Nothing

I have nothing to say. Not a thing.  I know you don't believe me, but it's true.  I just sat down here, wondering what will come flying off the keyboard, because that's what I do.  I never have a plan, I just sit and type.  Such forethought and organization.  HA!  That rarely exists in my mind/world/situation.  I've told you about my brain problem.  Having that problem also means I could have had a fabulous idea a few minutes ago but when I sat down to type, I have nuttin.  So now I have nuttin.  I will tell you this regarding this watercolor:  While my sister and I loved our father dearly, he drove rickety old trucks that two princesses thought they were too good to ride in.  Therefore, he would take every opportunity possible to make sure we rode in one of the trucks.  The first truck was a red job, big and ugly and we always knew when Dad was coming home because you could hear it a mile away.  Seriously.  That truck was louder than loud.  I can't remember why the truck disappeared, but we were sooo happy.  The screaming red truck was followed by a blue truck, not as noisy, but, really!  It was still a truck.  And he still tortured us with it.  That truck left, and he bought another truck.  This one was a real pip.  It was a white utility truck and it was HUGE.  That wasn't enough for Dad - he put very large decals on the sides of the truck.  Large, Indian head decals.  Classy.  And he still made us ride in the truck whenever he could.  He would take us to the neighborhood pool and we would ask to be dropped off about 2 blocks away.  No, he drove us to the pool.  I missed the school bus one devastating morning and Dad drove me to school.  In the truck.  "I can walk from here."  No.  Dropped me off right in front of the school.  And everyone in the school came running out to mock me.  Not really, but that's how I felt.  I would spend the night with friends and Dad would come pick me up in the truck.  I would die a thousand deaths.  Oh, the humanity!!!  It was horrible.  And then some time passed and I had kids and Dad still had a truck and, unbelievably, they thought his truck was so cool!!!!  Who says parents are smarter than kids???  Every time I see certain trucks, I think of those truck hating days and what a little s**t I was and how my dad wisely and mischievously handled my attitude.  I really miss him....