Sunday, June 24, 2012

Painting #13 - Black Coffee
5" x 7"
Oil on Canvasboard

Dad made me like black coffee when I was 13. My sister and brother-in-law were building a church in Minnesota. Dad, being the can-do force of nature that he was, decided to take it upon himself to do the lion's share of the manual labor. That meant that we all made the trek from Ohio to Minnesota for a little 'vacation'. Of course, this was also the middle of winter. Working outside with Dad in winter was always an experience anyway. Working outside with Dad in winter in Minnesota was something else entirely. At this point I liked coffee, but with large amounts of milk and sugar. Black coffee did absolutely nothing for me. Dad, being Dad, liked his coffee black. Preferably with a pinch of salt. And maybe some metal shavings. So it was that I found myself during Christmas vacation on a frozen patch of desolate ground in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota in the absolute crotch of winter; extremities freezing, exposed skin growing numb and the hairs inside my nose frozen stiff. (Minnesotans understand this phenomenon) I wanted nothing more than a nice, hot, sweet, cup of coffee to help me warm up. Dad knew this. He called me over and held up his battered, green metal thermos. And smiled.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad. Love you.

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