Anatomy of a Rockwellian Pose

Some old photos bring back sharp, crisp memories.  They transport us back in time and place, so vividly that if you close your eyes, you are there.

And other photos may be nice, but they are more shrouded in fog.

The picture above is such a one.

Whose home is it?  I do not recall such a door, or a door with a table so close by it.

The definites first.  The boy is me.  The little girl in the high chair is my sister Carol (she looks very skeptical that I am going to let her have any cake).  The woman leaning over her is my mother.  The elderly couple in it are my mother's grandparents.  I just don't know which set.  Are they her mother's parents from Texas or her father's parents from California?

I am tempted to say it's not only the California grandparents, but also the picture was taken in California at their house.  We did go to California in the summer of '59 or '60, and we did see them there.

Whose birthday? There are five candles so it must have been mine.  But was I four or five when we went to California?  I'm not sure.  My birthday is on June 9th, and the way school years used to end, it would be too early in the summer to be there. We would not have begun the trip until my Dad was done with the teaching year.  So if it was a birthday celebration of mine, it would have been late.

My Grandmother's parents we visited once in Texas on our way to one of our California trips.  Her father was an extremely eccentric man who owned a large junkyard.  The rumors were that he was very wealthy, but that the money was buried in the junkyard.  All I know is nobody I knew ever inherited anything.  Her mother liked to dabble in writing, so that may be where my desire to write began.  I have one of her stories and I will try to post it soon.  The strongest memory I have of them is that when we left them, Great Grandfather went to kiss my mother goodbye, and wound up biting her on the neck.  Quite a shock, but he thought it was amusing.  It might help explain my own aversion to sunlight.

My Grandfather's parents in California I remember even less about.  The only memory I have is that I was outside in his yard playing in his yard, and something I did irritated him, so he sprayed me with a water hose.  Not playful, but like I was a Selma civil rights marcher and he was an Alabama policeman.  My mother was horrified that he did that, and we did not stay there much longer.

The only one who can help me clarify this picture is my sister, and as she was very young when this was taken, probably cannot add much clarification.

A Rockwellian pose, starting to cloud over, lost in the mist of time.