"Hey Johnny, I got something I want you to have."

That was the text message I received on a random Tuesday afternoon. It was from my friend Chris Leske.

Minutes later, we were sitting in a booth at the corner Stewart’s Shop with two fresh coffees. After ping-ponging stories about our days, neither of us could wait another minute. I'd been staring at the brown paper package lying on the table between us. I'm far from Sherlock Holmes; I'm more of a Get Smart tripping on the clues type, but even I knew the package in front of me was a painting.

"Well, go ahead, open it!"

As I peeled off the masking tape and pulled back the paper, I had the same look as Ralphie opening his Red Ryder carbine-action, 200-shot, range model, air rifle with a compass in-the-stock.

"Whoa"

I was more than a little overwhelmed. I was afraid to tear up, for fear someone might think Chris had just told me it was my turn to pay.

I sat there looking at ten years of my life rolled into an eight-by-ten watercolor. It was passing before my eyes like a Rolodex of scenes. I was envisioning those early morning milk deliveries to Lou's/Compton’s, Shirley's, and the Spa City Diner; the long dark hall leading into the cellar of Lillians, and the steep decrepit stairs under the Tin & Lint; my Friday afternoon finale at the Parting Glass, Madame Jumel's, Hattie’s, Mother Goldsmith’s, and Caffe Lena. It was a flood of warmth and nostalgia, a flash of joy, and a tinge of regret that it didn't last longer.

This was more than the gift of a painting; it was an artist's look into my heart and soul. Our conversations and recollections over several months had manifested themselves in his paintbrush and creative eye. It was his way of thanking me for my writing — the whole time, all I wanted him to know was how grateful I was for him opening his artistic mind to me.

For me and many, these are the snippets of life that make the dark days worth muscling through. It can be hard to wrestle pain and heavy baggage, but when the sun comes out and warms you up, man it feels good. It takes a unique eye to decipher the needs of others and place them on a canvas or in a musical note. Banjo Man Chris "Lee" Leske is one of them.

I am forever grateful for his gift of friendship wrapped in a painting.

A photo of my Price’s Dairy truck at the loading dock of the now extinct Saratoga Dairy on Excelsior Ave. Photo courtesy of Bill Barton’s book "Facts and Tidbits of Saratoga’s Dairy Industry from Early 1800s to 1988"

The Painting

by John R. Greenwood

colors are secondary
to the story shared
the gift, a painting
wrapped in brown paper

years stacked neatly
in an old red milk crate
revived in an instant
the hours, the work, the friends

an artist's gratitude
overwhelms the receiver
memories framed and hung
in reverence