Carrying lists on yellow legal pads, I am racing to get the farm buttoned up for winter.
However yesterday and today I have paused to help my elderly friend Allen stud out and Sheetrock his great-granddaughter’s future bedroom. His son-in-law had framed the addition while battling cancer but sadly died before it could be finished.
Allen’s health is terrible and I am a nervous hen, clucking anxiously as I watch him climb the ladder into this small, dim, second-story space. But he is as mild and cheerful as ever.
“What you jibber-jabbering about?” he asks.
It is so dear and familiar to hear his teasing and whistling as we work.
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