The windows are closed but for a small crack. It’s chilly out there. Rain poured down a few minutes ago. Birds twitter in the darkness.

Yesterday it was so warm, every window in our house was wide open. Sheer curtains billowed in the breeze. I washed the Suburu in the driveway and waited for the mulch to arrive. The tiny sparkles in the pearly paint delighted me as the grime rinsed away. Music played on the bluetooth speaker in the garage. I listened to Chronixx in the sunshine while I sprayed and sudsed the car. It occurred to me that an unexpected benefit of my time off may be that music will re-enter my daytime life. I can’t concentrate at work with music playing, so I mostly spend my days in silence. The reggae made me feel good; I want more of that.

I blogged yesterday about how a painting or a song is the result of a million different decisions. Every brush stroke is a choice. Every note. At the end, those choices make a work of art. It occurred to me as I washed the car that the life we create for ourselves is also the result of a million different decisions. Each choice adds another brush stroke, another note. Our lives are works of art.

Art is a choice. It is a fight against complacency. It is a decision to forge a life that’s richer, more uncomfortable, more mind-blowing, more uncertain. And ultimately, more beautiful.

– Bianca Bosker, Get the Picture

As midafternoon approached and the mulch still hadn’t arrived, I could choose to be annoyed — I could call and complain and simmer in irritation — or I could take a nap. I chose to nap in the warm afternoon as curtains billowed. It was beautiful.

A few minutes after I woke up, the phone rang. The mulch was on the way. I played Protoje on the stereo and coated myself in sunscreen to prepare for the garden. Our daughter likes the Hawaiian Tropic Sheer Touch sunscreen with teensy specks of glitter in it. Every time I use it, I think of her and feel joy. I shimmered, and I smelled like summer. The sun shone, green popped in the garden, and birds hopped around at the feeder.

I shoveled mulch for two hours. I got about a third of the way through the first pile before going in to shower and make dinner. I covered both mounds with tarps weighted with bricks since the forecast showed rain in the night. Dry mulch is already heavy enough to cart up hills in a wheelbarrow, I don’t need to double the weight by moving it wet.

The sun is almost up, and I think it’s stopped raining. I’ve got four days to spread this mulch. It’s time to get going.