A rose is a rose

Bev's funeral is over and she is resting in a place where there is no pain and so many people who loved her were waiting to greet her.

I was feeling down this morning. Instead of giving in to the mood, though, I stripped the beds, started laundry, cleaned my bathroom and dusted a couple of rooms. As I was walking through the living room on the way to the kitchen, I glanced out the window and stopped in my tracks. Those knockout roses, the ones we planted last May, have just erupted into gorgeous blooms of various hues... best of all, the bushes grew so much over the winter we can see the flowers from inside the house! And from our screened porch, there is an unobstructed view of the bushes laden with colorful blossoms. How beautiful they are!

Since I was a child, the rose has been my favorite flower. My favorite teacher, and later friend, was named Rose Theresa Abbott. At confirmation time, when I was 13, I took "Rose" for my confirmation name. There is something steady and beautiful about the word... rose.