Keep on Keepin’ On
My first construction job was helping my grandpa mix mortar in a wheel barrow for repairs he was doing to the little stone wall he’d built out of river rocks around the incinerator[1] that sat between his house and the small apartment building he owned in Paso Robles, California. To this day the smell of cement being mixed brings back those memories. He eventually paid me in riding lessons, teaching me how to ride a bicycle. He held onto the seat of the big, old Schwinn and ran along behind while I peddled laps around the incinerator enclosure. The riding
