Today the ironically named Sunny, the new old super, employed in the past and fired, I imagine for his competence and integrity (and presumably higher pay check) and now re-employed because clearly what has been has not worked, informed me that because the assholes did such a bad job he has to come back and...rip it up again. The landlord has just raised my rent, and I am. Pissed. Off.
I have been gloating over my climbing roses for weeks now, imagining the show in the spring, winding them around the doorway, up onto the roof... I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in this space and I imagined a blowout, rosy farewell.
So here follows a year's retrospective of the 66 Square Feet. In a few weeks it may be no more. Sunny said he would help me move everything, and I think he will. But how to move the climbers and preserve their nice long canes? Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
This terrace is my oxygen tent my bubble bath my lemon risotto my warm Canadian my furry cat my Grey Goose martini my cashmere shawl my morning espresso my old English rose my long novel my music my voice. I need it.
Rosa "New Dawn" 's first year...
New Dawn's second year...
The climbing form of Rosa "Iceberg" shipped from Texas in April of 2004 and took a year to bloom...
...at the Rose Party
Rose "Abraham Derby"
The Frenchie arrives and teaches me to dip croissants...
New Dawn's canes growing long for next year...