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2006-05-14 - 10:14 p.m. A life most ordinary � so they had many different colors of coral bells, which I thought we could use to fill in near the plumbells. Roland blinks at me. You know, the plumbells near the astilbes? Roland stares at me. The purple plants? Still nothing. You have no idea that there are purple plants in the front garden, do you? Roland grins winningly. I would rather lick a light socket than go to a garden center on a beautiful Saturday afternoon because that�s when all the yuppies who have slept in, had brunch, watched 2 hours of HGTV and decided they can conquer the world � or at least the landscaping � arrive in wild herds. Thus I was at Benhke�s early Saturday morning, just me and Jeannie the shade plant gal debating rocket versus hellebore. By an hour later, the scouts of the yuppie herd crept into the enclave. I threaded my way to the herbs, falling into they rhythm of polite conversation as you do when trying to share space with fellow shoppers. One wild-eyed woman asked me if I knew where to find Virginia creeper, I suppose because I looked friendly and could tell tarragon from lavender. I blinked incredulously and, before I thought the better of it said Why would you pay for Virginia creeper? Stop on any highway in Virginia and dig it up. Is that legal? Definitely out of my tribeland. It�s never occurred to me to define digging up interstate weeds as theft. It�s climbing every interstate in Virginia. It�s a curse. Why would you pay for it? Hours later it realize I must squirm uncomfortably because I paid for ragwort. Do not tell my mother. Roland was even awake by the time I returned home and he discovered his Saturday morning had taken a turn for the muddier. Gamely, he helped me put the stuff in the front bed, even if translation was often necessary. I squint at the layout. Hey, baby, move the limey coral bell to the right. You mean the Mountain Dew plant? Hours on front lawn: four. Hours on the east side: one. Yep, after hacking through the tree-root infested, packed clay soil of the front lawn, planting the well-turned earth of the herb garden was lightning fast. Theo? Why are there shoes next to the bathtub? Because my feet were so filthy I had to put shoes on to go inside. Ah. Hours Theo ran around barefoot: seven. Mother�s Day was another early morning trip to the nursery for a last few plants, a stop at the grocery store, and chai on the front stoop admiring the finished product. I loved my mother-in-law enough to eschew the afternoon nap and bake Roland�s mother an Italian cream cake while he fixes my mom�s computer. My SIL made steaks and risotto for dinner at the in-laws for mother�s day. My BIL�s adorable puppy lept on everyone. I forgot the relaxation of a life most ordinary. � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �