Franklyn's Paints

An artist acquaintance of mine died recently, unexpectedly, and I was asked to take what I could use from his art supplies.

Franklyn was an intense man with glasses and unruly curly hair. "Oh, hello Jeanie," he would say and stop to talk for a few moments, listening closely, considering everything. He sometimes used words I didn't know. One time, I interrupted him to ask him what a particular word meant. He could have decided that I wasn't much worth stopping to talk to, since I couldn't even keep up with his vocabulary. But instead he seemed genuinely impressed that I took the time to ask. I didn't diminish, but instead he made me feel better, and bigger, and stronger. I'm sure he didn't even notice, but I did.