Friday, May 16, 2014

Planned By Him

Spring Turret
In Bloom
Outside Looking In
River Front
Griswold Living
My Secret Spot
Art Light Draw
1818
Art Bedroom
Museum
Pier
Writers Block
Florence Garden
Gilded Light
Spring Blossoms
Studio Shed
In the Ocean
Little Artist
I sunk my toes in the sand, heard stories about bohemian artists, and had the sea breeze in my hair all because my husband planned it. 
There's not much I don't plan. What to eat for dinner, where to go, what needs to be done when, and quite frankly it's tiresome. I've never been an all mapped out person. Random trips that happen on a whims notice - that's me. They feel like magic moments. The ones where you get to escape without a care or thought to think about, not knowing what you might discover along the way.
We were suppose to go to the largest flea market in the area this Wednesday, that was the plan. He schedule his day off, I cleared my day off - but sometimes as much as you plan, things happen you don't expect. 
Then he planned it all. A day just for me. He took me to the Florence Griswold Museum, where there is painted door panels, and stories that made me wish I was part of the art colony started there.We ate lunch at a nearby cafe we had never been to. I showed him my secret spot I would sometimes drive to when I worked in the area and had gotten there a little too soon. 
Then we combed the beach with our shoes in our hands and feet splashing in the tide. Finding sea glass, shells, and driftwood pieces for an art mobile I'm working on. 
It was the best day I've never planned.  
* PS - I think our little aspiring artist Miss Aries will have her own art colony one day. She had one of her art pieces picked to be in school district wide art show. We couldn't be more proud! 

1 comment:

Jenniffer said...

Beautiful pictures . . . beautiful post. I know what you mean about the planning . . . the very few times my husband has planned anything still remain in my mind. It IS tiring to be the one who does it all. And sometimes wonder if it matters . . .