I decided the other night that I should really scan my old photographs that document my trips taken pre-digital camera revolution. I had to jump and wiggle and bend in ways that defied my body's will to dig the albums out from the storage abyss in the basement. When I brought them upstairs and sat down with them next to my scanner, I started leafing through them to pick out my favorites. And wow, my mind has gotten really elaborate and creative over the years.
I started to get pissed off, and fast. Where were all the photos I had taken? Like, seriously, months upon months upon months of travel through Europe and I had, what, three albums? I started to wonder if I had lost some photos or sold an album in the impenetrable retailing fog that overtakes me during garage sales. I started scanning, and it dawned on me—all those pictures that were missing? Those were mental snapshots. They never existed on film. This was a crushing blow, folks, because those pictures are so much better than those ones I actually have, many of which now only serve to shame me. The mental photos are all perfectly lit and framed and the flash was never rebellious or errant and ... I can't share them with anyone. For a chronic oversharer like me, this was seriously deflating.
I remember that coming back from my first trip abroad I spent $80 developing film. I had never spent that much money before in my life. I thought my parents were going to strap me to a table and drip hot wax in my ears for spending that amount of money. They didn't of course, and they encouraged me to keep taking photos, which I did. I took photos with my camera, my one camera, until one day, in Paris, the damned button fell off. And, of course, me being what I am, I lost the button, which, though unattached, still allowed me to hector the shutter into service. And for the rest of my study abroad experience, I had to depress the sensor with a pencil or a bobby pin or something else. It was a classy scene, I tell you. It also helps to explain why there are relatively few photos from that period.
I've now taken something like 5,000 photos with my digital cameras (the old one was replaced this year when it started acting like it needed an exorcism or two and then just refused to function at all). So, I have a lot more pictures to look at to remind me of my trips and everyday experiences. They often jog my memory when I haven't looked at them in a while. It just makes me sad that my memories can't jog my old photographs—I've only got so much room in that meager grey pile atop my spinal column and I fear losing the images I love. Maybe I won't. Maybe those internal pictures are kind of a part of who I am now, at least in my own perception, and maybe they'll stay there for good.
In any case, I'm going to go buy another card for my camera. Think 1,200-photo capacity will be enough?
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