Rosa 'Westerland' 22 October 2022

Rosa 'Ebb Tide' 22 October 2022

Luke 22:19

King James Bible

And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.

I never inject my religious beliefs into my blogs. But I often mention this citation from St. Luke which to me “Do this in remembrance of me,” is one of the finest bits of writing anywhere. It does not make a difference if you are a believer or not, to do some action, even an ordinary one, and to dedicate it to the memory of someone you love (or loved if dead) has no parallel.

My Rosemary died on December 9 2020 and there is not one day (day or night) that I do not remember her and the life we shared for 52 years.

I have a friend who is married but says he is happy to live in solitude. Unlike me he has been married before and had children with that first wife. He has lived in two cities in the US with these two women. I am unable to understand his contentment.

In my case I shared Mexico City, Burnaby, Vancouver and many trips to Mexico, the US, Argentina, Uruguay, Spain, France, England and Italy with her. We shared a large garden, two granddaughters and two daughters. We shared a love for dance, theatre, music and art. We loved to travel.

Having to live alone (ameliorated by the fact I have two generously affectionate cats, Niño and Niña, brother and sister), forces me into an unwanted but inescapable isolation. Luckily I can count my blessings of having lived a lifetime with Rosemary.

Today when I scanned a droopy Rosa ‘Westerland’(cut it yesterday but it did not like to wait until today to be scanned) and a dark red Rosa ‘Ebb Tide’, I did not have to think far to figure out that the two roses were all about Rosemary and that to scan them was an action of remembrance of her.

In Spanish “to share” is “compartir”. It is a beautiful word that has not been ruined by the social media kind of sharing. It literally means to part with (as in break with) and its origins may be from St. Luke and of Christ breaking bread to share with His apostles.

The orange rose was a rose that finally made Rosemary realize that a bright colour could be a nice one in a garden even if it was not blue or white (her favourite garden colours). We shared a love for this prolific and very healthy rose to which I always made Rosemary smile when I reminded her that it had the scent of synthetic apricot jam. And even in its droopy state it is lovely in what may be its last gasp until next year.

The second rose, a much more recent acquisition that Rosemary was able to see before she died, is a dark red colour that ages almost to black. She loved it elegance and its perfectly symmetrical petal layout.

While I scan, I try not to think as people are constantly telling me, “She would have liked that you are scanning these two roses.”

It is enough for me that the scanning of them, and many other plants, which now are near 3000, since I started in 2001; will probably disappear when I go to my own personal oblivion.

But while I am alive it is a personal remembrance. A remembrance that St. Luke the physician would say is good for the soul.