I got a note from an old friend in California today. I lived with Melba’s family for the school year from fourth through eighth grades. As an only child, I felt very privileged to be part of a large family, and perhaps one more kid around wasn’t all that much trouble for her mom when she already had four of her own. No doubt they needed the money for my board and room, and as an adult, I realized what a sacrifice it was for my parents to pay it.
Enclosed in Melba’s note were three pictures; black and white of course, as were all photos then. One was of me at age ten, sitting on the bumper of my parents’ new car. One of Melba and I and her older sister modeling our crepe paper formals, made by their mom for a school play, in which we were to dance the minuet. Mrs. Porath was a whiz with her treadle sewing machine, as were many moms except for mine, who darned socks, turned collars and cuffs, but neither had, nor wanted anything to do with, a sewing machine. I recall the pastel dresses, but not the color of mine, just that they were scratchy. The other snapshot was of my three classmates and me, dressed as Indians for freshman initiation. All I remember about freshman initiation is being blindfolded and fed cold spaghetti which we were told were worms. Those tricks and costumes would never be permitted nowadays but, at the time, we felt honored that upper classmen would acknowledge our existence.
All this got me thinking about how pictures are a record of our lives, and the ways that has changed. A lot of folks have hundreds of pictures on their phones but I only have twenty or thirty, of family weddings, great grandbabies, and some scenes around the home place—a rainbow, foggy mornings, and our dogs. The old acronym of SOGWPIP (silly old grandma with pictures in purse) still applies, just in a different form.
But our new methods leave a lot to be desired. Several decades from now, those records will be lost unless someone prints them out to paste in an album. Do they even make photo albums anymore? What will be left to spark a memory of old times and people who shared them? Oh, we still have the wedding photos, graduation announcements, and family picture Christmas cards, but what of the ordinary moments; that class reunion, school trip, or neighborhood gathering? Those memories are just as much a part of the tapestry of our lives, and just as worthy of attention. Perhaps more so now, since we probably let the moment pass unnoticed at the time.
I recently cleared out a lot of stuff in the house I used to use part time. Boxes of pictures from decades ago went to the dump, and a lot of my life went with them, but it wasn’t anything my kids would care about, and there’s no room for them now that I’ve downsized. There are some left for them to go through and toss when the time comes, and maybe there will be one or two that someone will hang on to. For now, I’ll keep the pictures of a new car and crepe paper dresses, and send the one of freshman initiation to a classmate in Denver. I’ll call her next week on her 86th birthday and we’ll reminisce a bit.
Meet me here next week, and meanwhile, do your best. Someone might like it.