Pop is just as cranky as always but given his circumstances, I would be just as grumpy. We brought him pretzels and cheese-filled crackers this week which seem to cheer him up. These are his favorite junk foods and he smiled at us.
In my world, there are only eight colors. My wardrobe boasts this philosophy of blah. All my pants come are solid blue, black, or tan. I buy shirts with all the colors in my universe, some plain, plaid, and even Hawaiian style. I pull a pair of pants out of the closet knowing whatever shirt lands in my hand will match for the cool stylings of a middle-aged man barking at the door of old age.
Almost thirty years ago, I married a woman who sees the world in a multitude of colors. She claims some colors shouldn’t go together. She will ask me if the color of the shirt matches the skirt she is wearing. In the first years of matrimony, I would pick a color and she would consider it. After a couple of years, she picked the one I didn’t choose. After all these years she still asks me about her clothing. I now reply, “It depends on where you are going and what you are doing.”
Tammy is the creative one in the house. She likes taking trash and making it into treasure, thus her brand name, T’s Trashy Treasure Art. She repurposes old soup cans and glass bottles to paint them into folk art to sell. This past year, she began dripping paint over objects to make beautiful ornaments and table art. The most recent projects that bury her in the craft room reveal scenic paintings from the depths of her mind. They are really good in my humble opinion.
However, she will ask what shade of blue goes best with her base coat on the painting. They look the same to me. I suggest painting one with each hue which only gets me in trouble because that is not how art works. Why does she still ask me about colors knowing I do not know such things?
My author page at www.dannymacauthor.com offers insights into my books and upcoming events. Please follow T’s Trashy Treasure Art on Facebook.
(Veteran's Day picture)