Love requires no explanation. We have hosted friends of more than 30 years, visited birth family near and far, and are gathered now to celebrate my husband’s birthday.
Yep, I didn’t just marry a first born, a married a Leo first born, maybe the bossiest and most controlling of all. Somehow, in spite of my rebellious free spirit, it is working, for 45 years now.
Whether we are traveling or hosting this summer, everyone gets basil.
I am overwhelmed by the production in a 5 gallon pot on our back deck herb garden. Apparently, if you do not harvest the leaves, basil goes to seed, developing these lovely bee-attracting flowers in the process. So I pull them, use them, trash them , or give them away, not using as much basil as I thought I might.
I also have abundant parsley, and that always brings a smile and a memory.
My father was famous for his garden; his best crop was Hungarian hot peppers, the kind that make grown men cry. There were contests. I did not partake at the time; I might today.
His second best producer was parsley. We used it in everything. I missed it when we moved out west; so I was thrilled to take a Ziploc bag full of the flavorful flat leaves with me back to Salt Lake City.
It was the 1970’s. Recreational drugs were everywhere. So I should not have been surprised when the scanner at the Philadelphia airport raised suspicion over the greens in my carry-on bag.
I was pulled aside, questioned, frisked and actually had the security agent taste what was in that overstuffed bag.
I smiled nervously, was dismissed, did not miss my flight.
It’s the last time I ever took herbs of any kind on a plane. Honest.