Painting the Wrought Iron Furniture

I miss Wilfred.
From whom would I have known the subtleties of the art if not from him?
Prelims: tarp, laid out. furniture placed on tarp. sunny forecast on the radio. soft drink cooling in the fridge. Head out to Home Depot.
Purchase a wire brush (how I wish I had the one used by his very hands). Purchase spray-on rust retardent. Purchase spray-on black enamel paint. (Don't get creative here with the color - BLACK is the only appropriate color I'm told). Scrape vigorously, watching little flecks of rust, paint from past years, bird poop, leaves, and gossamer strands of spider homes fly askew from the edges, from the seats, from the backs. During this part of the ritual, all manner of ill-will, anxiety, or just boredom wafts away, dispersing into nothingness.

Already the furniture looks renewed. With a soft cloth, gently wipe down the pieces. This step is quick, but important. Don't get too much in a hurry - sip your diet pepsi, wander around, straighten out the tarp, maybe hose down the driveway.

Now, spray the furniture. Not with wide sweeping strokes, but with short, even bursts. Sip the diet Pepsi, on to the next piece. Continue until finished, let dry. I'd stop by on a Saturday morning to watch the ritual, maybe help a little from time to time, sip my own drink, joke and laugh.

Painting the wrought iron furniture this autumn was especially lonesome, a onesome task with no one around to appreciate the subtleties. Its been many years since I've seen Wilfred. Families change, tempers flare, life moves on and away. The last time I spoke with Wilfred alone, neither of us knew it would be our parting.
"I love you, feel better soon."
"I will. Janice, you'll always be my daughter."

I miss Wilfred. And the wrought iron furniture is ready for another year.