Honorable Grandmama was present. There is never a doubt about her presence. It usually creates the same feeling one gets when feeling observed without seeing the observer. Grandmama was curious about the bird on top of all the other things I'd managed to pile on top of the kennel cage that served temporarily as a tabletop for spreading out stuff. When I was being creative, stuff just sort of spread, like the outpouring of a volcano. I was being creative. Besides that the weather was not co-operating and with all the storms the Osprey was temporarily in the little office, on top of all the other items.

"Exactly what does a reasonably normal adult do with a "Drachen ?" she wanted to know. The German word Drachen translated actually as Dragon. Dragon was also the word for kite in German. I had a reputation for flying kites, or, for that matter, for also telling others to go and fly a kite. And I would like to have told Grandmama to do that, but that is not being done.

It is an Osprey," I explained, " and it is not a kite it is a windsock. I use it to keep the birds out of the backyard." "Why?" "I've rescued too many cats and I don't want to encourage the birds to bring their families in the backyard. Cats may think of them as dinner on the wing. Try reading my mind," I added. I did not have time for lengthy explanations. My little column was already a couple of days overdue.

Grandmama contented herself with mind reading for awhile. That she had something on her own mind was rather obvious. She would not go away 'til she had satisfied her curiosity. After a short time it sort of came across. "Exactly what is eyeballing?" So that was the thing that caught her curiosity. Straight English she had no problem with; a little something in the vernacular that was different.

I was eyeballing and she wanted to know what exactly it was that I was eyeballing. I took the easy route. I placed an old black and white negative on the scanner and allowed her to peruse the process. It came up as a pre-view. I had the resolution at 600. I would never be able to explain that to her. I could hardly explain that to myself. Clarence gave up on that a long time ago. But I used that resolution to get a sharper image. Of course it took a little longer too, especially if I scanned at full size or close to 5x8, 5 wide, 8 long. While this entire process occurred, all that Grandmama could observe was the little hour-glass cursor bopping gently up and down. I thought she might get bored with that, but her patience and her determination for seeing the finished product was equal to mine.

"Why so slow?" she finally asked. I could have scanned that in J peg and be done a long time ago. It was slow because I wanted as much detail as possible. A high resolution would allow that. Grandmama contented herself with that thought exchange. Grandmama's contentment was a long ways from Grandmama's satisfaction. It was that way when I was little and she taught me how to knit. But eventually the hourglass stopped bopping up and down, the computer coughed politely to let me know that the process was done. A click of the mouse peeled away the scanning commands and Adobe revealed the picture that had not seen daylight since it was taken 55 years ago. The lines were clear.

"Do you remember Lioba and Friedel and Lucia?" We were in the village once more. The big wooden gate was shut and up against it stood the grandchildren of Grandmama's brother, and their mother, the shoemaker's daughter. Grandmama's brother was the village shoemaker. It is hard to grasp the idea that one man would make the shoes for an entire village. Of course, those shoes lasted for a lifetime. My little office was silent. There was no doubt that she was still there, but she was lost in memories of the past. I made a few corrections. The Adobe graphics program allowed me to darken the colors, to heighten the contrast. The clone tool allowed me to do away with scratches and places where the years had caused damage to the negative. Thanks to Gerry, I had become an expert with cropping and repairing damaged places. Thanks to Clarence, I knew when to stop before that fateful screen of death had an opportunity to set off another round of inquiries from Grandmama. I quietly reduced the size of the picture before saving it. There was so much history and so much nostalgia in this little office. The village was no longer thousands of miles away. Those who had left this earth and those to whom the ties of family still bound me were all present here. And I had accomplished that, I and the person who invented all the tools I had learned to use. I was beginning to feel pretty good about myself. That picture wasn't just good, that picture was great. "Aren't you proud of what I accomplished?" I asked. There was no answer. The grand old dame had left. I was alone once more. The past was the past and the present required my undivided attention. That was all right as well. Fifty years ago that Klan wouldn't have given a plugnickel for a chance on my survival.