412 Foster Rose

On June 29 I wrote about having friends (clients) over for dinner at Lakeside. They gave us a lovely small blooming, deep pink, rose plant. As I gave them a warm thank-you, I whispered a quiet good-bye to the poor dear thing, knowing I would kill it within a week. When it started to look droopy, my husband took it outside and dug a hole beside the house and "planted" it. "It needs a lot of sun, and I don't think it is an outdoor plant anyway," I opined.

A few days later it wasn't there. I really hadn't expected it to disintegrate--just wither and die. "Where's the rose plant?" I asked. "I took it over to Dick's house," he said. "He's got a small white rose plant blooming along the drive-way that looks just great." Yeah, sure, I thought.

Dick agreed to foster our rose plant. It loves it at his house and is blooming like, well, like it never wants to go home again.