Governments have like roses beauty and thorns | Canberra Times

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As roses begin to tighten their Technicolor stuff in the parks and gardens of the federal capital, one is moved to compare the coalition government with a rose bush. The Liberals are the beautiful and fragrant flowers and the climate-defying Nationals are the thorns. But this is not one of my best analogies, and I will leave it at that. In the meantime, I report that I am haunting the rose gardens on the side of the Senate in the old Parliament House these days, and just this Thursday I learned why rose bushes are so viciously thorny. This is explained in a new, learned, literary piece about roses, The Myriad Meanings of the Rose, that has just appeared in my online literary hub. Until now, stuck, as I tend to be in dull rational, scientific explanations for almost everything (including the drastic changes in climate), it had always been imagined that roses had developed their heavily armed danger as a defense against being gnawed to death of animals. But no. The explanation is much more intriguing, supernaturally religious than that. It is also a Christian explanation, which is always a bonus. It gets an enchanting mention in Rebecca Solnit’s Literary Hub piece, an excerpt from her new book Orwell’s Roses. On to the one, true, authoritative Christian explanation in a moment. But first to another picturesque, more fun-than-scientific explanation for the weapon creation of roses. “In the Native American Chippewa culture,” I just learned online from Lamour et Fleur’s garden blog, “the belief in the reason roses have their thorns comes in the form of interesting folklore that has been passed down orally for generations.” “Centuries earlier, the Chippewa tribes believed that roses had no thorns, but rabbits and other predators would eat an entire rose bush up at a time, and they wreaked havoc on the bushes. The roses met and they decided to seek the advice of a powerful medicine man known. like Nanahboozoo. “Nanahboozoo had magical powers, and he was angry at what the rabbits had done to the rose bushes he planted. When the roses came to Nanahboozoo, he decided to arm the rose with thorns across its body to ensure that animals that could eat this beautiful plant could not do so. “I am tempted to believe in this lovely legend and at the same time respecting the colorful faith of the Chippewa people, my Christian background (which I share with my Prime Minister) makes me accept the explanation mentioned by Rebecca Solnit.She notes that medieval theologians taught that there were beautiful roses in the Garden of Eden and that they were harmless, appealingly smooth and accessible until Adam and Eve, who sinned, fell from grace and were driven out of the garden.Yes, explains St. Ambrose, I learn from a breathless Roman Catholic blog, “only after the fall of man did the rose its thorns to remind man of the sins he had committed and his fall from grace ” [while] its fragrance and beauty continued to remind man of the splendor of paradise “. OPH the rose gardens, spectacular Garden of Edenesque at the moment, will never seem exactly alike after learning this. They have become biblical. Why does this supernatural hypothesis suddenly have such appeal? Perhaps is it a case of Canberra’s roses being so topical, flamboyant in bloom with some sort of SEF or scientific explanations, fatigue born of months of constant struggle with deniers of the science of COVID-19 vaccination and global warming.this Australia (and with this science-skeptical coalition government) it can be hard work to be sane, to make the heavy lifting of reason.And speaking of climate change, as I write this, the Prime Minister is on his way to Glasgow’s COP26 to convincingly pretend (e.g. his plays, like everything by him, is mediocre) that he thinks our planet is in danger.So here is the last in my occasional series of my travel tips to him (for j oak knows and loves the city) of things he really needs to see and do (miss out on the boring little conference) while in the many-magnificent Glasgow. One of the must-see treasures of Glasgow’s legendary Kelvingrove Art Gallery (Scomo will have to take a bus number 77) is John Lavery’s vibrant painting by the great ballerina Anna Pavlova in swirling, hurried ballet full flight. No wonder Kelvingrove uses the spellbinding image so much on its wares. I went to see the painting two days in a row and was surprised to find Anna still there in her frame the other day as Lavery in her genius has made her look so action-packed that she seems to be rushing out of its frame and out of Glasgow across the horizon of the western lowlands of Scotland. Scomo, even if he keeps his passionate love of art a secret (perhaps he fears it would endanger his electorate “Daggy Dad” image and appeal), he will love Anna Pavlova and will never forget it. And while I’m in Glasgow, I’m jealous as a Canberrian that Glasgow is one of the many adult cities in the world that have a famous, sentimental song all to themselves, an expression of the citizens’ deep love for it. The song In Belong To Glasgow is old-fashioned and politically incorrect now. But its heart is in the right place, and when you think about it, you wonder if Canberra, who is currently mentally retarded, reticent, hard to love, will ever love the Canberra residents, that foggy eyes and after a few drinks on a Saturday, they will sing a love song to it.

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