Dead Labor
April 1, 2020
My pop was always working on our house, a shack that was all my parents could afford in the great hunger for homeownership that came after the Second World War. But nothing ever quite got finished, either for lack of funds or motivation. But if he wasn't quite a craftsman himself, he admired craft. He was moved by the effort and intricacy of how things were made. 'Honey, look at this old wooden chest with these lovely silver handles. Think of all the work that was done to this thing by someone's hands.'