|Rosa 'Darcey Bussell' 31 August 2022|
From Middle French pristin, borrowed from Latin prīstinus.
1. Unspoiled; still with its original purity; uncorrupted or unsullied.
2. Primitive, pertaining to the earliest state of something.
I remember that first time I spotted my Rosemary in late 1967 from the back. She was walking away from a school in Mexico City where we both (so I found out) taught English. I saw a woman with long and straight blond hair, wearing a mini-skirt. Her legs were perfect.
Soon after, on February 8th, we were married.
I could write, and I am, that my initial memory of Rosemary was and is a pristine one. But thanks to the roses of our garden I have come to appreciate the stages in a person’s life, the stages in the life of my Rosemary.
|Rosemary & Alexandra 1969|
|In our Kits garden 2020|
I was interested, all these years, in the Rosemary before
I found her. Now in my Kits bedroom I have discovered some of her diaries written in
Mexico before she met me. There is a lovely book, México – Pintura de Hoy –
Fondo de Cultura Económica – 1964 with her beautiful printed name on it that
should have given me a hint on her interest in art. She paid 150 pesos for it.
As we both grew old together, I adored how she aged and the fact that I was never interested in buying a red Miata sports car and looking for a younger woman.
Now with her not around I am not in the least interested in any women. In spite of my grief at my loss I find that as a relief.
The rose illustrating this blog was one of Rosemary's favourite red roses. It is a scan at an early stage of a rose's path to open perfection. At one time I would have felt in snipping it before it reached that perfection. It is lovely and can I write that it is pristine and perfect?