Saturday, April 23, 2011


I find myself veering even harder towards juxtaposition, these days.

Its true, I've always been a floral-with-plaid sort of girl.

I've always secretly wished that I could rock the pinstriped-suit-with-Chucks look that J Crew never tires of peddling.

There's a mile-wide mean-streak of hodgepodge in me. It makes my world go 'round. It causes me to cock my head a little to the side and reconsider what at first glance looked a bit... accidental. Mistaken. Just plain wrong.

I like a reminder that it's all, all good; that the tattered and bruised elevates the boring to cozy and the just-fine to drop-your-jaw fantastic.

Make my life a patchwork quilt, please. Make it the postage stamp kind, where I get a 2x2-inch square of every single thing. Stitch it together and fold it up. Hand me king-sized grace, so large that there's room for everyone.

Because I probably would have driven right past these daffodils, were it not for the busted-up, has-been dream.

The grab-the-camera-and-turn-around jolt would have passed me by, if not for the dull pang of lost chances hovering.

It took both things for me to notice.

Life has its fair share of shaky floors and neglected, wayward window treatments.

Sure, I'd like to shove my way through a rusty, bolted-shut gate or two.

But you know what? The flowers keep popping up and though I should know by now to expect them, they never fail to captivate me.

This is life, friends.

Turn around and grab your cameras.