Solitary Freedom

Not very long ago my days were filled with endless meetings, scripts to read, cuts to watch and errands that barely got run.  While I sat in nondescript conference rooms breathing recycled air, I would fantasize about being home with nothing to do but watch the sun move from room to room.  And here I sit,  wish granted . . . which isn't always as easy as it appeared from the other side of the fence.  Some days it's scary to wake up with nothing that has to be accomplished.  What do I want to do with my morning?  What do I want to do with my life?  There's no over scheduled work life to blame for discontentment or unseen museum exhibits or places unvisited.  Yet, I find myself wanting to be, rather than doing which results in a lot of time spent alone.   This morning I went into my bin of Burning Man clothes and scooped out my favorite petticoat circa 1930s purchased several years ago from a sale at the Paramount wardrobe department.  As I fastened the layers of tulle around my waist I wondered about its life prior to ending up in my bin.  Did a saloon girl in a John Ford western wear it while serving whiskey to a cowboy ?  Or did it grace the bodice of a circus extra, dancing under a big top?  This morning I wore it to motivate me to grab my camera and shoot my daily Flickr self-portrait.   I'm reminded of the hours I spent as a child in my mother's closet draping myself in silk, organza and lace.  The clothes transported me to a romantic metropolis -- a fancy dinner, a late night dance, a stolen kiss.  Solitary hours filled with dreaming and joy.  Then, just like now.  The picture was taken on my deck.