A Needed Makeover

A Salvaged Spot for Wine and Cheese
Ah, the power of reinvention, or, shall I say, redirection? I've been spinning my wheels for a good while, but it's only been recently that I've gained traction and freed myself from the muck. It's a reminder that our relationship to the world is always open to change, if only we listen keenly and make bold moves.

If being stuck wasn't bad enough, being stuck in the same old, same old was even worse. I felt as if I were wearing a path from work back home, and much the same in my daily life. I've been working on a book, but I haven't been writing, which is never a good thing.

I needed a blank slate upon which I could draw a new path.

So, I started with the concrete, packing away my wardrobe, saturated with color, and opting, instead, for a completely black palate. Challenging, but after weeks of feeling stymied by the lack of color, I quickly learned how to be creative with jewelry and other adornments.

Next, came the hair. I'd once gone gray, but after Mr. B's mother passed away and I shocked his Southern clan with my silvery locks, I decided to revisit the salon for color. Initially, I fell in love with my dark pixie cut, but soon the upkeep wore me down. I knew there was no going back to gray, not because I was worried about shocking any kin, but in the interim, my hair had tuned white.

I contemplated platinum, but it just doesn't fit my personality, so with a little nudge from my colorist, I held my breath and decided to go lavender, which surprisingly, turned out to be super flattering.

Finally, there was only one thing holding me back--my nearly 100 year old kitchen needed a makeover, too. I had no clue how I was going to give my kitchen new life, but sometimes the best decisions are pure accident. While removing the knobs from this old dresser that serves as added space, a strip of paint peeled away, exposing layers of old paint. My gut and razor took over and within a few hours, her beauty was revealed. I topped her with a massively heavy and thick piece of butcher block salvaged years before, put my cheese box in place, along with my knives, and stood back in admiration.

I enjoyed a well-deserved glass of my favorite wine and mulled over the metaphor. Life is a process of stripping away and rebuilding. And that, is something I can write about.

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