In a few weeks, I will be in the midst of my mother’s one hundredth birthday celebrations. Ten years ago, when we celebrated her 90th, I ended up bleary eyed and hoarse from trying to keep up with her and with all her friends and relatives. For that weekend they had me going from dawn until way past my bedtime trying to enjoy the time and also help my siblings host and run the party.
My contribution was a slide show that played on a TV in the corner of the room during the open house. It contained family pictures from the past sixty years, with the lone commonality between all of them being my mother. If she wasn’t in the photo, it didn’t get into the slide show.
I knew I wasn’t sharp enough to put them in correct chronological order, so I mixed them up.
Flash. It’s 1958 and the family is lined up, in Sunday clothes, squinting at the camera.
Flash. Mom and her sisters standing before a covered bridge sometime before 1985.
Flash. Mom sitting in front of her computer sometime recently, concentrating on the screen, oblivious of the photographer.
Flash. 1977, a reunion at Kent Park. Did we really wear polyester to picnics?
I hoped it kept the subject matter fresh, as we bounced around through time over hundreds of photos. People seemed to like it, with someone in front of the TV all afternoon. I think part of its success was that each slide appeared for only eight seconds on the screen before passing by. The timing took some effort to work out. Older people need more time to view a photo, while the next generation only needs milliseconds. Do I allow time for someone to expound on a funny (or not so funny) story that the photo triggered? Or hurry through to keep the horror of some of those hairdos from spoiling the mood? I settle on eight seconds – no time to analyze how bad the focus or exposure was on each photo, just enough time to recognize the time and place, smile, and move on.
In case you’re wondering, it turns out that those awful pictures taken when you were young don’t get any better with age. They are still awful. Time, though, does allow you and everyone around you to laugh at them. Loudly. There are even new things to laugh at — the fashions we took seriously way back when, and the realization that some very old people used to be young, and bare remarkable resemblances to the cute babies of their offspring.
It will be interesting to see how the next slide show looks. Photographs have changed. 10 years ago most of the photos came from the Kodakchrome age – where film and developing costs meant you took pictures almost entirely at big events. There were few action shots – it seemed mandatory to line up, stand up straight, and keep still before the shutter was clicked. You kept the photos even if they were dark, blurry, and/or with heads, feet, or entire persons cut off. Each photo was a treasure, as out of that lined up, bad lighting world personalities and relationships still pop out. There’s that one boy that is shown picture after picture with shirt untucked, arms akimbo, or in motion. The gentle hand of the older sibling holding the littler one still, showing a family that got along.
Today, photography has become an integral part of every day life. Pictures depict smaller events or no event at all. People take more photos of themselves than pointing their many camera lens at others. Many are meant to only last 8 seconds then disappear. What will there be for the slide shows of the future?
On my drive home to Colorado after the 90th birthday party, I spent the entire drive collecting my thoughts and rehashing the events of the weekend. I remember making a complete fool of myself by not recognizing one of my first cousins. This trumps my faux pas at my mother’s eightieth birthday party, where I failed to recognize my former next-door neighbor, last seen when he was not yet a teen. But still, at this rate I won’t need to plan birthday parties for myself, as I’ll be lucky to recognize myself!
I ruminated on how I didn’t get to talk to so many of the people who were there. With the crowds that come from large families and lots of friends, I was only able to wave to some people from across the room. Others I only know were there because they signed the guest book.
I had also figured there would be some old-fashioned line up photo sessions galore, but there didn’t seem to be enough time or room to pose for pictures. Instead, there are lots of pictures with someone’s arms in the way, with people moving or with their backs turned. And a lot of open mouths talking and smiling.
But as I thought of all the people I wanted to spend more time with, including my mother and all my brothers and sisters, I realized that this weekend was just like the slide show.
Flash. For what seemed like only eight seconds I met my new grand-niece.
Flash, a moment with an old neighbor from the farm.
Flash, hugging my aunt.
Flash.
Flash. Oh no, I’ve forgotten who you are.
Sometimes life is like that, passing by in appears to be eight-second flashes. Some would say this might be the best way to be with relatives, eight seconds at a time. But most of my eight-second flashes that weekend went by too fast, captivating me and leaving me wanting more.
Now I’m older, and the world seems to be going faster. I’ve turned the slide show over to the next generation, so now it’s my niece’s dilemma, deciding which photo makes it in, what order to place them, how long to let them display. I have enough to do to get the events organized, pour over old slide shows trying to remember names, and get ready to enjoy life in a flash.