9.28.2013

everything’s coming up roses


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. 

No comments:

Post a Comment