A Little Different

Sometimes I forget I'm a little different than most folks. A new friend recently stopped by unexpectedly. She did me a wonderful favor. The leader of a morning book study group we're a part of had sent out a list of possible new study books. But she didn't have my e-mail address. My new friend printed out the e-mail and brought it to my house. How wonderful and how thoughtful!

Needless to say, I wasn't dressed for company. I was working. That means, of course, I was painting. I could tell by her expression that I looked a little worse for the wear, to borrow an old cliche. I had paint clothes on. We're not talking about those white shirts and pants I've seen some "real" house painters wear. My paint clothes are cheap sweats that are dabbed pretty much everywhere with paint. My blonde hair was pulled up, which doesn't always keep paint from connecting with loose strands. I even had paint on my hands and arms. I could tell from her expression that she'd never seen anything like me. I haven't either.

She smiled and kind of laughed. "You must have been working," she said. I nodded, then politely invited her in. She quickly shook her head. I guess she was afraid to come in. She probably thought I had open gallons of paint everywhere. For the record, I only have one room inside the house devoted to art. All other projects are handled in either the garage or shop. I really do know how messy I am when I'm painting.

But isn't the creative process all about ignoring the rules?

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