Open Writing

I recently bought myself a new digital camera. I know, this is no big thing. Most people have had digital cameras for ages. But me, I tend to be loyal to my old equipment, seeing them into old age and respectable retirement before replacing them. I must confess too that I am not too adept with new technology.

For a while, I was totally intimidated by the little silver gadget. I handled it reverently, lest I break it and lose my investment. I pondered laboriously over the instructions, I squinted at the fine print, and I bravely tried to follow the illustrations. It took a lot of effort, but after many beepings and red lights and unresponsive button pushings, I was able to handle the little tyrant. I shot pictures. Lots of them. After all, I no longer have to pay for dud prints. I downloaded them on my computer. I was quite impressed with myself.

So why am I telling you all this? Well somehow, I feel that I lost something in the process. The speed with which I was able to view the pictures robbed me of the anticipation of waiting. For the week or so that it took to print them, and have them ready for pick up in the old fashioned way. The excitement of having the envelope in my hand and rushing off to some secluded place to inspect my memories. More like to rediscover them. To re-live the moments all over again. To pass them around to my friends and have them kid me about my photographic skill (or lack thereof).

Don’t get me wrong. I am not ungrateful for the efficiency which I have at my fingertips with my new camera. I can write an article and send an accompanying picture to the other end of the world within minutes. I can make old pictures new again. I can organize my pics on my computer. They could even talk to me. But last week when I saw a young woman standing on the sidewalk in front of the drug store, oblivious of everyone and everything around her, just simply gloating over her photographs, her face glowing with the sheer delight of the images, I knew a moment of envy.

© Lytrice Hood