Went out to do a wee bit of yardening this morning, and that included clipping the spent roses. On a whim, I brought the petals in, ripped some small pieces of an old tablecloth, wet it, then tucked the petals inside the cloth as I wrapped the cloth around a lichen-laden branch.
When I noticed how the spent purple wave blooms stained my fingers after deadheading, I dropped some of them in another piece of cloth and wrapped it on the same lichen-laden branch.
All dressed up, the branch is now sunning on a rock beside the falls.
Why is this a big enough deal to warrant a blog post? Because for longer than I care to remember, I’ve imagined doing things like this, but I never veer far enough away from the All Mighty To Do List to allow such (seemingly) unjustifiable excursions and (seemingly) frivolous expenditures of time.
That all changes today.
When I look back at how many years I’ve delighted in doing things like this – but only on the inside – I want to sit down and cry, but that would be a frivolous waste of time, that crying over spilt milk. So I just vow to turn myself inside out more often. To do the things I’ve long done only on the inside, on the outside.
From this point forward (even past the inevitable occasional speedbumps), I will be eccentric not for the sake of being eccentric, but because I can’t help myself. I will decide for myself who I am and what I think and how I feel. And who I am and what I think and how I feel may change frequently – maybe even several times a day – but the self-determination-without-apology-or-explanation-unless-I-feel-like-offering-it will stand firm.
Will everybody like what I do, think, say, or feel? I doubt it. Will anyone think I’ve lost my mind? I sure hope so.
And, hey, I’d sure love some company . . .