My goodness. I wish we were having a wedding right now, because I could probably fill the church. You would never think that we are in the midst of a drought here in California. Our yard is a mixture of David Austin blowzy English roses, Simplicity hedge roses, climbing roses, and some unidentifiable gargantuan red sprawling thing that threatens to take down the fence with it's leaning. The pink ones are called Our Lady of Guadalupe, which I planted in honor of my grandmother Rose May Ames. In the garden the honeysuckle has sneakily wound itself through the bushes, and I consider it a bonus to get a piece of it when I cut the blooms. The house smells like a florist shop.