And the Ceiling Came Tumbling Down
The following is a more or less true story, honest.
For the first ten years of my life, I lived in a Sears and Roebuck ‘mail order’ frame house built by my grandfather, a carpenter who died before I was born. While I was but a wee, callow youth, maybe three, my father took it upon himself to put a new ceiling in the middle bedroom of this house. When the project was finished, he posed his lovely wife and snot-nosed son on the carefully made-up bed under the new ceiling and...
