One of the books I read yesterday stayed with me through the night. It was called Fireflies in December by Jennifer Erin Valent. The story was elegantly told in first person. The main character was a thirteen year-old girl (Jessie) whose father had adopted her best friend (Gemma) after Gemma's parents perished in a house fire. Jessie was a white girl. Gemma was a colored girl. This caused all sorts of problems for the family. In 1932 Backwoods Southern America, coloreds and whites just did not mix. I got the book as a freebie on my Kindle. I will probably hunt it down and pay actual money for a hard copy just so I can loan it out to friends. It is a magnificent story. I could not put it down.
Today, however, I think I'll try some oil painting. I was at the craft store last week, Christmas shopping, when a nice couple helped me pick out some paints. The man was the painter and his girlfriend was obviously proud of his talent. They kept me from buying the super expensive stuff, and gave me advice on how to clean the brushes.
The man told me, "I bet you're a great painter. I can usually tell by looking." His girlfriend nodded emphatically behind him. Of course, I'm going to take that as a compliment, unfounded as it may be. A girl just can't get enough compliments, ya know.
Wish me luck.
Today, however, I think I'll try some oil painting. I was at the craft store last week, Christmas shopping, when a nice couple helped me pick out some paints. The man was the painter and his girlfriend was obviously proud of his talent. They kept me from buying the super expensive stuff, and gave me advice on how to clean the brushes.
The man told me, "I bet you're a great painter. I can usually tell by looking." His girlfriend nodded emphatically behind him. Of course, I'm going to take that as a compliment, unfounded as it may be. A girl just can't get enough compliments, ya know.
Wish me luck.
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