Grandfather Clock

I can still picture myself in the corner of his workroom, sitting high on a stool, amongst scraps of wood and piles of unfinished projects, watching as he created each new work of art.

It was often difficult to tell where the sandpaper ended and his hands began. Both were pale, spotted, and worn out, but continued on until the work was finished. The wisps of his snow white hair, carefully combed over with lard, were habitually dishevelled early into the day. Long white caterpillars crawled above his aging eyes. His shirt and trousers, held up by suspenders, were speckled with glue, varnish, and lunch. Eye glasses stuck out of his shirt pocket where, he always assured me, they were watching his teeth talk to his hearing aids.

He rarely spoke while he was working. I heard only his heavy breathing, an occasional grunt, or, when something minor went wrong, a string of obscenities.

Grandfather tried to pretend that he was a cantankerous old man; yet, he was as gentle as a man could be. A man as grumpy as he wished to appear could not give rise to the magnificent creations he produced, each perfectly cut out, sanded, and varnished by his own hands.

Related posts:

Secret entrances and passageways have existed throughout history, used by smugglers to traffic contraband and by Catholics who stole away from Protestant persecutors before then trying to blow up…

Utilizing the total budget plan amount, alloted time to plan the wedding celebration making use of a wedding celebration checklist. From leading to bottom, the list must be arranged by order of…

Entrare nel mondo e-commerce per la prima volta può essere stressante. Sai di voler approfittare di questo settore in espansione, ma non sei sicuro di quale sia il modo migliore per farlo. Se sei…