Lady Banks is splendid this year--heaped with garlands of yellow blooms. She immigrated from China, where she grew for centuries before botanist and plant collector Joseph Banks nabbed the white rose (in 1807), named her for his wife, and brought her back to England. This is the yellow, which arrived about 15 years later. She is our earliest rose, thornless, and has a faintly violet fragrance. If you plant this rose, give her plenty of room. Ours is some 15' high and at 30, she's still a young thing.
Book report. I'll be in Houston on Sunday, 2 pm, at Murder by the Book. Bill is planning to come with me, so if you have unsigned copies of our Robin Paige mysteries, bring them along.
Queen Anne's Lace was published last week. If you're looking for a bloody murder and lots of shoot 'em up, skip this one. There's a mystery, yes, but it's not your typical body-by-page-100, confession-by-page-290. What interested me in the writing of this novel was the question of how women used herbs to manage their fertility before the Pill--and what might be the consequences (besides a baby) when they made the wrong choices. If that doesn't ring your bell, read something else. I promise I won't be offended. But do come to the bookstore on Sunday. I'm sure they'll have plenty of titles to tempt you. :)
Reading note. Just before I'd moved to New York, two historic events had occurred: The birth control pill had been invented, and the first Julia Child cookbook was published. As a result, everyone was having sex, and when the sex was over, you cooked something.--Nora Ephron, I Feel Bad about My Neck and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman