Every now and then, while digging through the attic for my
long lost pet rock collection, I come across an old Thanksgiving photo from the
60’s.
It’s often a group shot of my extended family sitting around
a festive holiday table filled with food or, more likely, the remnants of food.
All familiar faces, minus the shadows of time; many now
gone, but all still remembered.
These black and white road maps to my past are now the treasures
of my present; opening doors to earlier days of innocence, wrapped in joy,
sprinkled with pain…now embossed with smiles, knowing resolution always
lingered just around the corner.
Little did we know, back then, when whoever grabbed that old
Brownie Instamatic or Polaroid Swinger that we were actually staring into the
future? That we were destined to be a
moment frozen for all time; a moment left for future generations to ponder…or
toss in the trash while cleaning out our attics.
That’s the funny thing about old photos.
Prize to me…clutter to someone else.
The thing is, unless you were there, that captured moment is
lacking something critical; something which can only be restored through our
imaginations.
Noise!
What’s lacking is the noise…the hub bub, the din…even the
sound of my grandfather snoring, just off the right of picture frame.
Especially the sound of my grandfather snoring, just off the
right of picture frame.
And with the clatter from the past restored in our minds, soon
follows the colors, the smells, the textures and all the rest.
The laughter from the kitchen over who spilled the gravy. The
arguments from the living room over what actually constitutes a fumble, both on
TV and the front lawn...especially the front lawn.
The sight of your uncle—or somebody’s uncle, of whom you
were never quite sure—enlisting the drumsticks as ear decorations, which he
did…every year…something he thought we wanted to see…every year.
The smell of meatball soup filling the room; too hot for
some…too cold for others...still, always anticipated and always delicious.
Cranberry, in the shape of a can, wiggling on a small plate
in the shape of a turkey, beckoning to all of us, shape notwithstanding, to be
the first to deface its jellied perfection.
Fascination, as Grandma scoops out stuffing from a turkey’s
unmentionable nether region—are we really
gonna eat that stuff—Gramps sharpening the BIG knife, all the while
hatching a plan to keep the drumsticks away from the previously mentioned big
eared mysterious uncle.
The pumpkin pie dropped, then zipped away and haphazardly
reconfigured into semi-perfect slices, enlisting the five second rule as to why
it was still mostly okay to eat…especially with cool whip…especially on
Thanksgiving.
More laughter….more arguments…more of everything, packaged
in black and white and sent off to the future.
Today, the memories come wrapped in digits of zeros and ones,
very often already filled with sound and even music embedded. Everything
future generations will ever need to peer back into an electronically flawless
past….except imagination
But, even so, as you sit at the table in this season of
runaway holiday trains, pose by the turkey or sit by the tree, staring into
your own future unknown, imagine that moment frozen in black and white, curled
at the edges, preserving a lifetime of memories for you and everyone yet to
come.
Just another thing to be thankful for.
Road Maps to the past
Treasures of the present.
Even the guy with the drumsticks for ears….
Happy Thanksgiving!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Also...speaking of treasures of the present...
Happy Birthday Z!
(What? I'm still hoping to get my house keys back)
(What? I'm still hoping to get my house keys back)
________________________________________________
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i LOVE LOVE LOVE old photos....especially the really old ones. we can all sit for hours and look. you brought back a lot of memories..thanks brian. happy giving thanks!
ReplyDeleteSame to you, Nichole!
DeleteGlad you liked the story and delved back into your own B & W memories….