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Just Weeds


May 2, 2007


There is so much I still want to do, but I'm running short of time. Write, read new writers just beginning their journey, and new patchwork ideas are running through my head like I have all the time in the world. With a 49th wedding anniversary last week and another birthday in a couple of days, how can an obsessive compulsive procrastinator get everything done?


June 15, 2008

Instead of a daily post, it becomes a yearly post.  I've been busy though.  I've new stacks of yardage to turn into patchwork quilts.  I think I'll try a patchwork table cover this time.  I have a breakfast room that would look nice with a bright new cover on the table.  I've actually covered my dining table with a quilt just for the color, and it looked good.  

It's been a tiring year, emotionally.  Life has a way of getting in the way sometimes.   I've been going over some of my early writings and found peace in the memories.  I've remembered that I love dirt roads.   Where can one find a quiet dirt road anymore?  I  need one now.  Walking a simple dirt road gives the mind time to think and wonder.  There is so much to see, such as lizard tracks in the powdery dirt.  They are beautiful in their precision.

Gazing into the sky exercises the imagination.   Studying the way the wild grass grows among the dirt hills of ground animals is amazing.   Abundance!  There is no one to watch and question your every move or word.  Such freedom! Being alone on a dirt road is being one with nature.  Wildflowers scattered here and there blend their color among the brown and green weeds, and they are compatible.  There is  no one to look at the weeds and say, "No, no!  You don't belong here, not in my back yard.  I won't have my seedlings harmed." 

I've felt much as I imagine a weed must feel.  A nuisance in the wrong place, wrong neighborhood, wrong back yard.  I can't fit in among the planned, landscaped beauty of flowers that were gently rooted in a greenhouse.  I've tried my best to disguise my roughness, but the flowers know and delicately turn their faces away.   I'm being pulled up by my roots and there's nothing I can do.  
To remember the serene quietness of walking a long, dirt road is my inspiration.  Being alone is not lonely there.  

By being quiet and setting my mind free, it'll find the place I yearn to be.