Bloom where you are planted!

The other night when I was painting this entry for my art journal, I was too lazy to walk over to my computer to ask my know-it-all friend, Googlie for a quote to go with my picture.  All my little pea-brain could come up with was this one, “Bloom where you are planted,” so I decided to use it.  I wonder if anyone has ever done a study on how much the laziness of the artist contributes to the outcome of the art.

Anyway, as with any quote worth repeating until it is a cliché, it got me to thinking about how well I have been blooming since I was transplanted here to Rancho Wrecko, my three-bedroom fixer-upper in need of carpentry skills, power tools and a home improvement budget.  Some days I think I’m blooming and then some days I’m in the blooming idiot category. 

This house came to me when I was one dead battery away from being homeless.  I had been planted along with the sum total of all my worldly possessions in my car.

Ida Car is a four-door wonder.  She makes me wonder if I’m going to make it to my destination whenever I leave the house.  Every journey is an adventure.  Not that I am opposed to adventure, but sometimes you  just want the pleasure of knowing that car trouble isn’t in your immediate future and that you won’t be that person who leaves those steel-belted crumbs on the highway as a means of finding your way back to grandma’s house.

Ida Car has a lot of character.  She gets her chalky color from a paint job so unattended to that it has never had a wax job.  She doesn’t mind, as ladies everywhere know that once you start waxing, you can never go back.  Ida Car does get the occasional trip to the car wash where the water pressure is strong enough to dislodge the enamel from your teeth which is what is required if you want to get the dead love bugs off your windshield.

As a side note, if you get the opportunity to come to Big Thicket you might want to wait until the Love Bug Love Festival is over. It’s not something the Chamber of Commerce advertises since Love Bug couples are acting out inappropriately in public.  Me screaming, “Get a room,” has no effect.  Since the only way to kill a Love Bug is to accidentally swallow a mouthful (that’s where the blooming idiot shows up) or run them down with your car, I vote for the latter.  Ida Car is an expert in Love Bug annihilation and seems to kill with no remorse.

I have driven better, faster, sleeker cars, but none who have meant as much to me as this little sedan who was my home away from homeless when I had no where else to go.  She took me to job interviews, friend’s houses with couches to loan, and for a while to a state park where at night, I counted the stars through the moon roof that one know-it-all man in my life promised would leak every time it rained.  Ida Car may leak Havoline on your pristine driveway, but her moon roof keeps me plenty dry.

I’m not sure I am blooming here, but Ida Car is.  She likes the slower speeds, easier parking down town and when she is ready to be put out to pasture; I am going to plant her just like this:

 Are you blooming where you are planted?

Hugs,