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A while back, I bought a fancy dancy photo scanner. One of those that you slide the photo through and it saves the image on a disk. No need to even hook it to a computer! It made the daunting task of scanning my family’s photos seem actually manageable.
After my father’s death, my sister and I had books and piles of irreplaceable family photos from our childhood and earlier. Each was precious to us both. So, we decided I would take the photos and then scan them so we would have digital copies. It seemed I would get around to it long before my sister. And, finally, I did.
The photos just whizzed right through that scanner. The accompanying memories flew even faster through my thoughts.
Pictures of Grandma and Grandpa Pearson invoked the smell of a summer rain as we would sit on their covered porch, catching the rain in old coffee cans as it poured off the roof. I recalled the Sunday visits when we would head straight for the kitchen, knowing fresh doughnuts from Fergie’s would be waiting. I can still hear how our footsteps resonated through the dining room as we ran over the wooden floors.
I scanned pictures of my parents, both gone now, when they were teenagers. A photo of my mother pushing my father around in a wheelchair after he had polio. She was 15 and he was 16. A year later they would marry and begin their lives as an Army man and wife.
Photos of family members — aunts, uncles, cousins — went through the scanner. Christmas get-togethers at Grandma Ward’s house. Weddings. Birthdays.
Many of the memories made me smile. How many times did I sit beside my parents, turning the pages of our family’s past? Back then, we were adding photos. Instead of my parents holding me and my sister in black and white snapshots, we were taking photos of Mom fussing over a grandchild and of “Pa” showing the kids the cows in the field. Nothing seemed to fascinate my toddler daughter as much as those cows. Or perhaps it was just my father’s embrace and smile.
Through the scanner went reminders of my cousin Robyn, her funeral still fresh enough to overshadow the older, joyous memories.
And so I scanned the day away, and in so doing, flipped through the years of my life... from daughter to mother.
And in photos of my parents and grandparents I saw my future. Perhaps as a grandmother. Perhaps as a beloved old aunt. A time when priorities come into focus and being with family is one’s greatest joy.
In those stacks of photos were lessons and reminders that I really have become my mother. I now am as old as she was at her death. In photos of her I see myself. How alike we really always were, and yet how long it took for me to realize it.
And now I’m quickly becoming my grandmother! I call my kids by the wrong names and I too repeat myself more often. If only I had a recliner and a card table for puzzles, the transformation would be complete.
With a good chunk of scanning done, my family photos have gone digital.
My parents’ lives, mine and my sisters’ lives, saved on CD. My lifetime of memories caught in frozen glimpses on a compact disc.
A while back, I bought a fancy dancy photo scanner. One of those that you slide the photo through and it saves the image on a disk. No need to even hook it to a computer! It made the daunting task of scanning my family’s photos seem actually manageable.
After my father’s death, my sister and I had books and piles of irreplaceable family photos from our childhood and earlier. Each was precious to us both. So, we decided I would take the photos and then scan them so we would have digital copies. It seemed I would get around to it long before my sister. And, finally, I did.
The photos just whizzed right through that scanner. The accompanying memories flew even faster through my thoughts.
Pictures of Grandma and Grandpa Pearson invoked the smell of a summer rain as we would sit on their covered porch, catching the rain in old coffee cans as it poured off the roof. I recalled the Sunday visits when we would head straight for the kitchen, knowing fresh doughnuts from Fergie’s would be waiting. I can still hear how our footsteps resonated through the dining room as we ran over the wooden floors.
I scanned pictures of my parents, both gone now, when they were teenagers. A photo of my mother pushing my father around in a wheelchair after he had polio. She was 15 and he was 16. A year later they would marry and begin their lives as an Army man and wife.
Photos of family members — aunts, uncles, cousins — went through the scanner. Christmas get-togethers at Grandma Ward’s house. Weddings. Birthdays.
Many of the memories made me smile. How many times did I sit beside my parents, turning the pages of our family’s past? Back then, we were adding photos. Instead of my parents holding me and my sister in black and white snapshots, we were taking photos of Mom fussing over a grandchild and of “Pa” showing the kids the cows in the field. Nothing seemed to fascinate my toddler daughter as much as those cows. Or perhaps it was just my father’s embrace and smile.
Through the scanner went reminders of my cousin Robyn, her funeral still fresh enough to overshadow the older, joyous memories.
And so I scanned the day away, and in so doing, flipped through the years of my life... from daughter to mother.
And in photos of my parents and grandparents I saw my future. Perhaps as a grandmother. Perhaps as a beloved old aunt. A time when priorities come into focus and being with family is one’s greatest joy.
In those stacks of photos were lessons and reminders that I really have become my mother. I now am as old as she was at her death. In photos of her I see myself. How alike we really always were, and yet how long it took for me to realize it.
And now I’m quickly becoming my grandmother! I call my kids by the wrong names and I too repeat myself more often. If only I had a recliner and a card table for puzzles, the transformation would be complete.
With a good chunk of scanning done, my family photos have gone digital.
My parents’ lives, mine and my sisters’ lives, saved on CD. My lifetime of memories caught in frozen glimpses on a compact disc.
