Rose, Rose, Rose
This is a comment on the beautiful Rose that was my Mother. My father used to call her “Roose,” which is Rose with his Norwegian accent. I always smile when I hear his voice in my head calling out her name. When my parents were alive, everyone seemed to have roses in their garden and Mother, Rose, used to love them with a passion. So I hope I have instilled some of the passion and multi-dimensional character that lived inside Rose.