Out of the Frozen Past

Out comes the old box of photos, for whatever reason, on a hot and humid Saturday.

I look around in there. So many faces without names. They are relatives unknown to me, their photographs mixed in with all of those I know well.
My eyes get misty for a second and I don’t know why.

There is Great-Grandma Schneider in the back row. To her left is Great-Grandpa Max, who died before I was born (The source of my baldness perhaps?). To her right, their two daughters: Mae, standing next to her, and Rose. Grandma Rose stands next to my beloved Grandpa Saul. Aunt Mae married into money. Grandma Rose did not. But Grandpa Saul always had very cool Buicks. One had the seats covered with clear plastic, the same strange vinyl that my grandparents had actually covered their living room couch with. Possibly this was a result of having lived through the Great Depression....I don’t know. They certainly wanted to protect their investments.

When Grandpa Saul died, no one wanted his Buick LeSabre, so, of course, I took it. The thing was about thirty feet long and ten feet wide and had velour seats. It was like driving around in your living room.

Grandma Schnieider had a very thick accent and I remember one time when my brother was ill, she concocted some kind of remedy. It looked like thick urine and had tiny seeds floating in it. I was a kid - it seemed weird and exotic and, thankfully, I wasn’t the one who had to take it.