Plotting

I feel as though I've been on somewhat of a vacation these last couple days, marooned in our bedroom with only Langley to keep me company while the painters are transforming our dark red house into a beautiful light and airy house ( a "Yarn" colored house, to be exact). I've watched a video on outdoor flash and a video on shooting high school football. I've watched an episode of "Master Chef" and have finished "The Dramatic Portrait" by Chris Knight. I've read countless blog posts and have accomplished an unhealthy amount of Pinning to various boards. I have had to charge my laptop twice in less than 48 hours. I have studied the sunlight coming in through our open French doors (and have also noticed the flies sneaking in) and have listened to the wind blowing through the trees. Just this morning, I watched as our resident yellow-bellied sapsucker make his first appearance of the year, tap, tap, tapping his way up our pine tree in one of the gardens.

In short, I have become one with our bed and our bedroom.

And I'm itching to get out and explore next week. I'd love to be able to go out tomorrow with my camera, but an overflowing hamper and an empty pantry are throwing me dirty looks, reminding me to take care of them. Why do I feel obligated to always put domestic bliss first before what I really want to do, which is grabbing my camera and a couple of lenses and exploring a little town 20 minutes south of here and the thrift stores that line the downtown, a downtown that has ghost signs painted on old brick walls and sidewalks peopled with smiling faces and small town friendliness? 

So, while I listen to the painters chatter away in Spanish, sometimes humming and singing along to the music on the little radio that one of them brought along to help decorate the day better, I sit on my bed and plot my next week's outings with my camera: thrift stores, ghost signs, hiking, Whole Foods for pretty produce to photograph and then steam for dinner that night, bookstores, country backroads to get lost on, pastures to stop and rest beside and finally, long walks with Langley the Lab in the early morning chill, our breath fogging out our mouths in chilly little clouds.

Lord knows, she's earned it, too.

 
 
 
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