A cool thing about becoming fairly aged is the span of time one's experiences cover, reaching back into environments and cultures that no longer exist. Another cool thing are the memory clips that bubble up seemingly out of nowhere like little treasures
When I was about six Grandma Elizabeth and Grandpa Sebastian were still in Chicago. In the late 1940's they had been able to save enough to purchase a three-story residential building where they rented out the top three floors. I still remember the unique smell of the foyer - old wood, carpets, furniture polish - that spoke of a comfortable old city dwelling. Grandpa worked as a building custodian, travelling from site to site on his bicycle to tend furnaces and whatever else he did to keep buildings functioning in 1940's Chicago.
The memory that visited me occurred during one of our visits, when I was old enough to ride with Grandpa sitting on the crossbar of his bike between his arms. The memory probably got recorded because I was pretty nervous about my precarious perch and the dodging through Chicago traffic. On this particular outing grandpa spied a chicken running loose, parked me and the bike, and took off on foot after it. Back at the house I remember the chicken being provided a dish of water in the kitchen. But soon the chicken was no more, except that we soon had a chicken dinner.
The family in 1943 - 3 years before the chicken incident