Dandelions

The sun was shining brightly when I woke up.  I sat under the cherry tree in the yard, smelling the cherry candy scent of the blossoms already promising to overwhelm the yard.  This, I reminded myself, is the season of renewing, refreshing, and rebirthing. 

Why, then, was I shocked when Joseph told me he felt our rented three bedroom house and two vehicles was living above our means?  The man thought we might get back to basics, simplify, and save money by trimming the fat.  Believe me, compared to twelve years ago, Joseph and I do live a little more comfortably than we have.  And maybe it is time to take stock, get rid of pieces of ourselves that no longer apply to who we are, and move forward. 

I used to want to be a hippy.  I wanted muddy rain boots, fresh garden earth, and laundry hung on a clothesline.  I wanted Joseph and I to entertain ourselves with books and music and be happy on sunny spring days.  But Joseph was never this way.  I adore dandelions and he uses weed killer on them. 

Spring always reminds me of what I wanted, when what I wanted was simple.  I’m not too far from that version of me, even with all these years stacking up between us.  I just don’t put as much effort into being that person anymore.  I dream about it all the time when the sky is blue and the birds are singing.  Sometimes I look around myself and I can’t see the life I love: the butterflies and the frogs, the lavender and the apple trees, the mason jars full of jam and the baskets full of knitting.  I miss those messy glasses of paint water when I used to dream on canvas.  I miss the mess of creation in a life that is becoming more and more planned and organized.  I miss the Frank I used to be. 

Is that progress?  Is that growth?  Is that success?