Great-great

Originally uploaded by laundrylessons.

The sepia tones in this photograph are different than all the other colored shades on my bulletin board. I’m pretty sure this is my grandfather, but it could be my father, or maybe an uncle. My mom told me one time, but now I forget. Regardless, he holds a spot in my laundry room. With a full family of my own to take up photo space, I wonder why I’m attached to this picture. I guess it reminds me of those who came before me, that I’m connected to a greater lineage than the little nest of people in my home.

My mom recently started going through all the old boxes of photographs in her home. She got tired of the task so I asked her to send me a box. Well I got the box, a large moving box, with photos from the 90’s. Really I was hoping to relive a few childhood picnics at grandpa’s lake or first days of school at Arrowhead Elementary. But no, I got pictures of a cactus in Santa Fe, a pineapple wreath in Williamsburg, and mom eating cake at her 60th birthday party. My parents were mostly traveling and enjoying grandchildren ten years ago, so that is what these pictures reflect.

But, do we need to remember the cactus? I called mom and asked permission to pitch some of the pictures. Photos with people are good, they conjure up memories, attitudes, joys and heartaches, but we take a lot of pictures to document our lives, to hold that perfect birthday cake in our mind forever we must click the camera. My mom had at least 24 pictures of her kitchen being remodeled in a house she hasn’t lived in for seven years. They got pitched.

I also have a huge box of photos from the 90’s. I was having babies then. Scrapbooking never seemed to fit into my life. I learned photo storage techniques from my mother. But now, as I explained to my mom on the phone, I really don’t keep prints around. The computer, a much more compact box, keeps my hundreds of memories. With this type of storage, it really doesn’t matter if I take one picture of the rose bush ready to bloom, or twenty. My kids will never have to handle my memories.

Sure I miss the palpable nature of holding a print, staring deeply at my baby’s eyes, but the pictures on the computer don’t haunt me, crying out, “We’re here, so neglected, never put in an album.” Today I got a signal on my phone that I had a new message. My parents are driving out west, winding in and out of destinations they have yet to mark off their list. They had never seen Mt. Rushmore, but I told them to see Crazy Horse, he was way cooler. When I checked the message, a picture of Crazy Horse popped onto my screen. I laughed out loud. Mom was sharing her memory and I didn’t have to sort it.