Commentary by Wayne Lee
Months ago, my daughter had advised me that she was planning a trip to the West Coast around Easter. Well, the holiday came and went without a word. Then I got a phone call from my daughter, the oldest of my four children, that she was at some mid-west airport (Denver?) on layover, and said she would be in my area April 12.
She usually flies into Sacramento where two of her three brothers reside. This time she brought her husband and daughter and flew into Portland. I was later informed that my son-in-law has a brother in Salem and a friend in Vancouver. They rented a car and eventually made their way south, showing up at my front door last Sunday afternoon with pizza and wings (she’s such a good daughter).
The main reason for the visit was to go through the mountain of boxes containing all the photos my mother had collected over her lifetime. Regular readers of this space may recall how we had to clear a mountain of boxes from her home after she had passed and how they all ended up in my little apartment. Much to my amazement, further boxes were discovered and delivered to me. We took a big breath and began the archaeological excavation.
When we dug in, it was like opening a time capsule. We went through box after box as she asked me to identify the family members pictured, some going back to before I was born. Some photos were old black and white pictures dating back to the early 1940s of people whose identity remains a mystery to me. What surprised me was the number of faces I was able to identify.
There were photos of just about every place I’ve ever lived, every dog she ever owned and old black and white pictures of my grandparents including grandpa in his navy uniform from the 1940s. We found an entire box of those envelopes that hold both the photos and negatives.
This totally perplexed my granddaughter who was born in the digital age. She knew nothing about film, negatives and the printing of pictures. I went on to explain the process and how I had set up my own darkroom in my garage back in 1970s to print my own photos. I even once taught a 4-H photography class back in the day.
As we made our way through each box, we also found two boxes of old record albums including some old movie soundtracks such as The Sound of Music, Paint Your Wagon and Mary Poppins. There were also classic albums from singers such as Jerry Vale, Eddy Arnold, Andy Williams, Johnny Mathis and Mom’s favorite, Engelbert Humperdinck.
There was a box full of books which included a book detailing the history of McClellan Air Force Base where she worked her entire career. Inside the book were some old, yellowed newspaper clippings, one of which, for reasons I have yet to discern, was the entire front page of the Sacramento Union dated Oct. 2, 1941. It featured an ad for the Ford Deluxe and Super Deluxe.
Another box contained a punch bowl set still in its packaging, but the box at the bottom of the pile was filled with old reels of 8mm film, lots of reels. My daughter asked if I had a projector. I could only laugh. I was in elementary school operating the classroom projector the last time I dealt with movie film.
She got as much of it organized as she could, took a few things with her, and told me she would be back in a few weeks to pack it all up and ship it back to her home on the east coast before beginning her family’s journey home. Thus, the mountain of boxes in the middle of my living room has been reduced and reorganized but is still taking up too much space throughout nearly every room in my humble abode.
As a side note, my 13-year-old granddaughter found out I had an electric bike and insisted I give her a ride when she arrived. So, I had her put on my helmet and put her on Da Beast. Ironically, there was no need to adjust the fit. Her full head of curly hair more than compensated for the larger, hairless head of mine. She thoroughly enjoyed the ride, laughing and pointing out the wild turkeys along the way.
I then let her ride the Death Machine 2000 electric scooter, making sure the speed setting was low (12 mph max), which she still thought was too fast. I had to chuckle as she kept one foot on the scooter and one foot off, ready to bail out at a moment’s notice. She somehow, someway, by the grace of God, managed to make it back unscathed with a huge smile on her face. She’ll probably be asking for one this Christmas.
