Painted Nostalgia

I don’t use that TV anymore.

Might as well get rid of it.

I could use some storage space.

This is a good spot.

First I should paint this wall.

Lime green doesn’t sit well anymore with the rest of the room.


Dad, where’s the paint?

Where’s a brush?

Dip. Wipe. Paint.

Dip. Wipe. Paint.

Paint, don’t drip there.

Now I gotta wipe up with my fingers and wipe that on my leg.


That’s okay, though.

Truly I like it.

Getting paint on me.

It’s proof of my accomplishment.

I wear it longer than I need.

Until my niece points at it with a confused stare and I say, “Paint.”


Painting a wall is patience.

It’s time to play loud music.

It’s time to sing, too.

That same color over and over.

Tends to get old.

It’s not too exciting, but the shrinking amount of lime green is.


And finally, I’m done.



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