Today I’m wearing my good old college T-Shirt.

OLDS COLLEGE it says in gold letters emblazoned on dark green cotton.

All things said, I paid a good bit of money for this T-Shirt, but the money and experience of the year spent there was well worth it and certainly, the lesson I learned will not be forgotten.

I like plants. I like flowers. I like all things dirt related — even worms — something surely instilled in me by my parents who both grew up on farms and were close to the land.

So following that ideal, I went to school to become a florist.

It was fun. I learned a lot and I graduated in the top 3 of my class. I secured employment with a reputable and admired florist shop in Calgary, Alberta where I lived at the time and was well on my way to achieving the goals I had envisioned for myself.

One such goal was to become the youngest Master Florist in Canada acknowledged by Flowers Canada and I had but one testing level to complete when I realized it wasn’t going to happen.

Yes, the work I did was pretty, artistic and admired, but the problem was that I had no creative flow. It didn’t just “come” for me.

The problem seemed to stem from the fact that I had to think. Too much.

I had to review my colors, my theory, my design styles and yes, while I knew practice makes perfect, I realized for me I would never be a true artist in that area, because while rearranging flowers and plants in the dirt was something I enjoyed and liked, they were not something I loved. There was no passion involved.

Words are my passion. My must have and my true artistic medium. They make me complete. They are a necessity in my life and I must write them. Read them. Speak them.

They are every bit as pretty as the loveliest flower I have touched.

And so much more.