Say Cheese!

I don’t like having my picture taken.  I never think I look quite like (in person) the way I have been captured for posterity.  I think I’m maybe (hopefully) a little thinner, less “wrinkley”, the hair looks more voluptuous and naturally blonde, the smile a bit more sexy and not as unnatural.  You know, a goddess of sorts.  What is in my mind and what I see are usually miles (galaxies) apart.

I am putting all the blame (it can’t be me!) on the “instant gratification”, new fangled devices that give you immediate feedback and without-delay photos.  I am talking about the high-tech, digital cameras that can easily store hundreds of pictures of your nearest, dearest and ultimate vacation dream trips.  I recall, there was a time, not too long ago, in the good old days, that one would take their 24 (or 36, if it was a special occasion) photos on their handy dandy instamatic (no focusing needed), pull out the film dispenser, get it developed at the drug store (if you would remember, in the same decade) and wait and pray that they would turn out.  If they didn’t, well, it was disappointing, but secretly there was some relief that the one that you thought you had your mouth open and food falling out was overexposed, didn’t turn out and you were given a reprieve from the picture menehunes.

Those certainly were the days of “cut off at the knee” bodies, red eyes (bad composition, “they” would say) and with only the slightest of jiggles, a blur where your brother’s face should be (due to the fact one had to stand posed for, what seemed, a l-o-n-g time and it was nearly impossible to capture everyone stoic and steadfast).  My mom’s pictures were always the most fun to decipher.  No one could ever figure out what they were – a riddle in black and white.  We had to figure out whose face would be attached to the body she had photographed.  What she could do with today’s cameras that are the size of a credit card.  She could take a picture and bang, there it would be staring back at her – if it isn’t to her liking, delete it and try again (and again, and again, until the desired results are obtained).  Or maybe, she wouldn’t let the technology deter her and we would still see her headless wonders.

Then there was that ever so generous friend, who insisted on making doubles of each of their photos (the good ones??) for you (not a bother, they were only pennies extra).  Why would they think I wanted their pictures when I didn’t really want my own?  I have stacks of pictures waiting and wanting to be put into an album and duly remarked upon.  I have to admit I admire the people who put their pictures in a timely manner, in chronological order into their hard bound photo albums, with comments and the proper labeling.  I am waiting for a rainy day to do mine and I am sure my child would like to see he has a history of sorts.  But I am not sure I want to go through 20 years of historical facts that I cannot dare to deny as there is evidence to the contrary in a photo.  I have heard a picture is worth a thousand words.  At this point in my life, I would pay good money for those words to stay quiet.

As my love muffin steadfastly stores away our newly taken 2,443,986 photos (not bad for just one week) on his computer for future reference and posted on the web for posterity, I guess I have to face the facts, admit that what I see is what I am gonna get and that I am that person that is smiling back at me.  Getting old is hell, but getting there is half the fun and if I had as many good times as these pictures seem to indicate… I am going in style.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-