I don't believe in Ghosts, yet they keep coming back...

This morning, I was given a nice little snapshot of my Mum and Dad from the days beofre I was born, back in the sixties, when they had a house in Saskatoon.

A relative of mine - a lovely lady named Bonnie - phoned to ask me for the addresses of other family members so that she could update her family tree project. Of course I said I'd be happy to help. (It turns out that we've both been updating family trees using the same source material: a family tree that had been begun back in the 1960s by one of my Dad's cousins.)

Bonnie told me that she'd last talked to my Dad back when he and my Mother were living in Saskatoon, in the sixties. (This would have been before 1966, when I was born.) Bonnie recalled hearing my Mother playing piano in the background, which is a nice image to be reminded of. I always feel grateful whenever some family member or friend mentions my Mother, like a gift of recognition has been given to me personally. She has been such an enigma to me for so many years.

Bonnie also remarked that my Dad possessed a photographic memory, which doesn't surprise me much, given his ability to recall details and specific events in his past.

My folks have been dead for quite a few years now: Dad since 1989, and Mum since 1995, yet it takes to little to stir them up in my mind. I must be carrying them around in my hip pocket (or somewhere closer to my heart, I suppose).

Words are so powerful. Thanks Bonnie for yours, which evoked the ghosts of my Mum and Dad so strongly for me today.