I can't get enough of my English garden roses these days. Such perfection of scent and form seems like an undeserved gift from the gods. May is a big month for my David Austin roses, but this year I missed the show because I was away. It sounds utterly ridiculous, but I was crestfallen to come back to a bunch of crunchy brown blossoms four days later. Fauxhawk - who has abandoned all hope of ever having any say in what happens on our balcony - was slightly taken aback by my reaction. "It's like missing your daughter's bat mitzvah!" I whined. "Or her first dance recital!" Maybe he didn't get it because we don't have a daughter? And aren't Jewish? Anyway, the roses are back in action after a little proding and feeding. Here they are thrown together in this little blush pink Middle Kingdom vase with wild roses from my mother's garden. It just kills me how generously they reward minimal care.
I went on a job interview yesterday. My job has kept me on the other side of the table, more comfortable listening and asking questions than answering them. I'm suited to it, partly because I was trained early not to promote myself, and partly because I am constantly amazed by the stories I hear. (Try it sometime as an experiment - ask someone a question about her life, lean in, stay really, really quiet, and let your subject peel back one layer after another. It's incredible what friendly, attentive silence will encourage people to reveal.) Anyway, I feel like I'm getting closer to something - to change, to new things. It's a good feeling. I'm also taking the potential job's proximity to the High Line as a good omen. I took a little stroll after my interview, absorbing the beautiful wildflowers and the extraordinary transformation this abandoned train track has gone through in the last few years. Am I transforming too? As my Egyptian students used to say, "Hub bi hub, ya Miss!" Little by little.
