I recently spent some time with my 97-year-old mother-in-law. It was our first visit since COVID rearranged everyone's travel plan. At her age, she's assumed her rightful place as the Grand Dame of my wife's family. She is also a good touchstone for all the social, political, and cultural changes going on. Her eyesight is not good, so I try to read to her on each visit. It is always well received and much appreciated.
This time, after a brief session, we were chatting and I happened to mention that I recently looked up the house I grew up in on Google maps. From there I found a real estate listing and was able to see some of the sales histories since my sister and I sold the place after my father's death. I was bemoaning the fact that there were no interior pictures but I could see that the front lawn and our big silver maple tree were gone replaced by concrete. My father's beloved redwood on the front side had been painted blue or was replaced by blue siding. It was hard to tell which.
At this, my mother-in-law began to muse about her childhood home. She told me that her family purchased the home in Newton, Mass in 1930. The lightbulb came on.
"Would you like to see if we can find a picture online?" I asked.
At that, we began her search on my iPad. Sure enough, the stately home of her childhood appeared. Her reaction was mildly astonishing. To say that seeing this home elevated her spirits is an understatement. It was almost as if I'd brought someone from the dead. In a way, that was precisely what happened.
She was so overcome with emotion that she instantly called her 93-year-old sister to tell her the news. Now, both these elders are not currently computer savvy and cannot perform the simplest of searches because of eyesight. In fact, they've pretty much given up cyberspace. But this ability to view their childhood home was just too much. It got me thinking. To see something you never expected to see again is quite an experience.
It reminded me of the time I went to an Italian festival in San Francisco some years ago. There was a room with enlarged photos of the Italian community in San Francisco during the Depression years. I was struck by one photo of an old stake truck with a big wine barrel on the bed and a big crowd around it. The caption explained that it was a Sunday delivery of wine that many folks were crowding around. With wine illegal, many Italian-Americans were unable to continue some cultural traditions.
Suddenly, an older man, accompanied by two women became very animated. All three were speaking in Italian. The gentleman was obviously emotionally overcome. He began to cry. People turned to look. Finally, I asked one of the women accompanying him what was the matter.
"He sees himself as a young man in this photo," she replied. Sure enough, there in the crowd, waiting for their Sunday wine allotment, was a younger version of this tearful man. Powerful. Again, like seeing something yo never thought you'd see again.
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