It was getting late in the day at our little trade shop at the end of Miles Street, a dead-end street in an old mill town. We were just cleaning up, preparing to close for the day, when a large, gruff-looking man in coveralls came into the store. He walked with quick, broad, purposeful strides, right past the sales staff toward Joel’s jewelers’ bench. He was holding a steel mason’s trowel, and his face was serious. “Hey. You know my wife, Roslyn?” he said abruptly, startling Joel from his bench work. Joel stuttered and fumbled for words, thinking the man was about to accuse him of having improper relations with his wife. “No,” said Joel, “Uh, I don’t think so.” The man’s face twisted, and he raised the mason’s trowel toward Joel. “Do you think you could make one of these in gold?” he asked. Turns out his wife had a charm bracelet, and Charlie was hoping Joel could make a custom, handmade mason’s trowel charm! Phew!
 
 
JEN M.,
GREENFIELD, MA