The Rose from Hell

I'm a Barbra Streisand fan. I could watch Funny Girl over and over and over. As a little girl, I sang with her records - and still find her fascinating. I know, not everyone does. And no, I don't care for her editorial comments or her politics either. I just like her movies and music.

So that leads me to the rose from hell.

I just planted two rose bushes in my garden. Yes, I'm slack - still have 3 more to go and one's a climber. They should have been in the ground by now. Of the two just put in the dirt, one is a Mr. Lincoln and the other is a Barbra Streisand.

My bright red Mr. Lincoln has such a heavenly, strong rose fragrance - the one written about by poets throughout eternity. Flowers are bold and striking against the green foliage backdrop.

Then there's the BS rose. It stinks. It's a strong sour, citrus smell. The petals are tightly wound up. It's a pale lavendar that pales in comparison to my Mr. Lincoln. And the card that came with the rose said that Barbra herself picked out this variety for her name.

Her nose works differently from mine.

I'm surprised that in this heat they're blooming. But, we have had plenty of rain and some cool nights.