Aging Gracefully | Hydrangea

Posted on July 5, 2022 by Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud

Look at those mauve-y petals speckled with the colors of a luscious cabernet sauvignon.
This hydrangea flowerhead not quite past its prime was too exquisite to toss in the trash.

There is beauty in old things if we pay attention.

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And a day older…

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And a couple days later, almost completely dry while still retaining elegance and charm…

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I recall this sonnet by Shakespeare which makes me realize that I actually DID pay attention in class, at least that one day…

That time of year thou mayst in me behold (Sonnet 73)

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

“…that which we call a rose…

Posted on April 25, 2020 by Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud

…would smell as sweet.

First Robert Burns, and now Shakespeare?

During this Covid-19 pandemic, I seem to be living in an alternate universe of poetry and literature. Pretty soon, my brain will start to spontaneously remember all my years of French, and I’ll be ready for my trip to France to pay homage to the one and only Coco Chanel.

Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I memorized Juliet’s lines, Act 2, Scene 2, for an audition.

Nope, I didn’t win the role that time, but the words have never left me.

It’s a bit of a cliche considering my name, but a rose is a rose is a rose, according to Gertrude Stein.

JULIET

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

“That which we call a ROSE by another other name would smell as sweet.”

Posted on September 2, 2013 by Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud

Was I named because of a love for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet?

No.

Was I conceived after a my mom received a dozen roses from my dad?

No.

Was I named after a sled?

No.

Was I named for Rosebud Salve?

No, but I have a tin of the sweet stuff, a thoughtful gift from my son.

Where did my name come from?

Following the Jewish tradition of naming children after a deceased relation, I was given my paternal grandmother’s name.

Rosebud was my nickname, and is still used — infrequently — because, as I point out, the bloom is off the rose, and I am no longer a bud.

However, I do smell as sweet because I am an anomaly.

I have no body odor.

Never did.

I’ve never used deodorant and have never needed to use it.

It’s true.

Even after working out at the gym during an especially difficult Boot Camp class or after a couple of days hiking on a hot, dirty, dusty trail— I don’t smell bad.

In fact, I smell sweet.

You can ask my tugboat man.

I say, “Smell me, don’t I smell good?”

Laughing, he complies, and says it’s a miracle.

No. I’M the miracle.

“That which we call PRINCESS ROSEBUD by any other name would smell as sweet.”

And I DO.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Romeo and Juliet

In Act II, Scene II of the play, the line is said by Juliet in reference to Romeo’s house, Montague which would imply that his name means nothing and they should be together.

Juliet:

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

Romeo:

[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Juliet:

‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

Romeo:

I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.