Well, well, well. My quest to identify people in old family photos had some surprises. No sooner had I pulled out that little angel baby and my nearly blind grandmother (who will be 98, not 97 as I had earlier reported) started laughing.“There I am!” she said. “What are you doing with that?”
“This is you?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
Then I drew her attention to the wings. “I didn’t know I had wings. Where do you see wings?”
“More to the point,” I said, “what happened to your wings? You don’t have any now.”
More chuckles. My mother claims my imagination got the best of me: Those alleged wings are just a blanket behind the baby.
Maybe so. But isn’t my version full of more possibility?
At one point over the weekend, my grandmother turned to me and warned—just as my elderly landlord used to—“It’s Hell getting old. I don’t recommend it.”
I promised I’d do my best to follow her advice.
Not long after my visit, my grandmother was rushed to a hospital—where she remains today, undergoing a battery of tests. I’m thinking positive thoughts for her.
But I wonder: Is she on her own quest to recover those wings?
[Painting by Abbott Handerson Thayer.]
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