My grandmother’s house was an interesting place to visit. She had an old piano in the
corner that was off-key for as long as I could remember. She had an old clock on the mantel over the fireplace that was never used. Her furniture consisted of a mismatched greenish-blue sofa, a red velvet easy chair that my grandpa sat in, a very old television set, and an old cluttered desk where she sat and played solitaire for hours.
Her house also had an attic that was fun to explore in and held boxes and boxes of old photographs. There were many times when I visited that she would bring one of the boxes down for me to look at. I spent hours pouring over the black and whites (and sometimes colored) pictures of my father’s family at every stage in their lives.
The photos told the story of the Depression through my family’s eyes; my grandpa’s little corner grocery store at various stages of its existence, activities of the many members of the family, the trips they took to Michigan, Chicago, Hawaii, Israel, Mexico, and other places. There were even pictures of the yearly trek to the Marengo cemetery to put flowers on my grandfather’s grave, which they always made a day of.
My grandmother had taken so many pictures that I could see the story of my family’s life unfold in front of me. Marriages, new babies, birthdays, and other special moments that made up their lives.
I didn’t realize the tradition I was following when I picked up the hobby myself when I was a little girl. I was thrilled when I got my first Instamatic and Polaroid cameras and spent hours just taking pictures of those things I found interesting. Needless to say, I have also accumulated boxes of pictures over the years.
I recently received a Canon Rebel camera for Christmas and have already taken almost 7,000 pictures, an easy task when I take nearly 100 at one time. (It’s also much easier with a digital camera. You can delete the ones you don’t want.)
I’m not sure what it is that drives me to take so many pictures but I’m sure it has something to do with capturing that moment in time. We can look back and remember what made us the happiest, how we felt, what we were experiencing at that exact moment.
My kids used to complain that I took too many pictures. “Just wait,” I told them. “Someday I’ll be famous and you’ll be happy that I took so many.”
Well, I’m not famous yet, but I still think they’re glad that I always have my camera with me.