I confess. I've fallen off the wagon. I promised myself last year, after purchasing some 12 additional rose bushes ( I already had nine), that I would take a break from adding to the them for a year or two. But today, Jackson and Perkins called me while I was at home eating lunch. "We noticed its been a while since you've ordered, is there a problem?" No, no problem at all. Then she proceeds to tell me about all the new and wonderful roses they have ready to ship, and at a huge discount too. I sat listening with rapt attention, like it was my own personal 900 number. Please don't talk dirty to me, tell me about the roses!!
I have to wonder why it is that roses make me so happy. I've tried to explain it before, but no one(at least no man) seems to get it. It's like..... hmmm. What? I'm supposed to be a writer. Well its like first love and baby laughter all rolled into one. The feeling of when that special someone gets down on one knee with a ring. The memory of love ones lost but still cherished.
Writers often sit around and talk about what goal or achievement will solidify in their own minds when they've made it. Will it be winning the Rita, or the Tenth Rita? Making the NYT bestseller list? Having your book translated into every language on the planet? I'd love to achieve all of those things and one more. To have Jackson and Perkins name a rose after me. The Dee Burks Rose. Heheheheheh. And I only bought 5.