Wednesday, February 25, 2009
I stayed up way too late last night finishing this one, and today I'm paying the price. This is a story from my past; when I was five years old, I lived in the little red house. My mother's dear friend, Mrs. Dorr, lived in the white one. It was an odd friendship; they were dear friends for many, many years, yet they never called each other by their first names; they always referred to each other as Mrs. Dorr and Mrs. Runnells. They would sit together at the kitchen table on hot summer days, drinking tall glasses of unsweetened iced tea and smoking cigarettes. Mrs. Dorr smoked Salems, filtered; my mom smoked unfiltered Pall Malls. Both women are long gone now, but I like to think of this painting as homage to a couple of pretty amazing ladies!