From My Father’s Workshop

My father’s workshop was in the basement of my parents’ house. My father spent many evenings there, enjoying the quiet: tinkering, sorting, and experimenting. As a child, I did my homework on a chalkboard just outside his workshop. I rarely ventured into the workshop, but sometimes curious, I would ask what he was doing or what an object was for. He always gave a brief explanation followed by the phrase, “in case I find a use for it.”