|My dad's drop cloths, folded|
While I paint, I think. It's not like I just mindlessly dip the brush into the paint, and swipe it on - no I do some deep thinking. I shut out the world, and concentrate on the task as I think of the whys in my life. I also mumble to myself - and yes, I do answer myself back.
My father was a Commercial Painting Contractor in San Francisco and Marin. During the rainy season (Fall and winter) he would line up some residential interiors to do - usually clients from the commercial buildings. He hated to do kitchens and bathrooms. I can see that - it's tedious and there is a lot of detail. He also hated wallpapering. I mean he did that all the time. It's like when I owned my daycare and was a nanny - I hated poopy diapers, but it was part of the job and it was something I had to do, all the time.
As you get to know me, you will see that I am a very senti"mental" person. It's hard for me to get rid of anything if it has some sentiment. Like I still have my dad's canvas drop clothes and much of his equipment. Not enough to start my own painting business but enough to where I don't have to buy that much. I remember, folding drop cloths with my dad. He was particular wanted them folded the right way. I still fold them like that, to this day.
Every one of those paint drops and splotches, on those drop cloths, represent a hard working man - who loved his family and did what he had to do, so that we could enjoy the lifestyle he never enjoyed.
I miss my dad.
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