The garden is glorious this evening. The purple rhododendron blossomed today, two of the more fragrant roses are in bloom and a mystery succulent that has sat in the corner like a bump on a log since before I moved here opened a humongous red flower this morning. So I’m sitting outside (o, the joys of a laptop computer!) in the fading light, sniffing the rose next to me between sentences and enjoying the afterglow of a productive morning and a good afternoon of frisbee. And trying to remember the name of this lovely rose, too.

The rose grew from a cutting begged off of Jules Stenzel before their family moved way too far away. She told me the name and even wrote it on a tag but I, confident that I’d remember and that the tag would not fade, never wrote it down elsewhere. Now the tag has faded and my memory...where did I put that thing, anyway? The rose has a lovely fuscia color, a scent rather like the leaves of some scented geraniums and a name that might begin with “W”.

The other rose -- the one not within reach at the moment -- has a more, er, rose-like scent, with petals that are bright yellow at the center blending to pink at the edges. It arrived as a cutting from my landlady's uncle's garden about the same time that I moved in so it remains nameless. But lovely, nonetheless. Perhaps it is large enough to tolerate a cutting being taken...

Okay, it is now dark enough that to make typing difficult. Time for dinner. Pesto and corn-on-the-cob (that is not pesto on corn-on-the-cob!)