Hundreds of photographs live in old, worn shoeboxes tucked onto a bookshelf. Some are older than my years, capturing moments long forgotten until I lift the lid.
There is my mother’s face, lit up by the Christmas tree, in her housecoat. It was the 70s.
My dad in his Army fatigues on the coast of Italy.
My oldest brother on prom night, wearing a baby-blue tuxedo with white Converse high-tops, always the rebel, standing in front of the enormous blue spruce in our front yard—the usual backdrop for any family occasion that required us to dress up and pose for a picture.
A carefree pack of teens in a backyard, feeling invincible, thinking we’d never get old.
There is one from my college graduation. I am dressed in white, standing beside one of my best friends, Carolyn. Our black caps are tossed into the air, with Spanish oaks dripping in moss behind us.
I can still remember her rebellious spirit.
Today, I cannot remember her last name.
There are hundreds of memories in those boxes. Some from before I was born. Many from before my marriage, before my children, before the life I now live.
Every one of those photographs was taken on film. We’d finished the roll, drop it off at the drive-thru Fotomat kiosk in the Lawrence Park shopping center parking lot, and waited days for it to be developed.
There were no previews. No retakes. No deleting the ones we did not like.
Opening that paper envelope felt like opening a gift. Which pictures came out? We ditched the ones with red eye. And which one, by some small miracle, captured the moment perfectly?
Today, we take hundreds of photographs on our phones without giving it much thought. We snap a picture of a fancy drink at the bar, a pretty sky, a selfie, or the dog looking especially cute while sleeping.
The pictures pile up on our phones and computers, rarely printed and often never looked at again. They have become a commodity. Something unlimited so we barely give them much thought.
The camera takes only a picture. Time turns it into something else.
A face becomes someone we ache to see again. A tree becomes the backdrop to a childhood. A friend whose last name we have forgotten stands beside us again.
The photograph has not changed. We have. What began as an ordinary snapshot becomes a portal in time. Nostalgia slips through a pinhole-sized aperture and pierces my heart.
Those summer photos still living on your phone. Print one. Frame it. Give it to someone you love. Someday, it may be priceless.
Enjoy,
Regina
I don’t know how I will ever deal with the countless shoeboxes in my closet filled with photographs that are priceless to me in addition to the thousands that are now on my computer and in my phone. The very special ones I have in frames scattered around the house. Hannah and Connor as toddlers are among them. For some of us, letting us is no easy proposition. The memories are priceless.
I don’t know how I will ever deal with the countless shoeboxes in my closet filled with photographs that are priceless to me in addition to the thousands that are now on my computer and in my phone. The very special ones I have in frames scattered around the house. Hannah and Connor as toddlers are among them. For some of us, letting us is no easy proposition. The memories are priceless.
View lessAww, I love that you have a snapshot of H&C!
Aww, I love that you have a snapshot of H&C!
View less