What doesn’t kill you
Ruth Ostrow; 30/1/10
It was a few years ago. I needed to renovate a veritable shack I’ bought to live in. I was nervous because all the people I’d asked for recommendations vis-à-vis builders and tradesmen would recount horror stories and moan, “Never again.” Meanwhile, I watched a neighbouring property being renovated in record time, with the owners full of praise. I went over to the builder to find out if he’d take on my house. To my surprise he was completing some finishing touches with his feet, having been a thalidomide child and born with malformed limbs. He worked closely with his dad, a semi-retired gentleman in his senior years, who loved working with his hands. I knew I’d found the perfect team. And I never looked back. My renovation was done quickly, with no fuss, within budget, and with good craftsmanship as both dad and son took pride in everything they did themselves or contracted out.