I read today that Model masters paints are gone. Put out by the Testors Corporation for many years, they were a guilty mainstay of the hobby. But as colors became scarce, new paints came to call. I had never been a fan of Krylon but now I have cans. And I have begun trying out Tamiya lacquer spray.

When I travel to Asia, I am always confronted with how much better they have things over there in regards to plastic model building. They seem to have everything imaginable and some things I never thought of all at a fraction of their price in the US. Want 1/700 scale WWII tanks and trucks? They have got them. Plastic 1/72 figures? Easy to find.

Which brings me to Tamiya. They offer quality materials and studied assistance that is never available in the US. Paint pens and markers, extensive weathering and masking supplies are easily found and not only from Tamiya.

But I feel bad about Model Masters. Just like I feel bad about the Mecca of modeling in Carrollton, Texas, Squadron, Inc. strolling through the warehouse was a dreamlike experience. Changing times. I guess we all change with them. Squadron was bought up by a company in Georgia and I sprayed my first batch of tanks with Tamiya dark yellow.

1957 and the biggest literary threat to merry olde England was a group of overgrown toddlers with the ability to say no and the means to back it up. Children were to be seen, not heard, and if they got hit by a car or attacked by an animal, who were they to complain?

Of course, the children grew up and gave the world abominations like the Mersey Beat and the British Invasion. We had been warned. The warnings went unheeded. Without death and destruction to thwart them, children make demands.

in 1957, the response was obvious. Smuggle a brief case full of dynamite into their classroom or test fire a new super cannon with nuclear shells on the town where they live. Precocious toddlers must learn to play by the rules.

Did we? For the most part, I remember staying quiet when we went to the movies, keeping a respectful distance when the elders were talking, and having such mundane hobbies as model building, stamp collecting and of course gathering small plastic armies who patrolled the living room and were occasionally missing in action.

So what was the problem? Well, no one else was following the rules. They hated Jews, hated smart little kids, and did not look kindly on any child who knew the difference between a Spad XIII and an S.E.5-a. They did not come after me with sticks of dynamite but did put me in a class for slow learners and memorably to sessions with the school counselor. Which is to say that childhood was a difficult experience papered over with the illusion that it was a normal childhood.

So how does my child fare? She explores the minefield of childhood at a distance. The pandemic has kept her a step removed. Is she too bright for her own good? Doubtful. Will she say no? Hopefully. Will they bring her a suitcase full of tnt? They better not.

School resumes tomorrow. For the first time in weeks, I painted a little. The above tiny group is a partial result. The figure in front was an unpainted holdover. Once again, I marveled at the deficiencies in my work.

At the moment, I am priming with a white enamel undercoat. I have enough figures to keep me excruciatingly busy and expect a shipment from the Last Square and a seller on e-bay any day now. Satisfaction comes from knowing that I am getting closer to an ideal balance between time spent and quality. I have taken to correcting this and that, turning figures upside so that all the flaws become shockingly visible.

I remain retired. I left my job without even a fare you well card. It is ok. It was my last job and I could not say there were any memorable moments other than struggling back after trying to walk a half mile at lunch.

I did notice that the e-bay seller trying to peddle a group of Archive Miniatures space aphids as Ral Partha frog people finally made a sale. Good for him.