I was at the newsstand outside my office thumbing through a magazine while I waited for the line to move when a picture of wood stove caught my eye. I took a closer look and discovered that this was the exact same stove that stood in my grandfather’s house for over 50 years. I remembered sitting with him, talking and laughing while he whittled, looking exactly like the perfect example of kindly old man with a heart of gold. My memories of those evenings with my grandfather warmed my cold suburban heart. I felt a kinship with him that I didn’t’ have with any other member of my family. My uncle Larry had a big yard, but that didn’t compare with the quiet simplicity of the old house. I wasn’t quite sure it was the same stove, but when I looked at the picture, I could almost make out the marks where Gramps had etched our names.
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