Letters from North
America
Watching
the news concerning the
fires in Los Angeles I
notice that the most
common item taken by
residents fleeing their
burning houses is their
family photographs. I
suppose there is some
part of us deeply
imbedded in our physic
that wants to hold onto
reminders of our past as
well as the past of our
ancestors. We keep these
things near and dear to
or hearts. When you hear
someone describe the
loss of their home, they
almost always mention
the loss of the family
pictures. The rest of
the things don’t seem to
compare in value.
In my house this is an
on going issue. When we
moved earlier this year,
we were forced to
confront ourselves with
the fact that we have
five or six book box
sized cartons of
photographs of our
family which we have
kept over the past forty
years. We have slides,
Polaroids, black and
white photographs,
photos on cd’s, and
digital images to
contend with. Early in
our married life we put
photographs in albums,
but gave up at some
point in time, I’m not
certain I know why.
Maybe we were too busy
living the dream.
The problem we now face
is this overabundance of
photographs throughout
the years. Each fall I
vow to get those boxes
out and start to sort
them into some kind of
order so that they will
make some sense. Some
sense to whom has never
been determined, but for
some reason it seems to
be important to me. Not
so for my wife.
I never finish, in fact
I seldom even get
started , since I stop
to think about when and
where each set were
taken and either get
sentimental of tickled
about whatever we were
doing at the time.
Either one of these
disrupts my progress and
leads me to cease my
activity and lug the
boxes back to the closet
where they will sit
again for another year
or so. The whole process
seems to be overwhelming
as all of the boxes are
filled to the brim with
memories of years gone
by, and in no certain
order. Notice I said…no
certain order. This
results in my looking at
pictures of my kids in
diapers and then opening
up the next set of them
at college. It is more
than the mind can
comprehend at one time.
Kind of like trying to
see the entire
Smithsonian in one day.
A lot of my pictures are
of family members that I
don’t know or recognize
since they were taken so
long ago. In fact they
may not even be members
of my family for all I
know. If you’re like me,
you tend to hang onto
pictures forever. I
suppose when we die
these never get sorted
out or thrown away but
just passed onto some
surviving family member.
I’ve got pictures of
people that I am totally
clueless about but am
loath to throw away for
some reason or another.
It just doesn’t seem to
be the right thing to
do. I guess I’m hoping
someone in my family
will step up to the
plate and tell me who
these people are. Not
that there is anyone
left to tell me since
most everyone has died
out by now. If that
isn’t possible then I
feel certain those five
or six boxes that I have
now (as well as the one
or two more I may
generate before I pass
on) will get passed
along to my four sons
who will leave them in
the boxes for the next
forty or fifty years and
then try to figure out
the same thing. Who the
heck are those people?
They won’t know, but
will tell their wives
that this is just part
of the family history.
She brings hers as well
and those get mixed in
with his, further adding
to the confusion of
future generations. This
will get very confusing
to those living a couple
of hundred years from
now.
This kind of reminds me
of those huge
collections of National
Geographic. Everyone
seems to have a bunch of
them. We all intend to
go back and re-read
every word but we never
seem to get enough time
to do so. Therefore they
sit on the shelves in
our houses and get
passed along from one
generation to another.
One good thing to notice
is the fact that with
the advent of the
digital age, all of
these pictures can be
compressed and saved in
much smaller spaces.
Perhaps my kids will
only end up with one or
two boxes by the time
they get old. Probably
not.
