A couple of weeks ago it was time for my annual pilgrimage to the see the roses at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. Every June it’s time for my favorite flower to peak, and I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world to marvel at the display, sitting on one of the stone benches and strolling up and down the lawn. The almost-summer air was thick with their scent. It is one of the largest collections in North America, with tens of thousands of blossoms tumbling down from trellises, climbing up lattices and posing in formal beds.
As I am typing this, I am sitting on the stoop of my house in Boulder, Colorado, surrounded by roses. In couple of hours, it will no longer be mine. A lovely couple will call it home starting this afternoon. I went crazy with roses after I moved there, true to character, planting dozens and dozens. David Austen’s famous “Pat Austen,” their orange blossoms as big as a man’s hand. The hedge of bright red “Knock-Outs,” which left me heart-broken when they were decimated in my first year by the infamous Colorado hail. Pail pink ”New Dawns” and the most delicate white “Icebergs” framing the porch.
I had to have that house. I still wonder what possessed me when I bought it. It was far too big, not practical, especially taking care of it from thousands of miles away. It must have been love at first sight. My elegant 110-year-old Victorian house with its library, the beautiful original woodwork, the big cast iron radiators. 2005 Mapleton Avenue. Even the address was beautiful. I remember my first days and weeks there when it was still empty, its only piece of furniture a little stool in the kitchen that I sat on to read after coming home from the office. How luxurious it all felt, the space, the quiet, and how grown-up.
If I sound a bit nostalgic, I am. I was very happy there. Now all that’s left is a chandelier in my trunk and a container full of books. And my memories of course.
As another chapter of my life comes to completion, a new chapter is already being written, this one’s about freedom and infinite possibilities. I can’t wait for it to unfold.
Go and smell the roses. Or plant some.
Have a wonderful weekend!