COVERED IN PAINT

 Give a retired man and his wife enough time at home, and the chores will start piling up. Mix in a bit of winter-time boredom for good measure, and a man might be excited to do something that otherwise would be a real pain. This past week, I spent hours with a brush and roller in my hand.  

Painting is something I can do. My first experience with a brush came at a neighbor’s house. Mrs. Myer lived across the street from us. She was a short, stout woman with the walk of a commanding officer. She sometimes agreed to watch over Jim and me when we were young. On one occasion, we visited as she was preparing to paint the window trim in her house. After discovering that we’d never painted, Mrs. Myer held out two brushes and pointed us to the windows. Instructions helped a little, but by the time we finished, the woman had hours of labor before her in removing smears of paint on glass and bare pieces of wood we’d left. 

One summer after Amy and I married, I was hired to paint the white trim and fascia boards at the bank where she worked in South Knoxville. I climbed up and down the ladder the whole day, and by the time evening arrived, I rubbed knotted calf muscles and cooled sunburned skin. Although the bank was small, it had more than enough area for me to paint. For all my efforts, I earned $150. All but $15 was spent on a new guitar. 

On another occasion, I contracted to paint the outside of a house owned by a teacher’s mother. I arrived to discover the house needed to be scraped. However, the paint was so thick on the lapped siding that it proved impossible to remove. After hours of getting as much old paint off as possible, I climbed the ladder to paint the overhang of the house. It took only one thrust of the paint brush into a nook to rile a packed wasps’ nest. I stood completely still as they swarmed my hand and arm to decide whether jumping from the ladder would help the situation. I decided to shimmy down the ladder and went straight to the front door. When the owner appeared, I held up my swollen arm and told her I wouldn’t be back until someone cleared all areas of the critters.  

Over the years, my brother Jim and I have slung a lot of paint. We work well together. I usually trim and leave the rolling to him. The finished jobs have always looked acceptable, and we avoided paying someone else a small fortune to complete a project of which we were capable.  

These days, painting is a bit more difficult. Amy believes in taping baseboard, door frames and any other area on which I might swipe a dap of paint. I keep telling her the wet rag I keep is for those goofs, but my protests fall on deaf ears. Getting down on the floor to run the tape isn’t so bad; getting up is a different story. I need something on which to put a hand for a push. I also don’t see quite as well as I used to, but with my wife’s critiquing my work, the missed spots are always covered.  

This latest painting adventure included the kitchen, family room, enclosed porch, main bathroom, and garage. I worked for about 7-8 hours each day, and after a bath, my behind slumped onto the reclining couch. I dreaded bedtime that would bring cramps, and that turned out to be true. Yelling, “Oh crap,” and hopping out of bed startled the dog, and she began barking. I walked the hall to the kitchen where I could lean on the wall and stretch the knots straight. Rough days turned into rougher nights.  

The house looks neater now. I’m hoping, however, that my newly retired wife won’t make any other color scheme changes for a while. My old muscles won’t survive it.  

LOSING LOCAL WRITERS

 Local writers have been on my mind. That’s because the Knoxville community recently lost one of its best, David Hunter. He’s just one of the writers who has either passed or whose parts in daily news have diminished over the years.  

David Hunter and I met at a Knoxville Writers’ Guild get together some years ago. He was a long-standing columnist, and I was barely getting my feet wet back then. Our friendship strengthened as we talked and learned that a special bond united us. David spent part of his youth in Lonsdale. My dad worked at Southern Extract, a pollution-puking plant that produced paper and cardboard in the community. Additionally, my grandparents lived in Lonsdale. 

David used his years on the police force to help write fiction crimes books. He also wrote a column for the Knoxville News Sentinel for 23 years. The books were true “page turners” that captivated his reading audiences. My favorite pieces were his columns, which covered a variety of topics. Some were on religion, some were on man’s duty to others, and some were moments of reliving life as a boy.  

The newspaper is a fickle business, and for some reason, our local paper chose to drop David’s column. Suddenly, something as the important as the comics or crossword puzzle was missing. I talked to him about it, but he chose to share little about the subject. Instead, he posted some of his writings on other sites. Still, the Knoxville community was bewildered at the disappearance of David’s work.  

A few years before David left the paper, Don Williams lost his weekly column. Don’s always been an individual who speaks his minds and stands by his principles. In this case, that dedication to the truth, or refusal to adhere to the paper’s direction, sent Don packing. He’s written several books, gee-hawed New Millennium Writings, and loved and supported his family and his mom. 

I met Don when I took a class he offered for fledgling writers several years ago. Most of my stuff was like this column, but I also stretched to write short stories, books, and one poem. Don always offered quality analyses with touches of kindness so as not to crush fragile writers’ egos. The friends I met in those classes still are a part of my life, even if I don’t see them as often. Folks like Lucy, Maryanne, Bob worked with Don to improve their skills and are thankful to him for sharing his knowledge.  

Ina Hughs was kind to me. She didn’t know me well but kindly reviewed my book Baseball Boys. Just a blurb in her column was a win to me. Ina had the best sense of humor, one akin to my mother’s. She was a no-nonsense, tell-it-as-it-is person who feared no one. From the 1970’s until she was let go in 2018, Ina gave those of her generation a sense of connection. I miss her sorely. 

I might be wrong, but another local writer, Sam Venable, might be the next to go. At one time, Sam was splashed across the sports section and prominently placed in the editorial section. However, these days, it seems that Sam’s writings are stuffed in the strangest of places. Perhaps those who own the paper fail to appreciate good Tennessee boy humor; perhaps they don’t have a sense of humor at all. What is abundantly clear is that they don’t understand the need of readers to consume local news, local folklore, and local features.  

I send my deepest sympathies to the family of David Hunter. Thank you for sharing him with us for so many years. I am lucky to be able to write for a paper that is more tolerant. If you have enjoyed local writers, drop them a line while they are here to let them know how much their work means to you. Tell them which piece you liked best or tell them what you learned. They will appreciate it. David, don’t quit the work even in heaven. 

SOMETHING GOOD OUT OF SOMETHING BAD

 Covid-19 has just about worn all of us out. We aren’t used to being confined for such long periods of time. Many people haven’t been out except to the grocery store for a year. Yes, some have developed rather snippy, hateful dispositions, but although such behavior is never acceptable, it is understood. What I have noticed during these months is that the kindness of many human souls has eased some of the hard times.  

Amy sent me to the grocery store the other day in search of blueberries. I hopped in the car and enjoyed the ride outside of Ball Camp. Once there, I strapped on my mask and retrieved a big bag of the berries. Circles on the floor showed folks where to stand to safely distance, and I found my mark. A younger man with a loaded cart looked at me and told me to go ahead of him since I only had one item. The person in front of him had his groceries on the conveyor belt but told me to go ahead of him as well. In no time, I was in and out and on the way home.  

It seems that people are more aware of others around themselves. They aren’t in such a hurry to complete tasks and get back home. Our inabilities to communicate with others on a daily basis makes those times when we are together more special. People want to be nice to each other. They want to soak in the company of others, even if doing so demands a mask and six feet. Maybe I’m just naïve; perhaps people are really allowing others to go ahead of them because they don’t want to return to their confinement. I like the first idea better.  

Most of us who are alive today had never faced a crisis like our parents did. The Great Depression caused families to lose homes, jobs, and food supplies. Now, we see the same kind of events befalling our world. It’s nice to see how many people are working to make sure others have enough to eat. Food distributions, large and small, have helped parents provide food for their children. We agonize when the photos of hungry children are flashed on the television screen or across the newspaper. The concern and call to action to help others is surely something the good lord sees and blesses with a smile.  

Politics had gotten in our way for a few months, but now, it seems that many of the divisions between families and friends have disappeared. Conversation topics turn more to family members’ well-being and good health. We all want to receive a vaccination as soon as possible, but we want them for our families before ourselves. Even social media posts are kinder and gentler. Prayers for those who are in the throes of illness dominate. A lost dog’s photo pops up in hopes that owners and pets can be reunited; the finders keep the pooches at their houses as long as possible and love and feed them. 

Controlling this raging pandemic is my prayer. I’d like for the world to regain some of its balance. However, I’d also include in my prayer the wish that the kindness, goodwill, and concern among people continues. Whether a storm of disease of any other tragedy befalls us, I hope we’ve learned that each of us is the other’s brother or sister. A vaccination of kindness against indifference is a world-changing thing as well. Be safe and take care of each other.