So, the girls are in school and Clark is off to his first day of preschool. It’s not my carpool day, so I didn’t even drive him. I’m just in the house, alone with Max (who is, admittedly, trying to electrocute himself as he’s fascinated by all things powerstrip), but still, it’s a weird feeling. I’m not going to hear anybody speak for a few hours.

This is my annual, solitary rose that, while a bit late this time ’round, blooms and fills the left half of my front yard with a powerful scent of sweet lemon every year. Just one flower a year. The bush itself is a sad, neglected little thing, competing admirably with the weeds and over aggressive shasta daisies (which are also weeds at this point) that crowd it. And since the shoot and foliage of my one flower looks completely different than the rest of the non-productive bush, I think it must be the root that a “more desireable” rose was grafted onto that makes the flower. I’ve heard they do that with roses. But this one smells so intoxicating and so ridiculously strong…. I wonder why someone tried to force it into a different variety?

It’s lovely.