I didn’t even know we had roses.

Well, a rose. This one you see above.

It bloomed on Saturday. One of a kind. A lone rose.

It bloomed just hours before the Running of the Roses.

And it bloomed for my Rose,

Who celebrates her birthday on Monday.

Also a one-of-a-kind Rose.

Which raises my once-a-year question:

What do you give to the woman who IS everything?

A woman for whom a rose blooms on cue?

The pandemic has changed what is really important.

Instead of a new dress with nowhere to wear it,

I want to offer her security in an uncertain world.

Instead of a 1,000-piece puzzle of an exotic destination,

I want to offer her unwavering devotion in a fickle world.

Instead of a nifty new pasta maker with seven attachments,

I want to offer her unconditional love in a divided world.

Instead of a store-bought birthday card,

I want to offer her this, a rose not quite as beautiful as her soul.

And my humble words.

Happy birthday, Rose, the woman who is everything.