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As kids, Nicky and I weren't allowed in Grandpa’s workshop, but if we slipped around back and tossed pebbles at the window he'd lower the rope-ladder so we could sneak in without Mom and Dad knowing.

They knew exactly what was happening. They also left us our secret.

Dad has since taken over Grandpa’s shop, creating second-generation, commissioned artwork from driftwood and discard, bits of bottles, tiles, broken clocks, and cracked pots, turning the unwanted into the highly desired, and the next generation of grandchildren have sworn on the pouch of pebbles not to tell mom or dad.

4 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Neville Hunt about 4 years ago

    Lovely and warm.

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn about 4 years ago

    Wonderful, and beautifully written.

  • avatar

    Christopher about 4 years ago

    That's lovely. Well done.

  • avatar

    Melanie about 4 years ago

    Thank you all for your kind words and support. It means a lot to me.

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