Another marvellous letter, Rebecca. As for my whereabouts, if I knew you were coming to London I would post a series of clues so you could locate me.
Love the tautogrammatical subtitle. I'm not sure if that's a word but it is now. It means all the words begin with the same letter. I will respond further in my own letter next Wednesday. X
Listen, I have trouble enough locating people/things/places/myself at the best of times - so your suggestion of revealing your whereabouts only by cryptic means upsets me deeply. 😉🤣
Another wonderfully entertaining post, Rebecca and oh you took me back to my childhood when you said we were only given the flat stuff to iron - I could hardly reach the ironing board as a youngster but loved feeling grown up enough to iron hankies, tea towels and pillowcases! Oh, those heady days of youth came flooding back!
Thank you so much, Rosy! And yay for the flat stuff - I do still enjoy ironing (even without the excuse of tennis to watch!) and I can really zone out with pillowcases and hankies and the like.
Speaking of reaching the ironing board - I have the opposite problem these days. My ironing board is the tallest that I could find, and I STILL need to take my slippers off to not be too tall for it!
Which is silly, right? I mean, there are plenty of people taller than me out there (I'm just over 6ft) who are surely wanting to iron comfortably? Or do they just go around looking crumpled and unkempt? 🤔🤣
This is the best! How you so smoothly jump from random topic to random topic without missing a beat and it all still flows is brilliant. The images are equally awesome, especially the fly swatter implements, curious which one you went with🤣?!
The best part of your letter, which will stick with me, is that wearing your apron to cook helps you to focus! That's so great I am going to give it a try.
Awww, thanks so much, Donna, for such kind words! In fact I didn't need to resort to ANY of those implements to swat the fly - turning the lights off and opening the door and windows did the trick! I have now shown Jim where the fly swats are kept....! 🙄
It's funny, isn't it, how a 'uniform', whatever that may be, puts one in the right frame of mind for a task? It's curious, but in my current role working with Jim I find that wearing a HAT puts me into work mode! I wonder though if subconsciously I'm just trying to keep my hair out of my eyes, shade myself from the sun, or keep my head warm?!
LOL - those beans are literally in no hurry to make it anywhere, Jim! 🤣
Both you and Granny are/were (respectively) absolutely right about J P McEnroe. He's on telly daily at the moment as a tennis pundit/commentator on the wall-to-wall BBC Wimbledon coverage. He's having fewer tantrums these days, though!
Thank you so much for reading - I'm glad you enjoyed this Letter to Terry. I'm already looking forward to - or should I say 'bracing myself' for? - his reply this time next week! 😊
Hmm. Have you thought about jacking it up on some bricks or similar plinth? I used to get an extension cable and do my ironing outside and watch Wimbledon through the open patio doors! That way I could watch the tennis and enjoy the sunshine. Now, with just the two of us, me and Mr Gee, it only takes a few minutes a week.
Yes, lots of youngsters I know don't (a) buy any clothing which requires ironing and (b) if it does, they wear it crumpled. My daughter obviously takes after her mother (thank the Lord!) because she has one of those fancy steamers you sometimes see over zealous assistants using in posh shops. I'm not sure I would go that far but for her, it works well. A quick squirt of steam on said crumpled item and she's away.
Ooooh, I love the sound of ironing OUTSIDE with the tennis, and of your daughter's steamer!
The family I lived with in Germany as an au pair had a massive hot mangle-style machine - it had a foot pedal and the idea was to feed your sheets, tablecloths, pillowcases and the like into it. I hated the thing! Everything would have to be smoothed and lined up to perfection. After a couple of weeks working for them I begged for a real iron!
Shortly after I'd left the family nearly a year later to go to university, I had a phone call from the father of the family. 'Can you come back, Rebecca? Neither of us can iron a shirt as well as you can!' 🤣
What a great read for waking up. I loved your wanton neglect and churlish disregard for the wellbeing of your fountain pen; your dear husband's options for swatting a fly; your calling out Terry for never being home to receive guests ( I have often wondered how many hours are in his day, as I seem to only have 24...) -- and that the smell of broad beans makes you think of tennis. All, just delightful! I watched the video, reread the article on your glassmaking business and marveled at your husband's fine photography. And now the morning is half gone and I am still in my pajamas spinning around in your little world... As ever.
Fun stuff, I too enjoy ironing, especially with an old movie or something binge worthy to watch. Most people look at me with a quizzical look when I say I enjoy ironing. But I find it soothing and relaxing. Oh, and I can't cook without an apron. Now, I haven't tried the chef's hat. Maybe that's in my future. 💜
Ironing saw me through every season of 'The Crown' to date! You're so right that it's soothing and relaxing, absolutely - and what I love is that I can really see the difference between my rail of ironed garments and the pile that's awaiting my attention. That's visible progress right there! Job satisfaction is everything, after all. 😁
Oh, THE CROWN, you certainly are a girl after my own heart. I usually watched that at night with Rick, so not ironing, but that would have been amazing. Or Downton Abbey! 💜
YES, Downton Abbey! I'd avoided watching 'The Crown' for ages, because I thought it would be disrespectfully tabloidesque - but oh gosh, I was wrong. There were so many stories I'd known nothing - or very little - about: Prince Philip's friendship with Lady Knatchbull, the tragedy of the Romanovs, the Fayeds' back story. Compelling!
“Without it I found I was distracted, unfocused and fumbly, but with it, well, I was an artist.”
Take care of your costume and your confidence will take care of itself.
― Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words
“The buzzing interloper promptly passed out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter..”
I too, almost passed out from laughter looking at the implements your husband provided!
“Even today, the smell of broad beans makes me think of tennis.”
Yes!! My father was a gambler who loved to play the horses (not unlike Queen Elizabeth) and would tell my mother he was taking me golfing and would give me a dollar to not tell mom that we went to Waterford Park Racetrack. I think of the racetrack every time I smell cigars (and I recall the marvelous taste of peperoni pizza from a greasy-spoon vendor called Nick the Greek, who gave out tips on the horses with every purchase! Best pizza I ever had! BTW, he wore a toque! Isn’t that strange I would remember that?!)
“I don’t follow many sports, but I make an exception for Wimbledon fortnight – I think because I grew up watching it.”
Oh no, a memory that’s only interesting to me: Born in Ohio, in 1953, before the televised sports boom, I followed the Los Angeles Dodgers baseball team in my youth. This was before televised, nighttime baseball under the lights. In the early to mid-sixties, with the Hall of fame pitcher, Sandy Koufax (my hero), the Dodgers were frequent participants in the World Series, which was only televised each Fall during the day and required that I play hooky from school, which my understanding mother allowed.
In 7th grade, we moved from the Eastside of Youngstown, Ohio, (a steel town not unlike Sheffield) to Brownlee Woods on the Southside, requiring a change of schools and making new friends. Well, the new school was St. Nick’s, in Struthers, and the 7th graders there were far more advanced than my old school; the students CHANGED classes during the day and they had girlfriends and boyfriends and knew about “sucker-bites”!!! I was in over my head from jump-street.
So, mistakenly, to try to make friends, I bet my classmates on who would win the World Series that year. The LA Dodgers were playing the Minnesota Twins and the Twins had a local boy, Andy Kosko, on their roster. So EVERYONE in the 7th grade Class at St. Nicks was rooting for Minnesota, except me. So, I took bets from everyone (quarters mostly and cartons of chocolate milk) and lo and behold, the Dodgers won the World Series, behind the other-worldly pitching of my hero, Sandy Koufax. I won a pocketful of change, got sick on all the chocolate milk, but because of my youthful hubris, I didn’t make many friends, I’m afraid. I guess that started me on the road to becoming the iconoclast I am today: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1965_World_Series
‘No cheering for McEnroe!’ I remember Granny scolding me as we sat in 1980s curtain-shaded darkness podding those beans. ‘He needs no encouragement for his bad behaviour!’
Wonderful memories!! You Brits are so civilized!! I’d like to say I have a connection to the Motherland, but my grandparents arrived at Ellis Island, in the rebellious States, straight from Italy, before WWI. The only connection I have to England is Hadrian’s Wall, I’m afraid…
‘HOORAY…BOOOOOOOOOO’ at the moment I realised the winning ball had come not off Borg’s racket, but McEnroe’s. Granny frowned.
Thank you so much for commenting, JRB! Goodness me, you were quite the hustler in 7th grade!
Scents are so evocative, aren't they? The perfume of certain flowers lands me back in childhood; ditto the smell of a lambing shed in springtime. Chanel #5 is my mum, bacon is hotels, hot milk is cosy winter. And, believe it or not, the smell of diesel takes me back to every family holiday between the ages of 11 and 17! Very happy memories.
🤣 We holidayed on a diesel-fuelled narrowboat on a canal for a week every October, so whenever I pass a tractor, diesel car, lorry or van, I'm transported right back there!
A dry fountain pen is a niche but distressing thing - glad you were able to get it going again.
That office plant reminds me of this enormous aloe in the office when I did a contract as a law librarian - the person I was replacing loved plants and had tons of them but this aloe was monstrous. I was immediately worried that she thought I would take care of them, which would be a terrible idea. Fortunately her office neighbour came to water them.
Golly, I'd have nightmares about such a big responsibility, Alison - I'm glad you didn't end up carrying the (watering!) can!
I have a couple of aloes - offshoots from one belonging to a family member who is really great with houseplants. They are growing and shooting and growing and shooting - I don't know where their vigour is coming from, but it's nothing to do with the attention I'm (not) giving them! 🤣
Another lovely escape to UK life. Love the fly swats, can’t believe I’m not sitting glued to the TV watching Wimbledon this year, and I’m definitely not an ironer. I iron two shirts every two months - the shirts I wear when I do my monthly stint as volunteer guide at our local Botanic Gardens. Thankfully they are about the only clothes I own that require ironing in order to look ‘kempt and uncrumpled’. Grin.
I must admit I enjoy reading the Comments in Substack nearly as much as the articles. There are some American blogs that I had to unfollow very rapidly because the readership was so rude and divisive and full of hatred. I refuse to allow that sort of negativity into my day. But with yours - you have the most wonderful readers - diverse but interesting - a joy to read. You attract the good ones my dear.
Sending heaps of hugs and best wishes. All the best.
That's a pretty cool amount of ironing to have to get through, Beth! 😊 I love that you're a guide at the Botanic Gardens - that must be wonderful!
The commenting community is great around here, isn't it? It's really nice to have such lovely engaged - and engaging - readers! Thank you so much for being one of them! 😘
Beth, I'm an American and I agree with you 100% on the hate...America really always was overrated and we've always had the Original Sin of slavery to divide us. America is 1930's Germany redux in 2023.
A country of immigrants who hate immigrants; sheer insanity. Nonetheless, I'm not part of it; and No, I won't "love it or leave it" as the haters would tell me...I'm not fortunate to be a citizen of this country; this country is fortunate to have a person like me as a citizen. Enough with the ugliness of life...let's celebrate the community of non-ironers!!!
Loved this, especially the list of chores you did (my goodness, we are a little long in the teeth). And that office plant taking over the world! Mine in the kitchen is a tad smaller ... as is my kitchen ... but it amazed one visitor, who reeled back in awe as he entered the room. Reminds me also of the poor Tombstone Rose we brought back to Truckee. It had three cute little blossoms that fell off when I stuffed it under the back seat to hide it from the fruit inspectors upon re-entering California. Nonetheless, it thrived in our living room and circled the whole ceiling before spending the summer outside. Thinking it was hardy enough to stay outside when we moved off the mountain, it quickly died of exposure. sigh
I used to watch a lot of tennis. Now I hardly know any of the players. Back in the old days, I could name a lot of them off, if someone asked me.
I also played tennis for several years back in my younger years. It has been a long time since I played because it became harder and harder to find someone to play.
Thanks so much, Matt! I never played tennis - well, maybe for five minutes at school - the teacher tried to make me hold the racquet in my right hand, so it's no wonder, as a leftie, that I didn't enjoy it!
I'm the same as you where it comes to recognising the players - I'm out of the loop! Although, to be fair, that's the case with musicians these days - I've no idea who's in what band and what any of them look like! 🤣
IMHO, the true showpiece of Tombstone is NOT the OK Corral or even the Bird Cage Opera House, although that is a little gem of a piece of history. The Tombstone Rose, located a block or two off the main tourist trap area, spreads its dense canopy over the backyard of the house where Lady Bankley (I think) landed there over 150 years ago and planted the little rose cutting she brought with her all the way from Scotland. It grew to huge proportions and to see the full affect of this blossoming miracle, you ascend a staircase to a platform. Spectacular! Actually words fail. And definitely worth the dreary trip from Tuscan to see it.
Another marvellous letter, Rebecca. As for my whereabouts, if I knew you were coming to London I would post a series of clues so you could locate me.
Love the tautogrammatical subtitle. I'm not sure if that's a word but it is now. It means all the words begin with the same letter. I will respond further in my own letter next Wednesday. X
Thanks, Terry! 😊
Listen, I have trouble enough locating people/things/places/myself at the best of times - so your suggestion of revealing your whereabouts only by cryptic means upsets me deeply. 😉🤣
Another wonderfully entertaining post, Rebecca and oh you took me back to my childhood when you said we were only given the flat stuff to iron - I could hardly reach the ironing board as a youngster but loved feeling grown up enough to iron hankies, tea towels and pillowcases! Oh, those heady days of youth came flooding back!
Thank you so much, Rosy! And yay for the flat stuff - I do still enjoy ironing (even without the excuse of tennis to watch!) and I can really zone out with pillowcases and hankies and the like.
Speaking of reaching the ironing board - I have the opposite problem these days. My ironing board is the tallest that I could find, and I STILL need to take my slippers off to not be too tall for it!
Which is silly, right? I mean, there are plenty of people taller than me out there (I'm just over 6ft) who are surely wanting to iron comfortably? Or do they just go around looking crumpled and unkempt? 🤔🤣
Life's too short for ironing. I shower in my clothes, and then stand stock still in the sun for a few hours. That works fine
🤣
You're one of the 'crumpled and unkempt', then, Terry? 🫣
On the contrary, I am kempt and uncrumpled 😃
I LOVE those words that only exist in the negative! 🙌🤣😁
Me too😃
🤣
This is the best! How you so smoothly jump from random topic to random topic without missing a beat and it all still flows is brilliant. The images are equally awesome, especially the fly swatter implements, curious which one you went with🤣?!
The best part of your letter, which will stick with me, is that wearing your apron to cook helps you to focus! That's so great I am going to give it a try.
I look forward to Terry's response.
Awww, thanks so much, Donna, for such kind words! In fact I didn't need to resort to ANY of those implements to swat the fly - turning the lights off and opening the door and windows did the trick! I have now shown Jim where the fly swats are kept....! 🙄
It's funny, isn't it, how a 'uniform', whatever that may be, puts one in the right frame of mind for a task? It's curious, but in my current role working with Jim I find that wearing a HAT puts me into work mode! I wonder though if subconsciously I'm just trying to keep my hair out of my eyes, shade myself from the sun, or keep my head warm?!
Haha, yes there is a possibility you are subconsciously trying to do that!!
🤣
I love the sauntering runner beans.
I agree, after Sean Connery , 007 lost a little something.
"No cheering for McEnroe." Haha, I reluctantly agree with Granny. His behavior made me cringe at times.
A very enjoyable read, Rebecca. Thank you.
LOL - those beans are literally in no hurry to make it anywhere, Jim! 🤣
Both you and Granny are/were (respectively) absolutely right about J P McEnroe. He's on telly daily at the moment as a tennis pundit/commentator on the wall-to-wall BBC Wimbledon coverage. He's having fewer tantrums these days, though!
Thank you so much for reading - I'm glad you enjoyed this Letter to Terry. I'm already looking forward to - or should I say 'bracing myself' for? - his reply this time next week! 😊
Hmm. Have you thought about jacking it up on some bricks or similar plinth? I used to get an extension cable and do my ironing outside and watch Wimbledon through the open patio doors! That way I could watch the tennis and enjoy the sunshine. Now, with just the two of us, me and Mr Gee, it only takes a few minutes a week.
Yes, lots of youngsters I know don't (a) buy any clothing which requires ironing and (b) if it does, they wear it crumpled. My daughter obviously takes after her mother (thank the Lord!) because she has one of those fancy steamers you sometimes see over zealous assistants using in posh shops. I'm not sure I would go that far but for her, it works well. A quick squirt of steam on said crumpled item and she's away.
As I said before, oh for the joys of youth!
Ooooh, I love the sound of ironing OUTSIDE with the tennis, and of your daughter's steamer!
The family I lived with in Germany as an au pair had a massive hot mangle-style machine - it had a foot pedal and the idea was to feed your sheets, tablecloths, pillowcases and the like into it. I hated the thing! Everything would have to be smoothed and lined up to perfection. After a couple of weeks working for them I begged for a real iron!
Shortly after I'd left the family nearly a year later to go to university, I had a phone call from the father of the family. 'Can you come back, Rebecca? Neither of us can iron a shirt as well as you can!' 🤣
What a great read for waking up. I loved your wanton neglect and churlish disregard for the wellbeing of your fountain pen; your dear husband's options for swatting a fly; your calling out Terry for never being home to receive guests ( I have often wondered how many hours are in his day, as I seem to only have 24...) -- and that the smell of broad beans makes you think of tennis. All, just delightful! I watched the video, reread the article on your glassmaking business and marveled at your husband's fine photography. And now the morning is half gone and I am still in my pajamas spinning around in your little world... As ever.
Oh, Sharron, thank you so much! I'm so grateful to have you as a reader!
Fun stuff, I too enjoy ironing, especially with an old movie or something binge worthy to watch. Most people look at me with a quizzical look when I say I enjoy ironing. But I find it soothing and relaxing. Oh, and I can't cook without an apron. Now, I haven't tried the chef's hat. Maybe that's in my future. 💜
Ironing saw me through every season of 'The Crown' to date! You're so right that it's soothing and relaxing, absolutely - and what I love is that I can really see the difference between my rail of ironed garments and the pile that's awaiting my attention. That's visible progress right there! Job satisfaction is everything, after all. 😁
Oh, THE CROWN, you certainly are a girl after my own heart. I usually watched that at night with Rick, so not ironing, but that would have been amazing. Or Downton Abbey! 💜
YES, Downton Abbey! I'd avoided watching 'The Crown' for ages, because I thought it would be disrespectfully tabloidesque - but oh gosh, I was wrong. There were so many stories I'd known nothing - or very little - about: Prince Philip's friendship with Lady Knatchbull, the tragedy of the Romanovs, the Fayeds' back story. Compelling!
I felt they did a great job on the series! 💜
“Without it I found I was distracted, unfocused and fumbly, but with it, well, I was an artist.”
Take care of your costume and your confidence will take care of itself.
― Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words
“The buzzing interloper promptly passed out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter..”
I too, almost passed out from laughter looking at the implements your husband provided!
“Even today, the smell of broad beans makes me think of tennis.”
Yes!! My father was a gambler who loved to play the horses (not unlike Queen Elizabeth) and would tell my mother he was taking me golfing and would give me a dollar to not tell mom that we went to Waterford Park Racetrack. I think of the racetrack every time I smell cigars (and I recall the marvelous taste of peperoni pizza from a greasy-spoon vendor called Nick the Greek, who gave out tips on the horses with every purchase! Best pizza I ever had! BTW, he wore a toque! Isn’t that strange I would remember that?!)
“I don’t follow many sports, but I make an exception for Wimbledon fortnight – I think because I grew up watching it.”
Oh no, a memory that’s only interesting to me: Born in Ohio, in 1953, before the televised sports boom, I followed the Los Angeles Dodgers baseball team in my youth. This was before televised, nighttime baseball under the lights. In the early to mid-sixties, with the Hall of fame pitcher, Sandy Koufax (my hero), the Dodgers were frequent participants in the World Series, which was only televised each Fall during the day and required that I play hooky from school, which my understanding mother allowed.
In 7th grade, we moved from the Eastside of Youngstown, Ohio, (a steel town not unlike Sheffield) to Brownlee Woods on the Southside, requiring a change of schools and making new friends. Well, the new school was St. Nick’s, in Struthers, and the 7th graders there were far more advanced than my old school; the students CHANGED classes during the day and they had girlfriends and boyfriends and knew about “sucker-bites”!!! I was in over my head from jump-street.
So, mistakenly, to try to make friends, I bet my classmates on who would win the World Series that year. The LA Dodgers were playing the Minnesota Twins and the Twins had a local boy, Andy Kosko, on their roster. So EVERYONE in the 7th grade Class at St. Nicks was rooting for Minnesota, except me. So, I took bets from everyone (quarters mostly and cartons of chocolate milk) and lo and behold, the Dodgers won the World Series, behind the other-worldly pitching of my hero, Sandy Koufax. I won a pocketful of change, got sick on all the chocolate milk, but because of my youthful hubris, I didn’t make many friends, I’m afraid. I guess that started me on the road to becoming the iconoclast I am today: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1965_World_Series
‘No cheering for McEnroe!’ I remember Granny scolding me as we sat in 1980s curtain-shaded darkness podding those beans. ‘He needs no encouragement for his bad behaviour!’
Wonderful memories!! You Brits are so civilized!! I’d like to say I have a connection to the Motherland, but my grandparents arrived at Ellis Island, in the rebellious States, straight from Italy, before WWI. The only connection I have to England is Hadrian’s Wall, I’m afraid…
‘HOORAY…BOOOOOOOOOO’ at the moment I realised the winning ball had come not off Borg’s racket, but McEnroe’s. Granny frowned.
JUST WONDERFUL!!!
Thank you so much for commenting, JRB! Goodness me, you were quite the hustler in 7th grade!
Scents are so evocative, aren't they? The perfume of certain flowers lands me back in childhood; ditto the smell of a lambing shed in springtime. Chanel #5 is my mum, bacon is hotels, hot milk is cosy winter. And, believe it or not, the smell of diesel takes me back to every family holiday between the ages of 11 and 17! Very happy memories.
Smells are cosmic in their effect at transporting us; same for music. Diesel is an evocative odor...
🤣 We holidayed on a diesel-fuelled narrowboat on a canal for a week every October, so whenever I pass a tractor, diesel car, lorry or van, I'm transported right back there!
A dry fountain pen is a niche but distressing thing - glad you were able to get it going again.
That office plant reminds me of this enormous aloe in the office when I did a contract as a law librarian - the person I was replacing loved plants and had tons of them but this aloe was monstrous. I was immediately worried that she thought I would take care of them, which would be a terrible idea. Fortunately her office neighbour came to water them.
Golly, I'd have nightmares about such a big responsibility, Alison - I'm glad you didn't end up carrying the (watering!) can!
I have a couple of aloes - offshoots from one belonging to a family member who is really great with houseplants. They are growing and shooting and growing and shooting - I don't know where their vigour is coming from, but it's nothing to do with the attention I'm (not) giving them! 🤣
Another lovely escape to UK life. Love the fly swats, can’t believe I’m not sitting glued to the TV watching Wimbledon this year, and I’m definitely not an ironer. I iron two shirts every two months - the shirts I wear when I do my monthly stint as volunteer guide at our local Botanic Gardens. Thankfully they are about the only clothes I own that require ironing in order to look ‘kempt and uncrumpled’. Grin.
I must admit I enjoy reading the Comments in Substack nearly as much as the articles. There are some American blogs that I had to unfollow very rapidly because the readership was so rude and divisive and full of hatred. I refuse to allow that sort of negativity into my day. But with yours - you have the most wonderful readers - diverse but interesting - a joy to read. You attract the good ones my dear.
Sending heaps of hugs and best wishes. All the best.
That's a pretty cool amount of ironing to have to get through, Beth! 😊 I love that you're a guide at the Botanic Gardens - that must be wonderful!
The commenting community is great around here, isn't it? It's really nice to have such lovely engaged - and engaging - readers! Thank you so much for being one of them! 😘
Beth, I'm an American and I agree with you 100% on the hate...America really always was overrated and we've always had the Original Sin of slavery to divide us. America is 1930's Germany redux in 2023.
A country of immigrants who hate immigrants; sheer insanity. Nonetheless, I'm not part of it; and No, I won't "love it or leave it" as the haters would tell me...I'm not fortunate to be a citizen of this country; this country is fortunate to have a person like me as a citizen. Enough with the ugliness of life...let's celebrate the community of non-ironers!!!
Loved this, especially the list of chores you did (my goodness, we are a little long in the teeth). And that office plant taking over the world! Mine in the kitchen is a tad smaller ... as is my kitchen ... but it amazed one visitor, who reeled back in awe as he entered the room. Reminds me also of the poor Tombstone Rose we brought back to Truckee. It had three cute little blossoms that fell off when I stuffed it under the back seat to hide it from the fruit inspectors upon re-entering California. Nonetheless, it thrived in our living room and circled the whole ceiling before spending the summer outside. Thinking it was hardy enough to stay outside when we moved off the mountain, it quickly died of exposure. sigh
Oh wow, Sue, what an adventure for the Tombstone Rose - I love that it circled the whole ceiling! What a shame that it didn't survive outside.
I'd never heard of it, so I've just Googled it:
A white expression of of Rosa banksiae, this rose is best known as “The Tombstone Rose”. In Tombstone, Arizona this rose covers an entire city block.
An entire city block! Wow!
Another great letter Rebecca!
I used to watch a lot of tennis. Now I hardly know any of the players. Back in the old days, I could name a lot of them off, if someone asked me.
I also played tennis for several years back in my younger years. It has been a long time since I played because it became harder and harder to find someone to play.
Thanks so much, Matt! I never played tennis - well, maybe for five minutes at school - the teacher tried to make me hold the racquet in my right hand, so it's no wonder, as a leftie, that I didn't enjoy it!
I'm the same as you where it comes to recognising the players - I'm out of the loop! Although, to be fair, that's the case with musicians these days - I've no idea who's in what band and what any of them look like! 🤣
IMHO, the true showpiece of Tombstone is NOT the OK Corral or even the Bird Cage Opera House, although that is a little gem of a piece of history. The Tombstone Rose, located a block or two off the main tourist trap area, spreads its dense canopy over the backyard of the house where Lady Bankley (I think) landed there over 150 years ago and planted the little rose cutting she brought with her all the way from Scotland. It grew to huge proportions and to see the full affect of this blossoming miracle, you ascend a staircase to a platform. Spectacular! Actually words fail. And definitely worth the dreary trip from Tuscan to see it.