And Margaret Atwood said, "In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt."
I've taken that literally, and expanded it to mean not only dirt, but sweat, paint, and dust.
It's my spring time of DIY, the onederful way. Things on my list, newly crossed off, are:
-An antique shutter to hold my ever-expanding collection of scarves in a beautiful way
-Four chairs sanded, primed, sanded and painted(only half crossed off, I've only done two...)
-A desk painted and office area decorated
-An old frame re purposed to hold my necklaces and bracelets with tree-branches
-Clock arm earrings, taken from a clock and painted, then made into earrings. Slightly unsymmetrical, but quite beautiful.
-Washing my house, with a scrub brush and a hose (now THAT felt good)
And the next thing on the list?
Time to tackle my garden! And smell like delicious dirt, every day.
I'm busy reading Talking Dirt, by Annie Spiegelman. It's the Dirt Diva's Down-to-Earth guide to organic gardening. I'm in love.
I have a big container for my salsa garden, and will be getting some lumber from the Hamlett clan to make my six by eight foot raised vegetable garden in the back yard, as well as sunflowers galore! I now own a shovel and several garden tools. I'm itching to make this happen.
Cody and John tell me I need some other actual tools, besides my two screwdrivers and a hammer. But I say that leaves little room for ingenuity.
The best part of all of this is the sense of ownership and accomplishment it gave me in my home. It was an empty vessel, and when my friends walked in last night, they said, "Look at your home!" My home. After which we had a most-fabulous dinner of pesto pasta, wild leaf salad, and sorbet for dessert. Wine included.
There's something to said about building a home together with someone, but at this point in my life, it's me. Just me. Making myself a home, and a life, that is a direct reflection of who I am. Not to be alone forever, but to be completely one person before I become part of something else.
Sometimes lonely, but often inspired, and onederfully yours,
Tabatha
