Painting With Grandpa

Set scene: My father with Alzheimer's, my afternoon to sit with him, summer day, shade of the pecan tree, beautiful weather, I decided we would paint.

Hands that had never painted
Contrasted with the white empty canvas.
A dish of colors in one, a brush in the other
Eighty-five- year-old hands
Danced with sunshine and shadow.

Colors trailed across the canvas
Speaking volumes
Hands taking their work to heart
Like the man had always done.

With smiling Irish eyes, he said
"...never been a painter."
Answering yes,
To "Are you having fun?"
He painted more.

We were lost in a world of colors,
We traveled into the canvas
Neither asking where the other had been.
We left our dreams to dry
Going inside to eat ice cream.


I still have the painting Dad did that afternoon in a place of honor. The poem is attached.