Foggy Memory
This is a photo from two summers ago. I dug it out of the archives because I saw it pass by in the running slideshow on a digital picture frame in my living room, and it sparked warm and wonderful memories. Looking back at happy times is one of the privileges that come with age. It's the reason I have photos hanging on my walls, and a slideshow running in the living room.
Two years ago, I took a trip with my granddaughter, Anastasia, to spend time together, make some memories, and connect with our ancestry. We visited a beautiful region of Canada where my mother—Ana's great-grandmother—came from: the coast of Nova Scotia. We stayed in a rented chalet on a tiny, private island, and made daily excursions to the picturesque towns and villages along the coast. As a little girl, my granddaughter had a very close bond with my mother, so I thought it would be good for her to see where Mom had come from.
One day, I was up very early, and while Ana slept, I went outside to enjoy the arrival of morning. As the day began to brighten, I marveled at the way color crept into view through the fog. Seagulls provided the only sound in the still, chilly air. Sitting in front of the house, sipping coffee, I took out my phone and captured the scene. A wave of powerful emotions flowed over me, as I remembered my own childhood visits to my grandparents' house, when I sat on the wharf behind the house in the early morning fog, watching form and color creep into view. In those days, the screams of the gulls were accompanied by the deep bass drone of foghorns, but little else had changed. I felt the connections of family reaching me across the years, from the distant past to the newly-formed memories I was sharing with my granddaughter. Such memories flow rich and deep. And a passing image from a living room slideshow can call forth smiles and tears.