Grandma's world

When I was living at grandma's, when I moved to Montreal, there were a few things I knew were not allowed: no going in her bedroom or the other bedroom, my aunt's. No sniffing around. And no wandering in the basement. But I was always fascinated by the basement: growing up, this was where she disappeared when time came to fetch a surprise: a game, most of the times, that was old, dusty. There were things down there that were from old times: an old bicycle, chairs, etc. So I never got to explore it much. But you just respected that: grandma was like that, extremely private, and yet so generous in how she was with us, that it didn't matter that there were these zones that were so intriguing to a curious child.

I stopped by, coming home from a rather unsuccessful attempt at renewing my driving license (I was 176, there were serving 96. Made no sense to wait). My mom was upstairs, cleaning up things in the kitchen. I helped a bit. And then I wandered downstairs (after asking permission, of course). There, I found my mom's wheelchair: when she was 5, she was crossing the street with her older brother and they were hit by a car. She had a broken leg. It was on the same street corner as where her brother, 2 years later, would be killed by a truck in a hit and run. But that's another story. Anyways. My grandpa, so that his girl could be at home, made this wheelchair out of a normal chair.
Behind is another thing grandpa made: it's a child size altar, for his sons who liked to play priests. There were apparently all the fixings (pots, etc.), and the boys would "say" the mass once a week, and charge a small fee. You've gotta love Quebec in the 1950s: so obsessed with religion!