I am at peace with my three trillion freckles. But when I was a child, I lamented them daily. I was dubbed Freckle Face and Shrimp by my classmates (yes, I’m freckled AND short).
When my mother suggested that my freckles would disappear if I tried a remedy from an Old Wive’s Tale, I was all ears. All I had to do was wash my face in the dew before sunrise on May Day. I believe I tried no fewer than 3 times in my childhood years. Names and freckles persisted. I grew a thicker skin, and a begrudging acceptance of my looks.
Today, at age 51, I no longer mind my freckles. I wouldn’t recognize myself without them. I happily lounged in bed until 6:00 this morning and listened to birdsong.
Some seeds are sprouting in the garden and daffodils and Chinonodoxa drift about in swaths of blue and yellow. I’m so hopeful for May as I inch closer to days of painting outside again. And the myriad list of to dos that come with warm weather.
Bring it on. Freckles and all.
