Recorded for posterity…

For memories, reach for the camera. In this digital world, every second of every minute is recorded by someone, somewhere in the world. Time was when one had to rely on memory to fill in the blanks because cameras were possessed by a few, and the developing of film was expensive. Thankfully, time could also blur memories to mellow sepia.

I shared with a niece my recent encounter with a wedding. Pressed into service to accompany the mini-choir, I also had to provide a musical background to the bride’s progress to the altar. Since the entrance and aisle were out of sight, I asked someone to cue me. On signal, I launched into a lusty rendering of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ only to discover a few seconds later that it was the celebrant hurrying back to the sanctuary. I continued, thinking that the bride would follow. Instead, the groom accompanied by his father came into view. I was about to change tracks, when my lookout hissed – ‘she’s on her way!’ I was just grateful that no one seemed to notice. The niece shattered that thought, ‘But it’s all on video – they’ll have a permanent reminder.’ Ouch!!

On flipping through an old photo album I look at pictures of moments that we wanted to record – just that and no more. Excursions, get-togethers, birthdays, events - all frozen in the pose: what happened in what sequence, who did what, who said what, and a whole lot more became family and friendly legend, in several versions, depending on the raconteur.

Digital photography has changed all that; now every ‘unaware’ expression and embarrassing moment (I hate being caught while shoveling food into my mouth) is saved with unnerving accuracy.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the digital camera: here is handy and inexpensive access to the impulsive and immediate photograph and also the means to record social and civic matters. The latter has proved that the picture is indeed worth more than a ‘thousand’ protests. There are so many reasons to love the technological advancements in photography. But for personal memories, I prefer la vie en rose.

Always Carry Your Camera

An invitation to a seminar on photography exhorted me to ‘always carry your camera’. Good advice! You never know when and where you will encounter that special picture that you wish you had clicked. We tend to carry our cameras for events and for family pictures, but there are so many other occasions which capture our attention and demand a place in posterity.

Once, while on a shopping trip, I passed the lavish glass doors of a showroom selling chandeliers. The interior view was breathtaking but what engaged my attention were two felines. Large, well-groomed, beautifully marked and well-fed, these two stood side by side on their hind legs and assaulted the glass with their forepaws. It was a sight to behold. No amount of cajoling or fake meowing could distract them. There was something in that showroom which had engaged their attention and hence their frantic tattoo. I waited and watched, but no one came to see what they wanted. There was a food bowl kept nearby, so someone from the shop must have been feeding them and perhaps they wanted a refill. Or maybe their reflection in the glass excited interest. Whatever the reason, this was one ‘picture’ worth recording. I never saw those cats again even though I pass the showroom albeit infrequently.

On another occasion, at the break of dawn while on my way to Mass, I espied a young couple wrapped up in fond embrace. They were so engaged in their gentle affection that they were totally unaware of their unusual audience: three burly street dogs, settled on their haunches, with muzzles pointed in puzzled but hopeful attention. The juxtaposition was at the same time tender and comic and I paused for more than a moment to take it in before walking on with a lilt in my step and a curve to my lips. What a lovely start to the day.

No, I do not have these ‘pictures’ captured on film or chip. They are sketched indelibly on the canvas of memory. But, oh how I wish I had carried my camera.