This morning, I answered the phone:

“Hello?”

“Hi, Terri, it’s Saaahr…  Y’ohl-roight luv?”   (my sad attempt at her English accent, that.)

“Hi!  I’m great, just taking a picture of some smashed chalk in the garage.”

(pause)

(sigh)

“…Like you do…”

I am lucky to have good friends who understand me, pretend to understand me, or better yet–make me feel misunderstood, which they know I appreciate the best.

Spring arrives in Wisconsin in fits and starts, convulsing and confused.  It really is a strange transition.  We are teased with a thaw, which brings puddles, robins, and bluebirds; only to be surprised with one last snowstorm.  Rotting plant skeletons tower above tentative new growth, in an awkward juxtaposition of life and death.

And I love it!  I love the weirdness, the change, the randomness of it all.  I love the chaos, that somehow, is predictable.  I love the human reaction: how we shake our heads and grumble, year after year; how we speculate and expect and predict.  I love the mud.  The paradox.  The awakening, the potential.  The promise of newness, despite the decay and apparent nothingness uncovered by melting snow.

I’m happy to be here, suspended between Winter and Spring.  A little cold, perhaps.  But happy.

Boring is not my intention. But alas, it is my wardrobe. I know what I want, fail to find it, and default to boring. Alternatively, and quite frequently, I push the ugly/beutiful envelope.

When faced with this ugly/beautiful paradox, though, I tend to lean a bit toward the “ugly.” Perhaps it is my Zen perception of beauty in everything… Yeah, that’s it! It couldn’t be a desperate cry for attention. Nor could it possibly be a lack of taste. As opposed to a knack for gaudy, I’m sure it is simply an appreciation for detail. I prefer to think individual, not idiot. Self-expression, not self-depreciation.

I do, however, realize I’m wrong. I just… can’t help myself. This is my latest ugly/beautiful purchase, a Goodwill find for $4.99. Please help me. This is your chance at an intervention.