone familiar with the film, “Kate and Leopold” will recall his horror at Kate’s brother wanting to send a mixed bunch of flowers to impress a girl. It would be nice, I think if we could remember what a floral arrangement really said to the recipient. Too “Old Fashioned” perhaps for most, I don’t know.

image from suenicolphotography.com

Yet the truth is that like most flowers roses need the right care and feeding to grow into the magnificent blooms we, especially woman, adore.

image from floridadomehome.com Bio dynamic horse manure

Families are like that too.  Each member of the family is its own unique flower. Each has its own qualities. Each its own form and scent.

Thunderously close to scandalous, each needs its own fertilizer to grow        well. Colloquially speaking it requires its own brand of shit to  grow         the way it was meant to. If it doesn’t get that it may be stunted, malformed or not bear flowers at all.

image from incrediblesnaps.com

How could anyone want something so unique, so beautiful not to look the way it should? How could we want a person, one we love not to be the best they can be? Obviously we wouldn’t want that. Yet sometimes it happens.

image from allaboutrosegardening.com John F Kennedy Rose

Who would want to see the great John F Kennedy not be all he could be and achieve what he did for lack of a little shit in his life?

Yes, that’s right, in the past few weeks more than a few bucket loads of fertilizer, of pungent, gagging, shit has been poured over my life and all I have tried to achieve in my, reasonable lifespan to date. Unfortunately, it has come from those generous souls, my remaining siblings. Their aim is remarkable and their sting is incredible!

I have been astounded at the sharpness of the thorns attached to the roses cast my way. I should add the roses are suffering from petal blight. A crying shame barely covers the feelings.

                              image from rosesuk.com The  rose names Patricia

This beautiful rose carries the  same name as my mother, before she passed away we often talked about our love of roses.

The yellow roses at the start of this soliloquy is for her. They were her favourite of all flowers and colours, although my brothers didn’t know that until a few weeks ago.  Visiting the cemetery two weeks ago I suddenly found her place in the Garden of Remembrance surrounded by Yellow Roses.  Quite a feat I would say, if I was to pass comment.

image from http://www.roselocator.com › Rose called “Susan”

This little beauty is called”Susan”. I was surprised when I learned there was one with my name. I have plans for a garden to commemorate my family when we finally have our farm and time and space to do it justice.

Yet there are many beautiful plants, not just roses, but today I am confining myself to roses for obvious reasons. For some, unknown reason my three brothers have decided that I am “Persona non Grata” for which offense they have decided not to let me know.  I’m sure I have inadvertently done something it’s all to easy to do that. Pleas for a family get together have been refused.

image from Ladybird Roses

My husband and I are trying to find somewhere to move to. Packing is not a pleasant pastime and the arrival of six boxes today was an unhappy event. I was told they were arriving. I had no idea what they contained.  It has been a heartbreaking day seeing what they contained,  since I didn’t have the luxury of knowing beforehand, nor choosing anything, I had to open them up to find out.

image from Ladybird Roses

Once again, I have been sent the items my brothers have decided they don’t want and therefore I can have them. Hurtful – definitely, and I have no recourse. Those items which meant a great deal to me were unilaterally denied by my eldest brother. He has kept the majority of things, although he has told everyone I have taken everything. So strange that, but not unexpected.  Yet it still pricks like a handful of thorns.

image from jardinclassicgardens.com    The Peace Rose

I could wish it were a simple matter of sitting down, as adults and talking this through. It’s not as though we didn’t all love her and want to remember her. Yet I know that one person cannot take control over what is arbitrarily given to other members of the family. We each have attachments to things, perhaps those we chose for her, those she held especially dear from Dad. Yet whatever they are, all four people need to sit down and not hide behind tears. We need to say, “Here are Mum’s things, ALL OF THEM, and we need to talk about what we would like. No one person should have the right, or take the right to decide who can have what. As an executor I know this and am stymied from doing just that without causing more problems.  Now I feel like the pooch below, flushed down the toilet for daring to voice a contrary opinion.

image from IZISMILE

Irrationally I feel I have lost all my family, not just my mother.  The thorns were huge long poisonous barbs and I cannot get them out. It’s not enough I’ve spent weeks going to and fro to doctors and specialists  with other problems of my own. Not that they either know or care since no one will listen to a call and emails are strictly forbidden.

I lie in bed between doctors visits, hoping against hope that sanity will prevail.  If I cannot get myself “under control” then the hospital beckons – Ugh, not what I want.

No one said families were easy. We are all different blooms. But we all need shit to bloom, only I’ve had enough, thank you! Eventually the manure can simply feed a garden of weeds. I pray that won’t happen.  In the meantime, I’m going to try to mend a broken heart.

image from kootation.com

Nope, It will mend because it’s not really broke, just badly used. In the immortal words of Helen Reddy,  “I am Woman”.

“I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an’ pretend
’cause I’ve heard it all before
And I’ve been down there on the floor
No one’s ever gonna keep me down again

CHORUS
Oh yes I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
’cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
’cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul

CHORUS

I am woman watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
As I spread my lovin’ arms across the land
But I’m still an embryo
With a long long way to go
Until I make my brother understand

Oh yes I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman
Oh, I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong”

See you all in a couple of days, bruised, battered but still here.