I'm corrected much of the time. It is an open door that feels wedged open. My daughter is keenly aware of this, like an invitation, and she corrects me whenever she can.
"You are not done", she says. "A turkey is done. Rather, you are finished."
My son and daughter draw at a small desk while I paint at my wall. They hunker over their notebooks and fight over the electric eraser while I scrape my palette knives. I grunt a lot and constantly remind them both that I am ok. I'm racing not to be finished but to express something hurried. I take long pauses. Then I race again. My kids enjoy this display and must have some opinion, I'm sure.
To offset my intransitive nature, I am contracting the construction of a new house that I've designed over the course of the last year or more. Walls are going up right now. I will post photos at the bottom of each blog post.
