Roses are Real

It's an odd thing moving into a space someone else has occupied. It is easy to inherit the most unintentional things, a cat's hair from deep in the shag(adelic) carpet, another's esthetic and scratches in the wood floor, or someone else's hair in the clogged drain (any volunteers to come fix that problem, I mean, I just can't). Yet somehow we made it all our own by just walking through the front door. 


At times, things are passed along you didn't even know you needed until you see them each morning at breakfast, and watch your girls lean on the window sill and gaze at them as the sun is setting through the glass each evening.  

I now cannot imagine my life without these flowers growing and showing off just outside the window. I wonder how they have managed to survived on their own for this long? Actually, they have thrived. So I guess that is what I will continue to do, leave them alone and let them do their thing, naturally, because they are really out doing themselves.

Though George isn't exactly the flower giving type (they just die is his philosophy, and I totally agree) he has now given me all the roses I could ever want, though I was never aware that I ever desired such a thing. Because we both know what I really dream of is a mango tree and bananas growing in my backyard for the pickin'. 

 But these little beauties will do the trick for now. Thanks babe!