My first memory of this pretty pink climber is when it lived in south Texas at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Then, thanks to my parents, it moved 350 miles north and was cared for until I was ready for it … years later.
When the time came, Mom and Dad dug up my portion of this beauty and drove it almost 1000 miles northeast to Tennessee where Renaissance Man planted it along the fence line where its subtly soft flowers always brought sweet memories of Grandma.
But then we moved, and we left the rose behind. We said we’d bring it with us … but we got busy renovating an old house in town and planning a daughter’s out-of-state wedding … and the rose was forgotten until the following Spring. And my heart ached, for by then the rose had new caretakers … and this one had proved herself an unworthy keeper of the memories. I accepted the reality. Grandma’s rose was part of my Past.
Then one day while out driving in the country, Renaissance Man and I drove by our old house. We were stunned and saddened to see acres of waist-high weeds and a house that had succumbed to foreclosure. What wonderful memories we’d made there …
But then something in the fence line caught our eye. Grandma’s rose bush, it’s showy pinks blooming so profusely it seemed to have not a care in the world. We both felt it. Hope was reborn! Perhaps now we could resume our caretaker role.
As promised, Renaissance Man spoke with our former neighbor — the one whose fence line we’d shared — and asked if he could dig up a portion of the forgotten rose … and then he lovingly planted it here at My Place. Our place.
This year it’s twining and trailing and climbing … and weighed down by hundreds of pink blossoms … and I can see it from my kitchen window. My sweetheart thought it would make me smile to watch the old rose “come back to life.” He was right. Grandma’s probably smiling, too.
So in memory of Grandma and Grandpa (and in honor of the pretty pink climber … and the sweetheart … who make me smile), I put together this tablescape inspiration board. I couldn’t resist including a favorite picture of my grandparents. Seriously. Could you? Weren’t they snazzy in their younger days?