Christmas for My Daughters
Joe is a mate of mine. “Mate” hardly describes our connection, yet the sporadic contact belies a relationship that holds strong meaning for me. Joe is pretty much anonymous to most, but that is of his own making. He is humble at a time when indulgence and opulence seemed to be currency. For a long time, he struggled as an artisan. Other carpentry shops that ran slave labour gazumped the hand-crafted ...