Years ago, when I was just a little girl, my dad had dreams of putting a Franklin stove in our house. He bricked the hearth inside with a pile of bricks that had once been part of a street somewhere.
My grandpa had his eye on Dad's dream too and he also had an idea. Down in Uncle Leo's garage in Angelica, NY was an old wood stove with the back burned out. Grandpa carted it home to his basement shop in East Rochester and started the task of rebuilding the old relic. One day when we stopped to visit he took Dad downstairs to show him. There it was in pieces, on the floor and stacked in boxes. "I don't know, Dad," my father said, "I've really got my heart set on a Franklin." We went home and Grandpa kept working. Several weeks later he took Dad to the basement again to show him the nearly restored treasure and ask him what he thought. He said, "Ya know,Dad, I think I changed my mind."
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