New York City is under a "stagnation advisory" until 11:00 p.m. I don't know what that means, but it sounds most unpleasant. It has something to do with the weather. It's hot here in the country—90º as I write this—but as far as I can tell nothing is stagnating, not even me.
I got up earlier than I wanted to this morning in order to plant a rose (Sharifa Asma) before the sun got too high. Sharifa and the others I planted this week are covered with white laundry baskets from the dollar store to shade them from the hot sun. So far, at least, I haven't resorted to wearing one on my head.
Yesterday I planted two roses (Carefree Wonder and Distant Drums) in the early morning and then drove to town to get my hair cut. I think the style looks like Mariska Hargitay's, but maybe I'm overly optimistic. That's okay...overly optimistic is a nice change from I HATE MY HAIR, the most common reaction after visiting a salon. The only thing is, my bangs have disappeared. I don't know how she accomplished this; I know she didn't cut them off. But they don't seem to be there anymore. The bangs were the only part I liked about my last hair style. This is a little disconcerting.
Anyway, I came home, accomplished a modest amount in my cool (as in lower temperature) house, and around 6:00 p.m. went back outside to plant another rose (Scarlet Meidiland). By then the mosquitos had been alerted to my presence (salivating mosquitos are a sight to behold!), so one rose was my quota.
Henry Nevard, a lusciously-scented red rose, is supposed to arrive next week, and with it possibly Blanc Double de Coubert, a white rugosa I've admired ever since I read my first antique rose catalog, perhaps 35 years ago. Numbers like that are ever more meaningful to me as I drag myself around in this heat, feeling my age more than I ever have. I guess that figures, as I've never been this old before.
Two more Scarlet Meidilands are presently soaking in a bucket, awaiting their new homes in the ground. If all goes as planned, the three of them will grow beautifully and eventually cascade a bit over the stone wall of the terrace. Things rarely go as planned, but as I said before, optimism is good.