I think it's some funky transitional thing...

Monday night I painted my nails a flashy metallic teal color. "Marine Scene." I haven't had a non-traditional color anywhere but my toes in years. I used to wear every color in the spectrum. I used to wear white eyeliner. I used to have a tongue piercing. I haven't been that person in a long time, though. Lately, I've been daydreaming of putting a super-saturated, brightly colored streak in my hair. Red, maybe purple. There's a metallic royal blue nail polish I looked at in Walgreen's that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. I'm not a corporate employee. I'm not on the PTA. And hair dye and nail polish are a lot cheaper and more temporary than another tattoo.

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Today I left work and didn't really feel like coming home. It was early afternoon, so instead I grabbed some lunch and headed to the park. I ate my lunch at a picnic table, under a gazebo, while I watched a man toss a tennis ball over and over to his gorgeous golden retriever. After the man and the dog headed off up one of the mulched trails for a walk, I watched a gaggle of four kids ride down the big paved trail on razor scooters (it hadn't occurred to me until that moment that those things still existed). For a brief second, I was envious--it looked ridiculously fun. But I was quickly reminded of my age when my thoughts shifted gears to how dangerous that gigantic blind curve was, and how I'd probably snap an ankle trying to slow down going into it.

Still restless, I cleaned up my table and walked down the path and across the lot to the library. I wasn't really looking for anything in particular, and rather than check anything out, I picked up a few interesting books and found myself an empty table. I sat there for the next hour or so, blissfully anonymous and undisturbed. I reshelved my books, noting some things I might want to come back for another time, and, somehow satisfied, headed home.

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I'm looking for something. I'm not sure what.

For over a year, my life has simply been happening to me. I haven't made a choice in a long time. My actions have been out of necessity. My schedule is dictated to me. It's time for something...different. Even if it's something small. Maybe I'll get really in to my flower garden. Maybe I'll write a cookbook. Give up soda (ha! let's not get crazy). Take up needlepoint. Maybe I'll paint.

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In June, Knoxville is hosting a Biscuit Festival. (How awesome is that, by the way? It's actually The International Biscuit Festival, though I don't know what other countries are participating...) Part of the festival is a juried art show, with all the works being based on "celebrating the heritage of home cooking and southern culture." For some reason, last night, it occurred to me that I could paint something and enter it. I think I will, if for no other reason that to celebrate that the thought occurred to me. So, yeah. I think this weekend I'll try and set up a little still life. Biscuits, some gingham, and a cast iron skillet? Maybe a glass of tea? You know. Something Southern ;) At worst, I'm out a $15 entry fee. At best I win the grand $250 prize and sell my painting for $500 to a random biscuit/art lover. More than likely, I'll simply get in, have my piece on display for the month of June, and when the show is over I'll have a nice new painting for my kitchen. And I will have done something.

So. Win-win.

...and then the doldrums pulled me down, down, down...

Sometimes, I find it really disheartening to go back and look at my life through this blog. I certainly don't mean for that to happen. I try to write here, and write as often as I can, and I want to paint a complete picture of my life, but I don't, not really. And it's not just the lapse in time between posts (although, that certainly can't help matters. I mean, just look at that last date. I lost a month. A whole month. Rather incomplete, wouldn't you say?). But a big part of why the picture is only partial is because of the way I censor myself. When I'm not happy, or have exciting news to share, or a recipe to brag on, pictures to post, or cakes to talk about, I just can't get motivated to write. I can't imagine that anyone would want to read about how frustrated I am. Or when I'm sad, or bored, or whatever. But that's me too, isn't it? I used to be able to do that. But honestly, since The Great Firing of 2008, it's as though I don't want to admit to myself, the world, whoever, that I'm still sad. A lot. I'm happy a lot too, and I'm trying, every day, to be positive. But I have to be honest about it when I'm not. So. Yeah. February is the lost month on this blog you guys, because I hate it. February Sucks.

Is it me, or was this the Winter That WOULD NOT END? I've never been so happy to see March in all my life. And I hate March. Well, that's not fair...I don't trust March. March taunts you with promises of sunshine and spring, and then it snows or turns bitterly cold out of nowhere just when you were starting to feel hopeful and alive again. But I know that about March, and we've come to terms with it, March and I, however bitterly I have accepted these terms.

But February? February was just brutal this year, wasn't it? If I honestly just don't trust March, then I honestly, truly do hate February. I try, I try every single year, but I don't get very far. And I am thankful every single year that February is the shortest month, 'cause damn if I could have made it another couple of days. (I think Sunday had the best plan, go ahead and give birth in February, and give yourself a reason to love it). This last part of Winter is just unbearable. Spring is in the air, it's on everyone's lips, I can practically taste it. But outside it's still dark and it's still cold and it's still dreary and BLAH AND OH. MY. GOD. IS IT OVER YET?

Which is why this weekend was a golden beam of perfection, burning straight into my core and melting my aching little heart of ice. This weekend was birds singing and sun shining. It was dogs and cats rolling in the grass. It was sharpened mower blades and raking out the flower beds. It was sleeping in and brunch and afternoon catnaps. This weekend was perfect. And it was just what the doctor ordered.

I love you guys.
And I'm so very happy that it's almost Spring.