It has been a hard week around here, and I took a mental health day today. As I was driving around running errands, I was thinking about how life looks from my vantage point, and the thought came into my head, I am constantly on the jagged edge of the universe. Well, that is surely the title of a book, one I will have to write some day. In the meantime, this poem will have to do....
Jagged Edge of the Universe
Everyone has moments in their lives,
Moments that are frozen in mind,
Moments that they relive
Over and over again,
Almost in slow motion.
Every breath, every scent,
Every movement is there,
Instantly available for recall.
Every time I find myself,
Struggling to find my place,
Hoping for a newer space,
I look for something different,
Than haunting
The jagged edge of the universe.
For me, those moments, every one,
Are not times wreathed in joy or fun
But in crisis mode, hopelessness
Pervading the very air I breathe.
My life, once again out of control,
Shattered by a fate beyond me still.
The first such moment, and the last,
Equally painful to behold.
Those moments take my breath away
I cannot think about them without
Feeling the pain anew.
And each time it has happened,
I have found myself struggling,
Once again on the edge of the abyss
The jagged edge of the universe.
It doesn’t get easier,
Those who say it will have lied,
Or they have never dangled their lives
Over the dangerous drop off.
I haven’t gotten stronger
Or more prepared
Like they said I would.
I am no more able to cope
Than I was when I was a child.
If it gives anyone hope,
I can say,
With clarity and faith,
That I have gotten farther away
From the edge.
It doesn’t own me.
It will take more to push me over.
It wasn’t always that way.
I haven’t always felt this strong.
I have fallen, many times,
And clawed my way to the top.
Life has stepped on my fingers,
Forcing me to let go once again,
Falling into the depths.
But peace is a choice.
You can find it
Even in the midst of catastrophe.
You must insist upon it,
Strive for it,
Look for ways to have it.
And then
Every time I find myself,
Struggling to find my place,
Hoping for a newer space,
I will find something different,
Than haunting
The jagged edge of the universe.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
That's what little girls are made of....
It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day 17 years ago today. How do I know this, you may well ask? I usually have trouble remembering yesterday, so it is not run of the mill for me to remember a day from years ago. But that day was the most special kind of day - a once, or in my case, twice, in a lifetime day. I remember it so clearly because my beautiful daughter, Erin, was born 17 years ago today, and changed my world forever.
There are lots of opinions on what it means to have a girl come into your life. They are sweet, they are sour. They are perky, they are depressed. They are fun, they are a nightmare. They are all these things, sometimes simultaneously. They will mix you up, and stomp on your heart, and then they will smile, and suddenly, none of it matters. Because they are your world, and without them, the world wouldn't be the same.
My relationship with my daughter has changed over the years, as I moved from Mama, to Mommy, to Mom, to Mo-ommmmmmm, and now, once again, I am back to Mom. As she has grown up and changed, so have I, and so has our relationship.
This relationship with my daughter is one of brutal honesty, one in which there are no holds barred, nothing hidden or tucked away. She doesn't hold back, and neither do I, as we navigate closer to her independence day. But if you have no barriers, you can also love unconditionally, and there is no other love so purely unselfish. But even as she starts to move away from me for real, we are becoming closer in our hearts.
The biggest change comes now, as she approaches adulthood, and suddenly, she is no longer just the student, learning at my feet. As she has grown, there is more give and take, and now, I learn from her, just as she learns from me. We are still mother and daughter, and will always be. But we are more than that - we are becoming friends, and it is that which causes me the greatest joy this day.
I am sad to see her leaving childhood behind so quickly. I don't know where the years have gone, and I don't understand how my little girl is suddenly so grown up. But at the same time, I look forward to seeing who she will become, to watch her move from potential to reality.
My daughter is everything I ever dreamed of, and so much more. I wouldn't trade my daughter for all the stars in the universe, or all the diamonds in the earth. She is priceless, and my heart will never be the same.
Happy birthday to my wonderful, fabulous, most special daughter. Although today is the day for you to be showered with gifts, you are the real gift, and I am the luckiest mom in the world, because you were given to me. That is what I am celebrating on this day.
There are lots of opinions on what it means to have a girl come into your life. They are sweet, they are sour. They are perky, they are depressed. They are fun, they are a nightmare. They are all these things, sometimes simultaneously. They will mix you up, and stomp on your heart, and then they will smile, and suddenly, none of it matters. Because they are your world, and without them, the world wouldn't be the same.
My relationship with my daughter has changed over the years, as I moved from Mama, to Mommy, to Mom, to Mo-ommmmmmm, and now, once again, I am back to Mom. As she has grown up and changed, so have I, and so has our relationship.
This relationship with my daughter is one of brutal honesty, one in which there are no holds barred, nothing hidden or tucked away. She doesn't hold back, and neither do I, as we navigate closer to her independence day. But if you have no barriers, you can also love unconditionally, and there is no other love so purely unselfish. But even as she starts to move away from me for real, we are becoming closer in our hearts.
The biggest change comes now, as she approaches adulthood, and suddenly, she is no longer just the student, learning at my feet. As she has grown, there is more give and take, and now, I learn from her, just as she learns from me. We are still mother and daughter, and will always be. But we are more than that - we are becoming friends, and it is that which causes me the greatest joy this day.
I am sad to see her leaving childhood behind so quickly. I don't know where the years have gone, and I don't understand how my little girl is suddenly so grown up. But at the same time, I look forward to seeing who she will become, to watch her move from potential to reality.
My daughter is everything I ever dreamed of, and so much more. I wouldn't trade my daughter for all the stars in the universe, or all the diamonds in the earth. She is priceless, and my heart will never be the same.
Happy birthday to my wonderful, fabulous, most special daughter. Although today is the day for you to be showered with gifts, you are the real gift, and I am the luckiest mom in the world, because you were given to me. That is what I am celebrating on this day.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sarah with an h...
Shakespeare would have us believe that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Well, I beg to differ. I'll bet if it had smelled less sweet, it would have been named something else, because names, more often than not, describe the thing for which they are the moniker.
What is in a name? Well, when your name is Sarah, it has an h, at the very least. Or it should, anyway. But all too often, that h gets left off, misplaced right out of the picture, sort of like a train without its caboose. And we all know that the caboose is the fun part with the guy who waves as he goes by. So, in short, my h is important to me.
I was always under the impression that this was a personal quirk of mine, but it seems that I am not alone. I found this out the other day when I met my boss for a mid-week meeting at Starbucks. I breezed in a few minutes late, as usual, and rushed to the counter to make my order. When she asked my name, I replied as I always do, "Sarah. With an h."
She looked at me sort of funny, then laughed right out loud. Since I don't think there is anything really funny about the name Sarah - it's not my favorite name, but it's mine, so I live with it - I couldn't really see any reason for her to laugh out loud at me or it. I looked back at her quizzically, and she responded by telling me that Sarahs are generally obsessed with that h. I asked her what she meant, and the answer was intriguing to me.
Apparently, whether you have an h or not, if your name is Sarah, (or Sara,) you are worried about it. She said it's not even just the Sarahs with the h that talk about it. She said the ones without the h will say, "Sara. Without an h." So apparently, regardless of how we spell it, we all have that h on our minds. How entertaining!
The really intriguing thing she told me, though, was that no one else seems to have that same obsession with getting their name spelled right. For example, she said her name is Sherry, and it gets spelled all kinds of ways, but she doesn't care. She said, neither does anyone else, at least not to mention it. But every Sara or Sarah brings up that h, for some reason.
I am rather intrigued at the idea that we are all worried about our h. The economy is crashing and burning, the world is a mess generally, but by golly, we are not going to lose our h along with everything else.
It makes me wonder, what is it about our name, in particular, that sets off this possessiveness of all our letters? This desire to leave no h behind? What is it about all of us Sarahs, that we are tied together in the desire to hang on to all our letters, and not lose any of them somewhere along the line? I am fascinated at the thought that somehow, we have all had some common experience that leads us to be possessive, or dispossessive, of all the letters in our name, showing up exactly where they belong, in a nice neat row.
I, personally, have been known to insert the h where it belongs on all kinds of pre-printed items. If it's spelled wrong, rest assured it will be corrected one way or another, and you will see an h awkwardly added somehow, even if it's falling off the end of my name like the afterthought it obviously was.
Of course, there are some people, when you tell them you want your h, who get flustered and discomfited, and don't know where to put it. I have had my name spelled in the most amazing ways - from Sarha to Shara to Saraha. For some reason, that h just seems to confound.
Then there is my cousin who nicknamed me Sahara Desert when we were young, but that's another story altogether. Although, come to think of it, that might explain my rather unnatural need to have water available at all times. And I answer pretty readily to "Des" even now.
As I explained to the barista at Starbucks, there is nothing wrong with the name Sara. It's fine, if that is your name. However, it is not my name. My name is Sarah. They are different. You might as well just call me Dave, as leave off my h.
All in all, I am entertained that the Sarahs of the world are united by something more than name only. It seems, from somewhere deep inside of us, we are also a little crazy. At least about our h.
What is in a name? Well, when your name is Sarah, it has an h, at the very least. Or it should, anyway. But all too often, that h gets left off, misplaced right out of the picture, sort of like a train without its caboose. And we all know that the caboose is the fun part with the guy who waves as he goes by. So, in short, my h is important to me.
I was always under the impression that this was a personal quirk of mine, but it seems that I am not alone. I found this out the other day when I met my boss for a mid-week meeting at Starbucks. I breezed in a few minutes late, as usual, and rushed to the counter to make my order. When she asked my name, I replied as I always do, "Sarah. With an h."
She looked at me sort of funny, then laughed right out loud. Since I don't think there is anything really funny about the name Sarah - it's not my favorite name, but it's mine, so I live with it - I couldn't really see any reason for her to laugh out loud at me or it. I looked back at her quizzically, and she responded by telling me that Sarahs are generally obsessed with that h. I asked her what she meant, and the answer was intriguing to me.
Apparently, whether you have an h or not, if your name is Sarah, (or Sara,) you are worried about it. She said it's not even just the Sarahs with the h that talk about it. She said the ones without the h will say, "Sara. Without an h." So apparently, regardless of how we spell it, we all have that h on our minds. How entertaining!
The really intriguing thing she told me, though, was that no one else seems to have that same obsession with getting their name spelled right. For example, she said her name is Sherry, and it gets spelled all kinds of ways, but she doesn't care. She said, neither does anyone else, at least not to mention it. But every Sara or Sarah brings up that h, for some reason.
I am rather intrigued at the idea that we are all worried about our h. The economy is crashing and burning, the world is a mess generally, but by golly, we are not going to lose our h along with everything else.
It makes me wonder, what is it about our name, in particular, that sets off this possessiveness of all our letters? This desire to leave no h behind? What is it about all of us Sarahs, that we are tied together in the desire to hang on to all our letters, and not lose any of them somewhere along the line? I am fascinated at the thought that somehow, we have all had some common experience that leads us to be possessive, or dispossessive, of all the letters in our name, showing up exactly where they belong, in a nice neat row.
I, personally, have been known to insert the h where it belongs on all kinds of pre-printed items. If it's spelled wrong, rest assured it will be corrected one way or another, and you will see an h awkwardly added somehow, even if it's falling off the end of my name like the afterthought it obviously was.
Of course, there are some people, when you tell them you want your h, who get flustered and discomfited, and don't know where to put it. I have had my name spelled in the most amazing ways - from Sarha to Shara to Saraha. For some reason, that h just seems to confound.
Then there is my cousin who nicknamed me Sahara Desert when we were young, but that's another story altogether. Although, come to think of it, that might explain my rather unnatural need to have water available at all times. And I answer pretty readily to "Des" even now.
As I explained to the barista at Starbucks, there is nothing wrong with the name Sara. It's fine, if that is your name. However, it is not my name. My name is Sarah. They are different. You might as well just call me Dave, as leave off my h.
All in all, I am entertained that the Sarahs of the world are united by something more than name only. It seems, from somewhere deep inside of us, we are also a little crazy. At least about our h.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Kiss off....
I learned yesterday that kissing has been the subject of some recent hot study. Researchers have now learned that for 66% of women, the first kiss should be the last, because she is just not that into him.
Men are less choosy, it seems, [I know I'm shocked, how about you?] with about 59% of men deciding to give it up as a lost cause after the first kiss. I don't know - that sounds rather high to me. Men, from my own personal observation, will make eyes at anything that looks back with admiration, especially the mirror. Do you think that is why so many men like dogs?
I have known a few men in my time. I may have even kissed a few of them, but I'm not one to kiss and tell. The idea that people are making Ever After life choices based on that rather insignificant moment in time is somewhat baffling to me. Perhaps this is the answer to where I went wrong in my own decision-making process? I should have paid more attention when I realized that my ex, Mr. Peacock, was gazing so attentively into my eyes because he was seeing his own reflection rather than to what was happening between locked lips.
Kissing is an inter-species activity. Cats touch noses in a show of familiarity and courage that has all the earmarks of a kiss. Dogs kiss everything and everyone that comes within tongue length, a slobbery show of affection that is carried out with complete abandon for those they love.
Kissing is not just for lovers, though. In fact, I would guess that most kisses are exchanged between those for whom romantic love is not in the picture. Parents kiss their young children, and children kiss back with wet, sloppy gifts of affection that leave you sticky until your next shower. Not unlike an animal marking you with its scent, I suspect.
Friends will give each other a kiss on the cheek, and in some circles, especially if you are Gaelic, a kiss thrown across the air is part of a standard greeting. We give kisses to show affection, support or sympathy, a physical display that needs no explanation.
There are many different kinds of kisses, of course. There are short, brief kisses, and long, drawn out affairs. But one thing researchers learned is that you discover a lot about another person subconsciously by kissing them. The area around the mouth and nose is one of the most sensitive areas of the body, and your sense of smell and touch are in full play when you are kissing someone. You pick up all kinds of subconscious cues from the object of your affection, and they can learn some things about you, too.
So, getting back to Valentine's Day, which, if you missed the advertising blitz, was yesterday. Valentine's Day is positively designed for disaster, if you ask me. The retail world sets us up for failure right off the top.
Women have unrealistic expectations, because that is what we do, and consequently, that is what is being sold - advertisers still think we are looking for that knight in shining armour to sweep us off our feet and carry us off on the white horse to Happily Ever After Land. And they must not be entirely wrong, because we do have Valentine's Day as exhibit one for the fact that it works.
In the meantime, no man is ever going to get the perfect gift, since none of them are mind readers, and women don't consider any gift you have to ask for to be perfect. I have to say, I feel for the men on that one, because it's a lose/lose deal for them. On the other hand, they seem to get most of the other breaks in life, so perhaps this is nature's way of achieving balance. I dunno.
A brief digression here. [You knew it was coming, so just stop your sighing and soldier on.] Have you ever noticed how as men age, they supposedly get more distinguished, and attract increasingly younger dates? While as women age, they just looked aged, and hope for someone ten years older to notice them? What is that about? Why is aged wine a good thing, and aged women bad? Mr. Dandy is now dating a woman that wasn't born when he graduated from college, while I am dating...? Oh, that's right. No one. It is a perverse universe, I tell you.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. It now seems our hormones are ever vigilant and looking for the flaws in every potential mate, too, even if we think we know what we're doing. How anyone ever gets together is a mystery to me, since everything seems to be stacked against success. I say, give me chocolate, instead. It's a less complicated relationship.
There was probably a lot of kissing going on around the country last night, although certainly none of it at my house. [Unless you count my dogs, who give me more adoration than is really seemly, which is why I keep them around.] If researchers are right, there are probably a lot of relationships that ended as well, which is probably a good thing, given the divorce rate in this country. Apparently, we should all pay more attention to that first kiss.
Personally, I like mine wrapped in foil, with a little Hershey's flag waving bravely from the top. If you want to find the way to my heart, that's the road map you should follow.
Men are less choosy, it seems, [I know I'm shocked, how about you?] with about 59% of men deciding to give it up as a lost cause after the first kiss. I don't know - that sounds rather high to me. Men, from my own personal observation, will make eyes at anything that looks back with admiration, especially the mirror. Do you think that is why so many men like dogs?
I have known a few men in my time. I may have even kissed a few of them, but I'm not one to kiss and tell. The idea that people are making Ever After life choices based on that rather insignificant moment in time is somewhat baffling to me. Perhaps this is the answer to where I went wrong in my own decision-making process? I should have paid more attention when I realized that my ex, Mr. Peacock, was gazing so attentively into my eyes because he was seeing his own reflection rather than to what was happening between locked lips.
Kissing is an inter-species activity. Cats touch noses in a show of familiarity and courage that has all the earmarks of a kiss. Dogs kiss everything and everyone that comes within tongue length, a slobbery show of affection that is carried out with complete abandon for those they love.
Kissing is not just for lovers, though. In fact, I would guess that most kisses are exchanged between those for whom romantic love is not in the picture. Parents kiss their young children, and children kiss back with wet, sloppy gifts of affection that leave you sticky until your next shower. Not unlike an animal marking you with its scent, I suspect.
Friends will give each other a kiss on the cheek, and in some circles, especially if you are Gaelic, a kiss thrown across the air is part of a standard greeting. We give kisses to show affection, support or sympathy, a physical display that needs no explanation.
There are many different kinds of kisses, of course. There are short, brief kisses, and long, drawn out affairs. But one thing researchers learned is that you discover a lot about another person subconsciously by kissing them. The area around the mouth and nose is one of the most sensitive areas of the body, and your sense of smell and touch are in full play when you are kissing someone. You pick up all kinds of subconscious cues from the object of your affection, and they can learn some things about you, too.
So, getting back to Valentine's Day, which, if you missed the advertising blitz, was yesterday. Valentine's Day is positively designed for disaster, if you ask me. The retail world sets us up for failure right off the top.
Women have unrealistic expectations, because that is what we do, and consequently, that is what is being sold - advertisers still think we are looking for that knight in shining armour to sweep us off our feet and carry us off on the white horse to Happily Ever After Land. And they must not be entirely wrong, because we do have Valentine's Day as exhibit one for the fact that it works.
In the meantime, no man is ever going to get the perfect gift, since none of them are mind readers, and women don't consider any gift you have to ask for to be perfect. I have to say, I feel for the men on that one, because it's a lose/lose deal for them. On the other hand, they seem to get most of the other breaks in life, so perhaps this is nature's way of achieving balance. I dunno.
A brief digression here. [You knew it was coming, so just stop your sighing and soldier on.] Have you ever noticed how as men age, they supposedly get more distinguished, and attract increasingly younger dates? While as women age, they just looked aged, and hope for someone ten years older to notice them? What is that about? Why is aged wine a good thing, and aged women bad? Mr. Dandy is now dating a woman that wasn't born when he graduated from college, while I am dating...? Oh, that's right. No one. It is a perverse universe, I tell you.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. It now seems our hormones are ever vigilant and looking for the flaws in every potential mate, too, even if we think we know what we're doing. How anyone ever gets together is a mystery to me, since everything seems to be stacked against success. I say, give me chocolate, instead. It's a less complicated relationship.
There was probably a lot of kissing going on around the country last night, although certainly none of it at my house. [Unless you count my dogs, who give me more adoration than is really seemly, which is why I keep them around.] If researchers are right, there are probably a lot of relationships that ended as well, which is probably a good thing, given the divorce rate in this country. Apparently, we should all pay more attention to that first kiss.
Personally, I like mine wrapped in foil, with a little Hershey's flag waving bravely from the top. If you want to find the way to my heart, that's the road map you should follow.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Photographic memories....
I have a cousin who is putting old family photos online for all of us to enjoy. I have to be honest, I am really pleased to be the beneficiary of her largess. Instead of keeping these things to herself, she is allowing the entire extended group, of which there are a lot of us, the opportunity to enjoy these pictures, and the relationships shown in them, vicariously.
Back when these photos were taken, in the 40's and 50's, photographs were expensive to obtain, and they didn't waste time documenting every minute of their lives. Instead, they wanted a snapshot to remind them of happy times together, with the people who mattered most. Although there are some friends included, and extended relatives, it's interesting to see how many of them are with each other. Arms around each other's waists, revealing photos of adoring younger sisters gazing at their older brother, or brides and grooms looking so young and happy together, and lots of babies being held by everyone - it's self-evident how much they loved each other, and how important these people were to them.
It is interesting to contrast these photos with the pictures that my daughter puts online of herself and her friends on their facebook pages. I can hardly get my daughter to take a picture with me these days, and as a consequence, we have very few of the two of us from her teenaged years. She would rather pose and make funny faces with her friends to publish to the world - it's more fun, and after all, she sees me all the time. She doesn't worry about posterity - she is still young, and the future is a long ways away.
My dad was our family photographer, and thus, we have very few pictures of him. He always had the movie camera in front of his face, and he was a genius at recognizing that you should document the everyday moments, because that is what you will want to remember in years to come. So his movies have lots of film of children playing and people laughing and having a good time together, eating and celebrating the holidays and the family times. If we were on vacation, he included the scenery, of course. But if you really pay attention, the scenery is a backdrop for the people in front of it - a pretty background for what really mattered to him. In fact, he faithfully documented everything but the one thing I most wish for - some photographs of him, just being himself.
How I wish, now, that we had been smarter, and turned the camera on him sometimes. I wish that I could bring him back for more than the fleeting moment of movie film that we have, when he is here and gone again for a flickering second, or a mere photograph or two. I lost my dad when I was 12, so my internal vision is of a little girl for her daddy. I love to see the photographs where he is framed by someone else's vision. It gives me an insight into the father that I never had a chance to know.
And yet, I haven't learned from my own experience. I realized, after Christmas this year, that there are virtually no photos of me, other than the posed family shots that we take each year to memorialize our aging group. There are no candid shots, no moments where I am caught unawares, and therefore, most myself. I regret that I am leaving little record for my own children to have, and I wonder if they will be as frustrated in years to come as I am now with my own father for being so elusive.
Kids today take photos for granted. They have had their entire lives documented in minute detail, each milestone duly recorded, their every moment preserved forever in a celluloid world that no one has time to watch. I wonder how many of those parents enjoyed those moments in the moment, though. I always feel like I am a step removed if I have the video camera in front of my face, more concerned about getting The Shot than enjoying the occasion.
As a result, I stopped engaging in that behavior a few years ago. My video camera is broken, in fact. And while I probably should be sorry, and get a new one, I find I don't really care all that much. I don't ever watch those videos anyway, and I would rather enjoy the moments as they come. But will my children be regret-filled, because they have nothing left of me when I am no longer here with them?
We have recently heard in the news about kids photographing the most foolish behaviors, and then posting them online for all the world to see. From a group of girls videotaping themselves beating their friend nearly to death, just for the fun of seeing it on You Tube, to a famous Olympian inhaling from a bong, it is sort of shocking to me that they could be so stupid, so lacking in the common sense that would prevent them from self-destructing in that way.
But I think a lot of their problem is simply that they are so accustomed to being photographed, it is part of their natural environment, and they don't even notice it any more. They don't worry about privacy or even that their boss or teacher might see the offending picture, because it doesn't occur to them that it might be an issue. They might check with Michael Phelps to see whether that is a smart way to handle themselves.
And that is what has struck me this morning, as I perused my cousin's treasure trove of memories. That difference in attitude shows up in the family album that she is posting online. Back then, they saved the expensive photos for the people that were most important to them. They didn't waste that precious money on the trivial or people who wouldn't be there forever. Instead, they wanted to memorialize those that were most valued, to record the moments that would be important in their own, and the family's, history.
Today, kids take photos of everything but the important moments. They have cameras on their cell phones, and document everything their friends do, so they will have a record of their daily life that will be unmatched. But I wonder how many of them have pictures of their parents or their grandparents in an album somewhere?
When they look back with their grandchildren fifty years from now, I wonder how many of these people they will be able to name, much less still care about? Will they even know the people who fill their albums or their memory bank of photos? Instead of looking at treasured family members long gone, and recollecting the stories that the sight of their faces will trigger, will they be looking at empty memories of times that, in the long run, didn't really matter at all?
My cousin has a treasure trove of memories on her new blogspot - one to which we can each contribute. We all need to go through the family albums and find those wonderful photos of years gone by, and the people we love, so we can all share in it and be a part of that history, too.
Take a picture with someone important to you today. Life is short - you have no time to waste. Save your history for your descendants. And don't forget to put the names and dates on them. That way you will never forget, and your memories can come alive for your grandchildren, and their grandchildren, too.
Back when these photos were taken, in the 40's and 50's, photographs were expensive to obtain, and they didn't waste time documenting every minute of their lives. Instead, they wanted a snapshot to remind them of happy times together, with the people who mattered most. Although there are some friends included, and extended relatives, it's interesting to see how many of them are with each other. Arms around each other's waists, revealing photos of adoring younger sisters gazing at their older brother, or brides and grooms looking so young and happy together, and lots of babies being held by everyone - it's self-evident how much they loved each other, and how important these people were to them.
It is interesting to contrast these photos with the pictures that my daughter puts online of herself and her friends on their facebook pages. I can hardly get my daughter to take a picture with me these days, and as a consequence, we have very few of the two of us from her teenaged years. She would rather pose and make funny faces with her friends to publish to the world - it's more fun, and after all, she sees me all the time. She doesn't worry about posterity - she is still young, and the future is a long ways away.
My dad was our family photographer, and thus, we have very few pictures of him. He always had the movie camera in front of his face, and he was a genius at recognizing that you should document the everyday moments, because that is what you will want to remember in years to come. So his movies have lots of film of children playing and people laughing and having a good time together, eating and celebrating the holidays and the family times. If we were on vacation, he included the scenery, of course. But if you really pay attention, the scenery is a backdrop for the people in front of it - a pretty background for what really mattered to him. In fact, he faithfully documented everything but the one thing I most wish for - some photographs of him, just being himself.
How I wish, now, that we had been smarter, and turned the camera on him sometimes. I wish that I could bring him back for more than the fleeting moment of movie film that we have, when he is here and gone again for a flickering second, or a mere photograph or two. I lost my dad when I was 12, so my internal vision is of a little girl for her daddy. I love to see the photographs where he is framed by someone else's vision. It gives me an insight into the father that I never had a chance to know.
And yet, I haven't learned from my own experience. I realized, after Christmas this year, that there are virtually no photos of me, other than the posed family shots that we take each year to memorialize our aging group. There are no candid shots, no moments where I am caught unawares, and therefore, most myself. I regret that I am leaving little record for my own children to have, and I wonder if they will be as frustrated in years to come as I am now with my own father for being so elusive.
Kids today take photos for granted. They have had their entire lives documented in minute detail, each milestone duly recorded, their every moment preserved forever in a celluloid world that no one has time to watch. I wonder how many of those parents enjoyed those moments in the moment, though. I always feel like I am a step removed if I have the video camera in front of my face, more concerned about getting The Shot than enjoying the occasion.
As a result, I stopped engaging in that behavior a few years ago. My video camera is broken, in fact. And while I probably should be sorry, and get a new one, I find I don't really care all that much. I don't ever watch those videos anyway, and I would rather enjoy the moments as they come. But will my children be regret-filled, because they have nothing left of me when I am no longer here with them?
We have recently heard in the news about kids photographing the most foolish behaviors, and then posting them online for all the world to see. From a group of girls videotaping themselves beating their friend nearly to death, just for the fun of seeing it on You Tube, to a famous Olympian inhaling from a bong, it is sort of shocking to me that they could be so stupid, so lacking in the common sense that would prevent them from self-destructing in that way.
But I think a lot of their problem is simply that they are so accustomed to being photographed, it is part of their natural environment, and they don't even notice it any more. They don't worry about privacy or even that their boss or teacher might see the offending picture, because it doesn't occur to them that it might be an issue. They might check with Michael Phelps to see whether that is a smart way to handle themselves.
And that is what has struck me this morning, as I perused my cousin's treasure trove of memories. That difference in attitude shows up in the family album that she is posting online. Back then, they saved the expensive photos for the people that were most important to them. They didn't waste that precious money on the trivial or people who wouldn't be there forever. Instead, they wanted to memorialize those that were most valued, to record the moments that would be important in their own, and the family's, history.
Today, kids take photos of everything but the important moments. They have cameras on their cell phones, and document everything their friends do, so they will have a record of their daily life that will be unmatched. But I wonder how many of them have pictures of their parents or their grandparents in an album somewhere?
When they look back with their grandchildren fifty years from now, I wonder how many of these people they will be able to name, much less still care about? Will they even know the people who fill their albums or their memory bank of photos? Instead of looking at treasured family members long gone, and recollecting the stories that the sight of their faces will trigger, will they be looking at empty memories of times that, in the long run, didn't really matter at all?
My cousin has a treasure trove of memories on her new blogspot - one to which we can each contribute. We all need to go through the family albums and find those wonderful photos of years gone by, and the people we love, so we can all share in it and be a part of that history, too.
Take a picture with someone important to you today. Life is short - you have no time to waste. Save your history for your descendants. And don't forget to put the names and dates on them. That way you will never forget, and your memories can come alive for your grandchildren, and their grandchildren, too.
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