Thank you Ren-fest man.

Ugh this is a broke month for us, and I'm really not sure why. Maybe it's the combination of preschool, gymnastics and speech therapy. Maybe it's the fact that I'm paying to have my huge oil painting finally framed. My Dad painted it of me when I was a little girl. It's beautiful. I should have had it framed sooner but it makes me cry whenever I look at it. I actually went to a super small and more expensive frame shop because I knew I was going to bawl my way through choosing a frame. I would rather pay more and cry in front of one person than go to Hobby Lobby and cry in front of the 15 teenagers that work there and not to mention all the other customers.

I went to the frame shop first without my painting to feel out the situation. When I walked in the store, I was greeted by a talkative man with long gray hair down to his waist. I told him that I had an oil painting I wanted to frame and I guessed at the size and he gave a me a very thorough lesson on the different types of frames, the different manufacturers...and somehow we ended up talking about how he came to work in this frame shop. He said he met his 'woman' at the Renaissance Festival years ago, and she owned the shop. I think when he said 'woman', he really really wanted to say 'wench' but he didn't want to come across as a complete tool to me, a non Ren-fest kind of girl. He even busted out his Ren-fest accent a few times. I decided that he was sensitive enough to deal me me crying so I told him I was going to run home and get my painting and then it happened. My eyes started stinging and my throat closed. I had to get outta there quick!

I got in my car and cried my ugly cry. I pulled the painting out of the closet and ugly cried some more. I got my emotions back under control while I was driving back to the store, and I called Rhona to test out if I could talk about it without crying. Nope! I ugly cried to Rhona and I made her cry too! I heart her. :)

Me and my tears walked back into the store and told him 'Sorry, but I'm going to cry the whole time apparently.' He stopped short for about a second but nicely ignored my tears and proceeded to help me choose a frame. My painting is very damaged. In the throes of my Dad's brain cancer, I think he had decided to 'store' all of his paintings. Mine was cut off of the frame and FOLDED. Plus during his brain cancer confusion, he painted two vertical lines down the painting. I asked the Renaissance man if I should attempt to have it 'fixed,' and he said the best thing ever. He said that no matter what frame of mind the artist was in, every stroke is his and it shouldn't be messed with. He said that I have to trust that the piece is as the artist intended. That makes me very happy. I will just see the lines as my Dad drawing in your eye to look at its subject, me. His baby girl. I also took Renaissance mans suggestion that I have the painting dry mounted, instead of stretched. It will avoid further damage and flaking of the paint. Plus, if I have it stretched then my Dads signature will no longer be on the front of the picture.

The painting is the back of a little girl on a dusty country road, standing on her tippy toes reaching up into a mailbox. I remember my Dad having me pose for this picture when I was about 4 or 5. He put cookies on a high shelf and took pictures of me reaching up to get the cookies. I also remember that when he first sketched out his idea in pencil that he drew my little hand as a hook instead of a hand, just to make me laugh and protest. I miss him.