Wow, I have had some busy hands lately. I made Halloween costumes, painted the living room and kitchen, started and mostly finished a doll, started work on curtains for the first grade classroom, raked leaves, and began to finish painting the trim inside and outside to complete my dad's beautiful new window work. I'm pooped out but can't complain, as it is all so satisfying to me. Especially the painting, which is almost meditative. As I did the living room I was reminded of all the history our little family has already made in our small house on Quentin Avenue. My dad did the last round of painting while I was in the hospital after having Elliot, and I can see him perfectly in my mind's eye in his bib overalls holding the paint can that certain way he does. I smiled to myself as I traced his work, cutting in around the ceiling and trim, no tape, right and left-handed just as he taught me. I imagined my Grandpa Frank (founder of the "Smith Paint Service") pausing his card playing in heaven with Rose, Irene and Nels, ashing his cigarette, and then giving me a supportive "atta girl" with a grin. How blessed I am to have had those in my life who have taught me to sew, paint, knit, garden - all these skills that sustain me - and most importantly, the immeasurable pleasure of a job well done.