Rosa 'Robin Hood' - 6 September 2026

Rosa 'Robin Hood' is a reliable, repeat-blooming hybrid musk shrub rose bred by Reverend J.H. Pemberton before 1927.

Today, September 6, 2026 I have one bloom of my reliable Rosa  A Shropshire Lad’ in my back lane garden. I notice another, Rosa ‘Robin Hood’. This rose brings me many memories, some involving my father and another, my going to Nottingham in 2006.

In these pages I cannot stop writing on how I miss my Rosemary who died   6 years ago on 9 December 2020. It is impossible for me to look at this rose a hybrid musk rose without thinking of all the others hybridized by the Reverend J.H. Pemberton. Rosemary would have smiled had I showed her this scan or brought her to the lane garden to gaze on this little rose.

I am now 84 and it is impossible for me to explain that in a life without obligations except to feed myself and my female cat Niña, that thought in my head are all about the fact that I am waiting for my inevitable oblivion.

People, including my two daughters tell me thought stoppers, “Papi you have to find distractions to keep you busy.”

But I lie on my bed with my cuddly Niña and I feel I am in a doctor’s waiting room (I do have some magazines to read) expecting to be called in any minute.

Because I lived in Mexico for many years and with my Rosemary for 8 years the thoughts of death are familiar to anybody who has ever gone there.

One of my concerns is that I am surrounded by many mementos on the walls, my bed, framed portraits of Rosemary, my daughters, granddaughters and family. Most of these portraits stare at me without smiles. Any one of them, all, if I might say, are superb portraits. None are snapshots. I am unable to escape any of them or look at them without being transported to moments before I pressed the shutter of my camera.

When we lived in Kerrisdale, one day, Rosemary and I drove away to visit our Lillooet daughter, Alexandra. I told Rosemary, “Perhaps we might hire an arsonist to burn our house down while we are away.” Her answer, “That is not a bad idea. All would be gone and we could begin again without any tactile memories.”

But I remember what my abuelita told me, “Niños que juegan con fuego se mean en la cama.” Or “Children who play with fire piss in bed.”