Me and Paint

There are a few pink geraniums that I bought at the end of the season that need potting. I'm picturing them in colored pots, so I hauled out the little bottles of craft paint, blue and yellow,and got busy. I wanted a teal blue color but got a Martha Stewart type green.

The geraniums will not know the difference.

Once I got to messing with the acrylic paint and had two pots done, I looked around and found some more pots to paint and a garden trowel. Half a bottle of blue later (I hardly used the yellow), the drippy job was done and things were drying.

Of course, I had to document the painting session in my little art journal. Didn't get the color right there either. Oh well, painting is kind of like golf -- there's always another pot (hole) and always another day (game). Terracotta pots and little white balls, it's all the same to me. Just part of things I like to do.

My mom and dad must not have let me play with paint when I was little. It's that denial of play in childhood that leads to big trouble in adulthood. Take my brother-in-law Patrick, for instance. He absolutely loves fireworks.

Patrick can shoot off bottle rockets underwater. He and my Dad once conspired to produce a fantastic fireworks show for my birthday. In February, in the snow. On the farm, and it was cold. Patrick's wife, my sister MB, says that his mother must have never let him strike a match when he was a kid. So now he's like a fireworks nut.

And me? Well, I probably never got to paint.

Copyright 2013
Wanda Hayes Eichler