Rising rising rising...
Went and saw the Master.
Ate a Mexican Food restaurant.
Had a cappuccino Sunday at Braums.
Rode passenger in the truck as Dad
drove down a dark and dusty road.
Joined my Dad in the studio and
painted painted painted.
I can remember Monday...
If I think hard enough about it.
What did I eat?
Snacks.. We didn't have groceries.
We didn't leave the farm.
I was in the studio most of the day.
The sketchbooks will remind me.
Woke up to to my Dad asking if I wanted to go to the polls with him. I agreed. We traveled first to Enterprise to visit the post office and the bank, then off to the only hill in Chapman, to a small building with little notice of any election. Waited in the car with Gutters for about five minutes. Then into town we went. We first went to Dillons for groceries. We bought the fixings for fajitas. Then I treated my Dad to a lunch at Freddies. He had number 6, I had a double number 7. We ate as the small restaurant quickly filled with men in camouflage outfits, soldiers from the nearby base. After our meal, we went across the to purchase libations for election night. Dad bought one bottle of tequila, I bought two bottle of beer, chocolate stout. Back on the road, we headed for home.
Once on the farm, my Dad went for the studio, I walked about the ground with my guitar, exercising my voice in the wind. I walked about finding quiet places, private spots where I could practice unbothered and unheard. After some time, I cursed and forfeited my guitar to the house. I check my phone for any messages, half an hour ago, my Dad had sent me a text asking if I wanted to learn how to stretch canvas. YES I FREAKING DO said my inner narrative. I moved to the studio with haste. He told me to pick out a frame from the red building, I moved and I found myself a medium sized square. Back in the studio, he gave me careful instructions. I cut the canvas, stretched it, stapled it, folded the corners, and primed it with two coats of gesso and mat-medium mix. In between coats I was deep in my sketchbook, painting away on primed pages. He went into the house, I stayed to paint.
Inside the house, we watched the numbers climb, the next four years to be decided by digits. It looked like Red was in the lead, which wasn't surprising. I made margaritas on the rocks, Dad made fajitas. We ate and drank and carefully watched the numbers, stepping in and out of the house for cigarettes. After hours of steady climbing numbers, it was announced. Chicago cheered and danced in the prideful air. Boston sulked in a cold silence. We waited for speeches.
After the whole ordeal, I phoned Thea and hopped into bed. We talked out the night, the alcohol settled into my system, and I soon set into dreams.