lost memories

On Saturday we were driving around the neighborhood, running some errands and getting some stuff done.  We saw a sign that said Whole House Sale.  We've never been to an estate sale before.  Always up for a new adventure, we stopped.  The sale had probably started early in the morning and it was already 1:30ish.  By the time we got there the house was almost empty, everything was 50% off and there was slim pickings. 

And then I saw it.

This little vintage beauty.  A 1962 Yashica EE 35mm camera.  Its dusty, scratched up and it surely doesn't work.  But its a treasure to me and I knew I had to have it.  I ended up scoring this baby for just $6!  My husband thought I was crazy.  "What are you going to do with a broken camera?" he asked. 

He just doesn't get it.  Heck, maybe I'm just crazy but here's the thing....

I don't see a broken camera.  Heck, I don't even think I see a camera.  I see memories.  They're not even my memories but I see them.  I see endless possibilities of imagination.  I see wonder, excitement, happiness and joy.  Just think, in 1962 someone walked into a camera store, or a department store and fell in love with this little beauty.  Did they save up their money to buy it or was it a spontaneous splurge?  Was it someone young?  Was it someone old?  Was it an art students?  (We found many art materials at the home, lots of paintings, art history books, photo slides, sketch pads, paints, etc.)  Did this camera capture Christmas mornings or Haunakah nights?  Did it have vacations down the shore or travels abroad in far off lands I've never seen? 

I thought about how much this camera must have meant to someone at some point in its 50 years.  How many owners did it have?  What were they like?

I do this so often.  You see there are parts of me that have always been missing and I feel like I'm constantly looking for these kinds of answers.  My Dad's father died when my dad was only 19.  His mother passed away just 4 months before my birth.  I never met my mother's father that I am aware of and I remember very little of my maternal grandmother who passed when I was only 7 or 8.  I feel like these people that are connected to me lived amazing lives and I don't even know more then the basic name, birthdate and death date of them.  But I have pieces of them.  In my dining room I have on display my grandmothers plates.  They are stamped 1942 and my father tells me they got them going to the movies on Sundays.  You got a new plate or bowl to add to your place setting everytime you went to the movies!  Even though I never got to meet my grandparents, I have these pieces of them to cherish as a link to my past.  A way to feel connected as I eat off the same dishes my grandmother once served dinner on. 

I suppose that's what made me a photographer.  More then anything else, I want to give people those links to their past.  I want people to hand down the pictures to their children and grandchildren so they will always know where they came from.