I think it's been about two and a half weeks since I met this little fella carousing with some unsavory trash on the other side of town. I could tell he was a good kid at heart, despite the fact that he was out cold, faceplanted in the mud after an all nighter out in the elements.
He seemed to have a good heart. I knew if I got him through my rehab program for wayward stuff, it was possible he could come out with a new attitude and maybe even a future doing something useful with his currently abandoned and empty life.
The faintly sweet cigar scent that lingers tells me he's been naughty - probably trying to impress a big dresser or a highboy, but that's behind him now. I won't hold it against him. He's got potential. Tomorrow will be a new day for the little rug rat. I have high hopes for him and all that the future - and his drawers - might hold.
The week after my protogé came home with me to live in the growing pile in the Florida room, I found this wine box at a yard sale for 75 cents.
Then, last week I bought some soil because I wanted to make a planter for my roses and figured I'd like to have it on hand just in case I actually ever get around to it. It's still lying there in my trunk. Typical.
Plus these little beauties would really like a new home planted in dirt somewhere. They are probably wishing they'd gone home with someone who would have actually taken the time to nurture their blossoming young lives. Well, at least I haven't killed 'em yet.
Yes, they are waiting so patiently in the basket of the bike I snagged during a junking journey some time ago, and don't they class up the place in their shades of pink? I think they are actually quite happy there despite me.
My patio is in dire need of some attention, some style... some something. So tomorrow morning the troubled end table will get some paint that might help it weather the great outdoors, out there where it could be useful, along with the wine box.
We'll see how that goes. Right? Because once I decided that, I realized it could also work in my living room that has sort of gone coastal. I might like to have a mismatched end table style for a while, who knows? So now I have a dilemma. Will it be an indoor or an outdoor life for this little fella. Oh boy...
I tend to play it safe, after all I'm up to my eyeballs in salvaged junk that I need to remove from the back room, so I really don't have endless hours to paint and then paint again if I don't like it. I need to just give it some white or whatever and call it done. Nothin' fancy, especially if it stays outside. Then again, turquoise and shades of green always weather so well in the hot Florida sun and the afternoon showers. It'll more than likely end up whatever color is left on hand.
Hang on little dears...soil is coming!
There is something to be said for collecting as you go and as you snag what you find and then holding it until such a time as a plan comes together.
Yes, it's good to have some things on stand-by for future greatness. I must, however, remember this, future greatness can mean present problems, especially if we're discussing rogue elements that find their way into the back seat of the car and on into the growing pile inside the house, things from all over town and from every walk of life. This "collection" has been known to cause undo sighing. I hope to remedy that.
So, tomorrow morning it's on! Some things will be relocated out of my indoor pile (yahooie!) and rehab for a rascal will be underway.
Check back and see what becomes of my little bad boy! It will be a surprise...even to me. Humble steps forward, likely, but new beginnings all the same.
...perhaps he will be a rascal no more.