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“You like green?” My new
helper commented.
“If you will look at the
tops of these paint cans, you can see the price. This gallon has 2.00
marked on it. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Because no one wanted this
grass, green color?” He caught on quickly.
“Exactly. I simply went a
step further by making the floor and walls green and then finding fabric
on a table of the same color no one wanted either. And, yes, I do like
grass-green, as a matter of fact.”
We were off to a great
start with an understanding between us of what one has to do in this world
to survive.
“Here is a can of black, I
want that trailer painted.” I pointed to the old trailer Rod had built by
cutting off the bed of a truck we had used up.
“I’ve never painted a car
before.” My helper looked around with surprise on his face.
“Piece of cake, I painted
that truck in front of it.” I told him.
“Hey, now that is all
right. It even looks good, too.” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“I’d say it looks better
than the ribbon of flames standing out against a black background. This is
more to our taste, the rust color.”
“You want that pig tail
painted, too?” He asked.
We had been doing so well,
with our generation gap, but all at once here it was, this difference.
“Pig tail?” I asked.
“Yeah, this piece he welded
on the front to fit on a trailer ball.”
“Oh! Naw, don’t paint that.
It is already black anyway.
At any rate the day went so
well I thought I had died and gone to heaven, as the expression goes. My
young man was a fantastic worker, who left not one thing off my list,
undone: He painted the trailer, the trim on the front of the house,
stained a porch swing a dark, rich tone, painted a chalk board for the
children, cut up pear tree branches, and spray painted my two wrought iron
chairs a lovely white. They look so fresh and new against the tan trim and
the dark brick. All in all it was a wonderful day with these annoying
little chores done before winter.
“Someone up there loves
me,” I told him, whereupon, he simply grinned. |
