Through aged eyes; memories and visitors aid the elderly to see beyond the mists of time.

In the quiet of her nursing home, an other day is just beginning. Sunlight strikes the handle of her wheelchair, giving her hand a peculiar glow. She sees every vein through the transparency of the skin as she holds the handle tightly. Her aimless thoughts stagger onto the time when her hands were prettier, her fingers long and graceful. She moves her hand from the wheelchair and tries to pose her spindly fingers the way she had held her paint brush many years ago. With firm determined strokes, she captured sunshine and rain on her drawing board. She painted young people; in black and white, in puddles of water, in love, in nothingness. It was a dream, the feeling of being young, to love, to belong to a family of caring people. It was so special, something she wanted to keep forever.

The longing for a friendly face makes her look towards the door. She waits a moment, her glance caught in time. Then the feeling passes; the transient moment of happiness wanes. She keeps looking. What else is there for her to do as she moves from her bed to the wheelchair, day in and day out, too frail to use her legs. Only her memoly walks and reaches into her vision of years gone by.

It was a Christmas of long ago after the children had homes and families of their own. They were all coming over. There would be 15 of them at the table, and there she was, in charge, making all the plans. There were things to do. John and she went out to get the Christmas tree. Then grandchildren helped them decorate. They put up the outdoor Christmas lights. She baked cookies with little Sarah as her helper. They made little candy ornaments, She took out the big box of decorations from previous years; one held the homemade ones from when the children were little. There was so much music, talking, and laughter as they hurried around ...