Take A Picture Here, Take A Souvenir

Photo, light. Graph, write. Writing with light. That's probably why the exchange rate for pictures to words is so very high. And there are so many more pictures now than there used to be. Back when Mathew Brady was snapping pictures of Civil War troops and their generals in the terribly painstaking way that the era demanded, it probably occurred to him once or twice how nice it would be to have a camera he could just pop out of his pocket and click away without the aid of several assistants. And when he was done he could make a quick call to Abe Lincoln to let him know that he would be late for their four o'clock portrait sitting. Happily, people in those days were much more patient and willing to sit still for hours at at time while a single photo was graphed.
Not so these days. Technology has allowed us to become much more carefree with our images. The idea of posing for one shot seems ridiculous now. Al Gore's Internet is awash with pictures that capture the immediacy of our times. This particular flurry of ennui came about as a result of looking at several dozen pictures my niece posted on her Facebook page. It also reminded me of the way I used to look at photo albums as a kid. I was never fully engaged until I stumbled onto a picture of myself. As I clicked through the moments of her life that were represented, I found myself wondering, "Who are those people?" When she was so very much younger, I could expect to see my brother and his wife, or even me looking back from those pages, but not anymore. These were her friends, and I was peeking into her life as an incipient adult. I have a shoe box full of very similar photos in my basement that represent the years I spent becoming a grown up. They aren't saved on a hard drive, and a number of them have been deleted because I have moved the box so many times.
It made me think of all the pictures we have of our son. If I'm not in it, I probably took it. The level of intimacy is preserved. But I know that I am creeping up to a time when I will be looking at his life in photos and I will be saying, "Who are those people?" A collection of light. A story without words. Memories.