On the left, if you look closely, you can see Falstaff’s bud. Falstaff actually has two buds, total.
This is not a prolific rose, but each blossom is gorgeous and heavily scented. The flowers are deep crimson with the old-fashioned mega-multi-petaled shape.
One year, possibly in a spirit of competition with Montezuma, Falstaff sent up one single cane with one single blossom on the top.
He looked like an idiot.
On the right is New Dawn. If your monitor is better than mine, you will see that she has lots and lots of buds. No color peeking out yet, but she is a pale pink beauty. Falstaff may win the race to have the first blossom, but New Dawn is obviously going to outperform him when it comes to the whole bower of roses thing.
I guess New Dawn is the soprano of my rose quartet. Falstaff has to be the bass. Montezuma is the tenor, and a flashy fellow he is, too. However, being a modern rose, he takes longer to wake up in the spring, and never wins the earliest-bloom race.
Think of him as the guy who comes in late, but everyone puts up with it because he sure can sing. Montezuma is a coral-colored rose, with mild scent. Mine is inclined to put out weird science fiction monster canes that curl around on themselves, get 4″ thick, and have enormous spiky thorns. A bit scary. My husband says this is the result of uneven watering, so I try hard to water Montezuma evenly.
If I want to stick with this metaphor, I have Joseph’s Coat as an alto. A boy alto, I guess. Not too many blooms, but they are stunning, multicolored, and fragrant.
I have finished reading Moll Flanders, but am nowhere near finishing the Regal Orchid Jasmine, the Moll Flanders sweater. I posted over at the Knit the Classics blog, expressing my astonishment that the members were able to finish a project every month, and the answer came back “Uuuhhh, finish?”
As for my furniture plans, I have borrowed a saw from my dad. However, it has rained, and I have had choir practice, so no further sawing has taken place. I must work this Saturday, and #2 daughter’s graduation is next Saturday, so the project stretches out into the future, but I am determined.
By the time the roses are in bloom, I should have a chaise longue from which to admire them, as I read and knit.
#1 son said, “Why would you want a chair made out of garbage?” It would have been a great moment to point out the value of recycling, the satisfaction of making things oneself, the sheer MacGyvorosity of building such a thing — but I was not in the mood. Perhaps he will see it himself.