![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Someplace in Time
May. 10th, 2012 12:23 pmThe small oak bar stool, that I carried to the basement this morning, is the one that my wife's grandfather was sitting on the first time that I saw him. He was, as I would come to understand, preparing a home-made chowder for family that no longer came to visit or to share a meal with him.
In the basement, I set the stool down in front of the small drill press given to me by my father, after his time as a crafter of musical clowns and other pastimes of his retirement, had finally ended.
Then, as I sat at the drill press and the steel ribbons from my workpiece spiraled upwards, I thought of my uncle, his time in the Philipines as a B-29 propeller mechanic and his post-war life as a master machinist, and wondered if any of us might ever chance to speak again, someplace in time...
LPK
LiveJournal
5.10.2012
In the basement, I set the stool down in front of the small drill press given to me by my father, after his time as a crafter of musical clowns and other pastimes of his retirement, had finally ended.
Then, as I sat at the drill press and the steel ribbons from my workpiece spiraled upwards, I thought of my uncle, his time in the Philipines as a B-29 propeller mechanic and his post-war life as a master machinist, and wondered if any of us might ever chance to speak again, someplace in time...
LPK
LiveJournal
5.10.2012
