Nails and Mortar – an Immigrant Story
“Hey, watch it!” Pirkko squealed as a piece of old mortar grazed her flushed cheek.
“So, Sooorry”, I shouted, above the din of hammers, old bricks and flying mortar. We had been told to chip off cement from discarded bricks. It was our father’s idea of saving money as we built our first home in Canada.