I came home from my trip and slid my key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. I tried again. Nothing. I called my son. “Ryan… what’s going on?” He sighed. “Dad, this is for your own good. We sold the house.” Behind him, Diane nodded like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “You’ll be better off, Walter.” I slowly sat down on the porch steps, looking at the door that used to be mine. Then I smiled… and texted my lawyer.
he always came back to the shop. It was where he could create, where he could build, where he could take the pieces of his life and forge something tangible.
He set his coffee down on the workbench and walked over to the large, wooden table in the center of the room. There, sitting unfinished, was his latest project: a crib, made from sturdy oak, its continue reading …
