La Bamba Rio Samba

There's a house on Norwood with a stunning rosebush
H. and I love. One day, when I wasn't with him, he asked the homeowner
what kind it was. It's a Rio Samba. He got one for our front yard.
It's sending forth fiery blooms again*.
It's the queen of the garden dance floor.

Repotted some leggy purple pansies, scattered a packet of poppy seeds on fresh soil, tended the flower garden of an old friendship with the chance to sit and chat.

Not much to say. Or a lot to say, but can't say it here. Feeling sad, angry, scared and alone. Like it's hard to hold my head above the choppy waters, the rough, rough waves. Hard to stay calm and cool, civil and kind. Not sure what to do with these feelings, how to hold them, how to let them go, how to remain hopeful. Hope Floats--remember that movie title? I never saw it, but I like the title. BTW, Dad taught me how to do an excellent dead man's float in the ocean when I was a girl.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Biked to grocery store.
2. Church.
3. Snipped a few beautiful Rio Samba roses, put them in pretty blue and white pitcher. 
4. Long nap.
5. Saw my good friend, Anne.
6. Walked Sug around block once.

*It's so easy to focus on the thorns with H. There are many. But this is an example of a beautiful rose he gave me.