Yesterday my brother and I spent an enjoyable afternoon looking at old family photos that had been at our mom's place. For some reason, when we were growing up photos tended to stay stuffed in drawers and stashed in trunks, so there were dozens of pictures we had never seen before. Some of them were taken more than 70 years ago! Sometimes we didn't know the people in the photos, but we could identify them because they looked exactly like their children or grandchildren (our contemporaries) at the same age.
There were a bunch of photos taken at big family events, like weddings and holidays. These were a lot of fun to look at. On the other hand, once or twice I had to suppress the urge to count how few people in particular pictures were still alive.
My favorites were the casual pictures taken around the house when I was a kid. The memories of everyday life in that house -- the back yard, living room, kitchen, etc. -- are still incredibly strong and happy, as are (of course) memories of our parents. After looking at those pictures, I suddenly had an urge to go to that place for a visit -- not my old house, but my house in that time. This wasn't a nostalgic pang, but a very matter-of-fact feeling. Immersed in the photos, this seemed completely real and possible, like you might go to the mall or to the park for a few hours.