Hi Phyl, With over 300 rosebushes (and growing) I don't limit myself to just the old roses, rugosas, Explorers, etc...although I do appreciate them for their ease of care. I grow many, many roses that should not be hardy here in zone 4 and yes, I do have to cut them back all the way to the ground every spring. They always rally and put forth new growth and I am content with plants that will never exceed 2 to 3 feet at the end of the summer. I just enjoy them for their lovely blooms and expect no more than that, always happy that they come back each year in spite of my nasty winters. The upside to these more tender roses is that since they will never get large, I can plant MORE of them since they aren't going to use up my precious rose real estate like the hardy ones which get huge. This winter we had record snowfall and I thought that would be a good thing, since the roses would be more insulated. It was good in terms of them not having much winterkill from the cold, but the weight of the snow busted them up so much that I ended up cutting even the hardy roses back severely because there was so much breakage. It was heartbreaking because even the tender roses came through with more green cane than usual. But already they are sending up shoots and looking vigorous. I never let it discourage me for too long, because giving them their annual "haircut" stimulates them to grow and bloom just fine. Its discouraging at times to live where there are so many obstacles to rose-growing (japanese beetles being my most dreaded foe) but my passion for roses is a greater force than anything Nature throws at me. I just deal with it, and love them all the more! Celeste

Roberto, If this is true, then Prain cannot be considered the true author. He did not correctly follow the process of nomenclature. If you do it quickly, S. trifasciata Roberto (Surname unknown on line) could be it's name! However, if laurentii is to be considered validly published, then the name must be S. laurentii fma. trifasciata. This ends with the variegated plant being the species, as it was first named. Now this would REALLY be messy in the system! All the cultivar names would be flipped and switched, wobbled and tipped!!! Yikes. Oh, but I do love your unorthodox viewpoint to stir the cauldron of science. Don't you just love taxonomy?!?!?! Michael Interlaken NY Z6

Fenworth, here's my rant about relying on Consumer Reports reliability ratings. While it is true that it's all we have, the methodology is deeply flawed, and the high-end brands have such a statistically low number of responses as to be random noise. You really have to take the Consumer Reports reliability and repair records with a huge grain of salt. It's the magazine's greatest weakness, I think. The data is entirely gathered by subscriber polls. There is no distinction for repairs needed because of 1) installation issues, 2) users need help, 3) so-called "infant mortality" when an appliance might fail early on, 4) shipping and handling damage, 5) common wear and tear, 6) design flaws, 7) other issues such as a power surge or natural disaster, 8) abuse, and 9) whatever else I can't think of at the moment. In addition to this, it should be also noted that expensive low market share products fair worse too. They simply don't have a large enough sample to be fair or accurate of a brand. This is why luxury appliances fair poorly in their eyes. All the poll asks if if your appliance has needed a service call. Period. I like CR, it's a fine magazine and I use their info when I make many purchases. But the reliability and repair ratings are the weakest part of the whole organization.

here's another one in a more positive light, if only because they MAKE it positive. God bless them! "Who wants to share what they wished for?" Lam asks. Every arm in the roomful of children flies up. Support Director Gary Lam points to Andrew, a cherubic six-year-old boy with curly brown hair. "Swimming with the dolphins!" Andrew calls out, beaming. Several dozen other campers bounce up and down, eager to share similar experiences. "Meeting Mickey," cries Jordan. "I got a shopping spree in a toy store!" says Kendall. After each wish is revealed, moans of envy echo around the room. "What other good things have happened because you have cancer?" An older boy across the circle, about eleven years old, raises his hand. "Being sick has brought my family closer together. We spend way more time now doing fun stuff." "If I never went to Children's Hospital," a nine-year-old girl, wearing a pink bandana to cover her bald head, says next, "I never woulda met my best friend!" She squeezes the hand of the pig-tailed girl in a matching bandana, seated next to her. "I have a new appreciation for life," says Jake, a counselor and former camper, now in his early twenties. "I've crammed more experiences into the last five years than most people have in their lifetime." Jake is not only the guitar-playing comedian all the campers worship. He's also survived the same battle they are currently fighting. Lam nods appreciatively. "What would you say is the best thing about cancer?" Every hand flies up into the air again and Matthew, a mischievous ten-year-old with shaggy blond hair, is chosen. He smirks, and announces proudly, "The best part is getting to look Cancer in the face and say Ha Ha. Beat You!'" Everyone laughs. Seven-year-old Ella, who has been waving her arm frantically for the past few minutes, can't contain herself a moment longer. "The best part about cancer is getting to come to camp!" she squeals, before clamping a hand over her mouth sheepishly. Ella is referring to Camp Goodtimes - a pediatric oncology camp nestled in the University of British Columbia Research Forest in Maple Ridge, British Columbia. It could easily rival Disneyland for the title of "Happiest Place on Earth." My first encounter with Camp Goodtimes came four years ago after reading a story in Chicken Soup for the Volunteer's Soul, which inspired me to go see the magic for myself. I've been changed ever since. The feather-light little girl snuggled on my lap shifts her weight slightly and jars my attention back to the room. Dani has been listening intently to the discussion going on around her without actively participating. It's hard to believe this sweet girl is the same sad, sick-looking child who stormed into my cabin on the first day, furious with the world, and anything but a happy camper. "The sickest kid in camp," a fellow volunteer had warned me. "So let's not let it stop her from having the time of her life." Dani had barely spoken a word the first few days but was silently soaking it all in, and soon began thriving. Gary Lam circles the room, handing each child a small square of paper and instructing them to write down or draw a picture of something that brings a smile to their face. Dani furrows her eyebrows and sucks on the end of her marker; then she flops on her tummy and swaps the marker for a pink crayon, and begins printing letters carefully. "Do you need help thinking of something?" I whisper nervously. The poor kid has been through so much in the past year, battling treatments and brain surgeries. What could she possibly have to smile about? She shakes her head at me impatiently, as I'm obviously interrupting her thoughts. I glance around the circle at Andrew, Ella, Matthew, and all the other new members of my extended camp family. It's going to be heartbreaking to say goodbye in a matter of days. As magical as these precious weeks of summer are, the frustrating part is leaving this enchanted forest behind and returning to reality, where well-meaning friends just don't realize that the cure rate for childhood cancer is actually quite high and that many of the campers will survive and return as counselors. "You must have had the most depressing time with all those dying kids." I reflect on the summer's activities. Kayaking through the early morning mist. Baking cookies in our pajamas. Water fights of epic proportions. Breaking into spontaneous song and dance whenever the desire struck. "Now it's time to share our smiles with the rest of the world," Gary informs the kids. My campers follow me down a gravel path to the lake, holding hands and clutching strings with dozens of balloons dancing in the breeze and bonking our heads with rubbery thuds. We kneel on the creaky dock and begin the countdown: "3Â..2Â..1!" Dozens of balloons with paper messages attached dancing in the breeze and bonking our heads we release the balloons - and our optimistic thoughts - up into the sky and out into the universe, watching as they slowly float up, up and away. "Blow!" Gary yells. We huff and puff and watch the colorful spheres as they finally disappear from sight. As I survey the young crowd craning their necks for a final glimpse, I marvel at Gary's ability to take a bunch of sick kids and turn a discussion of childhood cancer into such a positive experience. No one was thinking of the hard times. No one was wondering who would be back next summer and who wouldn't. Dani glances up at me and grins. Just moments earlier, before she had carefully folded her paper in half, sealing her message inside, she'd quickly flashed the paper open to give me a peek. In bold pink writing, her message simply said: "I Smile Because I'm Alive."