The Herborium

Of course the time spent in that zone between bored stiff and utterly useless at the in-law castle was only a catalyst for previous insecurities. My in-laws were like this long before I came along. Cliche secrets and fierce isolation are all I have ever known of them. I surely wasn't expecting sudden change in the midst of a major health crisis. They are what they are.
I am almost shocked at how well my gardens are coming together. Wack job that I am, I am waiting for the disaster to strike. Nothing goes together this neatly in my damaged life. There has to be a disaster waiting to spring out in the next shovel full.
Still, as I continue losing myself in the green zone, I find myself calling it "The Herborium." The dream is of growing medicinal quality herbs. I even had my last garden up to still undefined standards for a few years. The biggest problem was that it was at home. Business and family don't mix. Especially not for mom.
The new garden is also at the new-to-us home. I went to Houston in the midst of a gardening frenzy. On my father's list of favorite fishing stories are the sizeable collection of parables proving that business and family don't mix. I politely maintained my listening posture while I squirmed inwardly at the proximity of The Herborium and his son and grandsons.