So for two and a half years, I have been planning the landscaping around my house. I have a small garden in the back, begging for foliage. My dad built a fence so the dogs wouldn’t get it, but unfortunately he has yet to install the gate.
The first summer Portia ate $200 worth of plants. This winter she finished off the two that survived the first massacre.
But I planted a big, fat rose bush out front and it was quite promising last fall.
I just got back from outside where I was carefully inspecting my rose bush. Dead. Sniff. Dead, dead, dead. No hope for survival I’m afraid.
I love flowers. I’ve been on vacation to Switzerland, France and Greece and when I go, I take pictures of flowers. Big, swollen blossoms, so feathery and light. Petals like velvet.
But I have a black thumb. Oh, the dissapointment.
But I will sally forth! I will make another trip to the garden store promising myself that this plant will be different! Yes! This one will bloom! Huge, soft blooms that will make me smile whenever I see them!
Dammit! It is going to happen!