Tidbits, Sept. 27, 2023

Recently, a lawyer buddy of mine asked me to help him out with one of his cases. He has a German-speaking client whose English is rather rudimentary and he wanted me to interview this person in German. I agreed to help and the client and I spoke on Monday by telephone. In sort of mentally prepping for the upcoming chat, I knew that there would be delicate topics discussed and that I, of course, needed to keep it professional. This is not the same, but I recall having a therapist for a time who would cry at things I said she found upsetting. Way to take your client out of the room, lady! I didn't want to have to worry about someone else's feelings as I'm worrying about my own, if that makes sense. Anyway, I knew, at least, not to do what my old therapist did while conducting the phone interview. All in all, I think the convo went well. I got what was needed, wrote it down and sent it to my lawyer pal. 

What I didn't expect, or didn't think about, really, was how sympathetic the client would come across. I'm still thinking about the client's plight and hoping things go the right way. Fingers crossed. 

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The above images show the same house 101 years apart. For those of you in the Old World or even on the East Coast of No. America, a century ago may be just a drop in the bucket of time. For those of us living out west, a 100-year-old building is considered old. A lot, if not most of the homes in this particular area of Bernal Heights were built around the turn of the last century, my great-grandparents' abode included. Our old digs is not the above home, but rather one that stands right across the road from where these pictures were taken. It's still there, but doesn't look as it once did--unlike the blue beauty above. The reason for the side-by-side comparison was that I was recently thumbing through one of the old photo albums inherited from my pops and found loads of old family shots taken along Andover St. in Bernal Heights, where a majority of my family lived at the time. In the above picture, circa 1922, my grandmother Elsie, the little blonde girl, is standing across the street from her parents' home with neighbors, I assume. Looking at the house behind them, I thought if it still stands, then I could easily identify it by its groovy wood work. So, I took a walk up Andover this past Sunday and there she still stood. -looking to be in pretty good nick, I might add. Part of me thinks it would be neat to show the current owners the old snap from 'yesteryear', but I don't think I'll be ringing any doorbells anytime soon. Who answers the door to strangers these days? And it may just seem a little weird to do so anyway. 

'Hi, I have this photo...' SLAM! 

Maybe the woman with whom I'm friendly who lives in our old family house on Andover St. knows this particular neighbor. If so, I could ask her for an introduction!