I love to paint. Now don't get me wrong, I can't paint like my mother, the artist here, but I love to paint the rooms of my house. There's something calming in the painting. There's something that relaxes me and renews me as I refresh a room. Granted, it's often a struggle to find the time and to overcome the soreness the next several days after going up and down the ladder a million times and lying on the floor and holding my mouth just right but it's always worth the time and the struggle. I like to do things where I can see and enjoy the accomplishment. Doesn't everyone? Painting gives me time to be alone except for the few strokes that my girls just have to try. Painting frees my mind of the outside world. It brings to life a new look and it makes me happy (and that's not because of the fumes). In a way, it makes me appreciate a real painter's incredible talent and it helps me to understand the hours one can spend at the task. There is solitude and joy and peace in painting.