I have a new obsession. Well, two, really. One is boxing. And the other is roses. I’m not sure how the two fit together. But there it is. At night, when I should be in bed, indulging in my usual worries about work, money, life and the universe, I sneak off to the lounge to see what boxing programmes I can find, like that new history boxing channel that showed me Twelve Rounds with Ali (“What”s my name, Chump?”), or what an animal Tyson was, sneaking in punches after the bell or while his opponent is going down. Or I channel surf to find KOTV, the knock-out fest of lean and hungry (okay, sometimes not so lean) fighters taking each other to the mat. And Friday nights, when my significant other is dutifully spending Shabbos with his mother, I wait for Blow by Blow to introduce me to a South African boxing champ I’ve never heard of before. Like the night I met the humble and eloquent William Gare, about whom I have managed to find very little information since, despite my (okay, obsessive) Internet searches.

In contrast, though, I head into the tiny couryard outside my bedroom each morning and peer at the various newly acquired rose bushes, some of them still in their black bags. I say peer because they tend to arrive from the nursery with only one perfect rose and not much more to speak of. The next bloom, and the next, one must wait for. And so I creep about, hunchbacked, clutching my second mug of tea for the morning, and peer in amongst the black spot, the aphids and the thorns to see if a new bud might be poking through. And, somehow, so far, I’ve been rewarded. The crimson Ecstacy, the deep red Prince, the delicately pink People’s Princess, Rhapsody in Blue, the wonderfully fragrant and abundant Double Delight, and any number of potted miniatures that I’ve snuck in amongst the groceries from Woolworths have lured me from my bed each day.

One of these days I’m going to be brave enough to haul myself and my camera to the ringside, soak up the noise, the smells, the energy and the sweat, and hope to grab that historic shot – like the pic of Ali towering over the KOed Liston, maybe.

Until such time, though, or at least until pruning season, I’ll amuse myself with more delicate and fragrant subjects.





~ by ReluctantRunner on May 6, 2008.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: