A few weeks ago, after my earlier post dedicated to this
flower, I found myself delighted once again by the appearance of a pink rosebud
at our farm—an amazing sight to behold in what are often termed the “dog days
of summer.” Truthfully, this most recent trip to the farm was filled with a
number of pleasantries- a delightful visit with family members, unseasonably
mild weather, and the greenest landscape and clearest water I have seen on our
land since the recent drought began.
Perhaps that single bud was just a hint of what lay ahead;
for in the weeks following my visit, I received a bouquet of fragrant pink
roses from my husband, and decided, at last, how I might utilize some
rose-patterned cloth I’d stashed away for years. I’ve been eyeing this vintage
piece for quite some time and have concluded that it, accented with some
millinery roses, would make a pretty decorative pillow.
Both roses and the beautiful images on http://coeurenprovence.blogspot.com have inspired this creation. It matters little that I can’t speak French nor
read French. The site’s lovely designs and photographs require no
words--although I do hit the translation button on occasion.
Strangely enough, I’ve been fascinated with France since
childhood. I don’t know why; yet, one of my clearest childhood memories is
related to my French fascination and how it compelled me to try and learn the
language one summer. What an odd child I
must have been, sitting alone on my backyard swing, scribbling French words on
my tattered tablet, while attempting various pronunciations without any
assistance. I remained undaunted by my limited phonetic skills and the endless
repetition, and after what seemed a significant amount of practice, I felt I
had mastered a handful of words—at least that was what my youthful mind
imagined. However, by summer’s end, I
reluctantly concluded my foreign language studies. The responsibilities of the
new school year beckoned to me, and my rational mind stepped forth, questioning
the value of a French vocabulary in a small Texas town.
Funny how one circles back in life, and sometimes in the
smallest ways. Here I am, once again, enchanted by France—even though I still
can’t speak French nor read French. Life
is filled with so many changes, but really so few.
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