Barbra Streisand Roses

My Uncle Pat has collected Streisand memorabilia for some time now. I didn't know the extent of the hobby until I visited his new house and was given a tour of the Streisand room, which includes a dress from one of her movies, a hat from another, tickets from the Millenium concert. More items than I can remember. On this trip my Aunt Sharon met us at the restaurant with a present for my grandmother: roses from her garden in a small glass vase. I held them while we waited for our table. The insides were a mauve that shaded to fushia, then maroon. Sharon said they were Streisand roses, she'd designed them. When the first bloom they're red, then they turn pink, then purple from the inside out. When the horticulturists first presented them to Streisand, they had no smell. Barbra would never put her name on a scentless rose, so she worked until they got it right. Dipping my nose into the heart of a rose, I am overpowered by the smell. It's like a distillation of "rose," the platonic smell. Like rosewater, and I have to remind myself I'm holding something living, organic, from the earth.