It had been seven years since we visited with them, another branch of my mullti-faceted family. So we arranged to meet at a restaurant in Coquitlam to catch up on the events of our lives. My two half sisters and their mother were waiting for us when we arrived, a little late due to miscalculations about the distance from Vancouver.
It was great to see them after so long and there were many stories to share. By the time we parted, the restaurant was setting up for the dinner crowd.
Tracey had brought along an album with photos from our father's past and I was curious about the house where he grew up. Was it still there? She had a photo of the house, taken many years ago. I had vague memories of walking up the street between my grandparents' homes. The following week, we drove down the narrow East Vancouver street to discover that it was still standing, squeezed between two newer homes and a little tattered from years of habitation.
According to stories that I was told, my grandparents made it through the Great Depression better than many others by keeping a garden in the backyard as well as a few chicken. This little house holds many stories.
No comments:
Post a Comment