Patience is a virtue. Holding onto hope when experience and statistics insist the odds weigh heavily against you might seem silly, even foolish. Call me a fool. I planted a rose garden. I have acquired different roses for their colors, scents and even their names. My mother gave me a ‘Mother’s Day’ rose bush and it is a prolific bloomer of compact, many layered ruby red flowers. I have a Mr. Lincoln and he has been a finicky bloomer that is easily irritated by fertilizing. I have a Koko Loko and it looks like milk chocolate and lavender. I have a St. David’s which is a simple five petaled red rose whose tips turn white. I have a Smith’s parish for my sons – The Smith Boys – and it is an heirloom and a repeat bloomer of creamy off-white blooms with a faint pink blush. And then there is the St. Patrick’s, a rich, warm yellow rose that had blooms on it when bought but has not bloomed in the two years since planted. It is likely to bloom this weekend. It has it’s first two buds formed. Patience. If I’m patient and I take care and I am attentive, the reward will come, right?