It had been many years since I had seen my grandma, “Nanny” as I called her, when I came across a videotaped Q&A session between my uncle and Nanny. She sat at her piano, an image I remembered so clearly. Uncle Larry asked Nanny questions about her life, such as “How did you and dad meet? What did you do for fun when you weren’t working? How was life with a family of six under one roof during the Great Depression?” In between questions, she would play a song on the piano and sing – one of my fondest memories of being at Nanny’s.
Seemingly simple questions elicited hilarious, surprising, and touching responses that I never get tired of hearing. I certainly learned a great deal about her era, her struggles, and her joys – parts of our family history that would be forever lost if they had not been preserved in the video. But what I loved even more, and cherish the most, is how hearing her voice, seeing her smile, and watching her play the piano instantly took me back to being in that living room with her. I could hear the cuckoo clock, taste the gooey butter cake, and picture myself right there with her again.