In mind’s eye

After every holiday season I head to the refrigerator to graze for days upon leftovers. That’s when I notice how all those family photographs we’ve stuck on the fridge door are …well, a bit outdated. This happens every year. We never change them from year to year, this new 2019 included.

Nobody visiting us points this out to us during the holiday hubbub. Maybe that’s manners. Or maybe it’s just intensity in focus, meaning the predator looking for meat or whatever to eat breezes past whatever’s on the outside to get inside without a glance.

It’s not for any lack of variety.

There’s a construction paper tie from some Father’s Day past, so old that even the grandkids argue over which one of them made it. There are a few magnetic promotional pieces, at least a couple from those still in business. You can enjoy a calendar picture for its timeless beauty, if you ignore the dates.

Most of the photos plastered on our fridge door are like that.

No, the stuff stuck on the fridge door doesn’t mold like the stuff you keep overlooking does on the inside. But there definitely is an “oldy moldy” flavor to what we display there. My guess is the magnetic football for ol’ Bulldog #6 ranks as the oldest still on display. It’s been more than a decade since the last guy from our household put on his football pads for the Red and Black (it’s a nice big magnet, though – still makes the church newsletter handy to grab).

When our family was young, I was the designated picture taker. I had an excellent Nikon camera and some experience from using it regularly in my newspaper work. I also had one of the earliest video cameras complete with shoulder strap for the heavy 2-piece recorder which linked up to the handheld camera which you balanced on your shoulder while using. At the time nobody had grown above my 6-1 height advantage so who was going to argue with anything I snapped?

Things change.

Now, at least to others, I hardly take pictures anymore despite the convenience of the smart phone in my pocket. It’s the competition of elbowing my way where a picture could take place, even just amongst family members. I’ve learned to just watch whatever’s happening in real time and then ask for a digital copy later, choosing from the best photo taken within our group.

Grandpas like me, slow on the draw using a smart phone, understand. After all, you can send a picture around the world in a fraction of a second. Is there really a reason for 32 of us to stand in the same spot to photograph the candles on the same birthday cake?

I’m not complaining. In fact, when I find myself in a place or experiencing an event that I want to log permanently into my brain, I take a deep breath then do my best to turn on all my senses at once … the old-fashioned way. I concentrate on making a memory.

There’s something to this. A university study once asked half of the study group to take their smart phones to record whatever they liked on a field trip to an art museum. The other half was asked to leave all cameras at home. The next day they got a test which confirmed that the students who took pictures remembered less of what they’d just seen.

One of our state universities conducted a similar experiment when a group of their students visited Europe last summer. Half the travelers were allowed to take their cameras and the rest agreed to do without. When they returned to the U.S. the kids were given a test on what they’d seen. Those without cameras averaged around 60% retention. Those who saw Europe with the iPhone plastered to their face averaged 40%.

Some of the best photos I remember are ones I never took. One is when we crested the ridge to become awestruck by the mass of yellow butterflies fluttering wildly in fading sunlight against a backdrop of the line of trees darkening at dusk. I still feel the heat and humidity of that moment, which only made the fluttering more magical.

Another “photo” in mind’s eye captures the basketball coach of another team at another school at midcourt. He was still on his knees yet to arise from a timeout huddle, black pants in the mire of sweat puddles, smeared with white talcum powder. He was reaching up toward the referee from a rising fog caused by the powder sprayed out as he whipped a towel about. I don’t remember what he was pleading, but I remember how the crowd suddenly got quiet as we all strained to hear.

I’ve taken thousands of photographs from the sidelines of football games over my years. But nothing is more vivid than during a runaway Homecoming victory when standout RB Vince Rogers toyed with would-be tacklers and, when finally tackled, turned to help one of the crestfallen defenders to his feet. The favorite photo in my mind’s eye wasn’t there but of Coach Danny Brown’s face as he turned away. I can still hear him mumbling to himself, “Man… can you imagine how good Vince could be if only he were mean?”

Yes, two clicks of my computer keyboard will bring me all the photographs I’ll ever need and, yes, there is a special charm in a group picture as you gather for another family dinner. But for lasting memories, use all your senses to the fullest.

Digital photography is wonderfully convenient, and I don’t want to do without it. But for those “photos” most special that I keep in mind’s eye just for me, a camera just gets in the way. For those glimpses in life that take my breath, I’ll still go with my brain … feeble and overwhelmed as it may at times be.