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.