Really, there wasn’t a vacation per se. Never left town. Barely had any ice cream. Read a couple of novels, of the Charlaine Harris variety.
But one thing I did do – I gardened. It’s a modest little thing, with catnip, basil, marjoram and savory. And like most plant lovers, I almost hate to harvest them and I’m hesitant to use them because I want to do something fabulous, something so utterly different from the caprese salads and pestos. Maybe something surprising, vegetarian and delicious. Maybe something daring, like a basil-savory ice cream.
Nothing flowered except this sole morning glory, which was a beautiful and shocking surprise one morning a few weeks back. I had been absently marking that it was time to toss it out whenever I went out on the balcony – and then, it just bloomed. It just lifted my whole black mood that day.
