Tag Archives: memories

Photo Storage: Physical versus Digital Albums

I used to be obsessed with making photo albums. I’d carefully curate the photos, organize them, and print out captions and labels for life’s big events. In high school – mine, at least – it was de rigueur to bring your album to school after a special occasion (Prom, our Marching Band’s trip to Disney World) and share not just your photos, but your skill at preserving and arranging said photos with the other participants.

We were like proto-scrapbookers.

You best believe my year in France is preserved in a big, archival-quality scrapbook. Three, in fact. I may have every ticket that ever crossed my travel-hungry little fingers. Oh, and I made this freaking incredible scrapbook for my great uncle that was a walking tour of my university (where his father, my great grandfather, also studied). Man, that thing was ace.

Then everything went digital.

OK, things were kind of digital when I was in France – I’m not that old – but I wasn’t quite there yet. I got my first digital camera my senior year of college. Fun fact: it was a Cannon Elph and I paid $100 less for it (in 2004) than I paid for my Cannon DSLR in 2011. Gotta love how the price of technology drops.

So I don’t really print photos off anymore. I sort them on my harddrive, back them up, post them to Facebook, send them to friends… but no more albums.

I’m not really sad about that (thought the tone above was admittedly wistful). Digital means less “stuff” for me to keep.

In fact, I’m thinking of deconstructing some of those old photo albums. See, I have this fancy photo storage box (from the Container Store! Complete with sub-dividers!). Lately, I’ve been toying with the idea of pulling my photos out of albums and keeping them in the box instead. They’d take up less space that way.

Heck, I could scan them. Then they’d take up even less space!

Will future-Helena ever want to revisit these albums? I’m torn. Part of me thinks, “well, you took the time to make the albums…” while the more-pragmatic (and noticeably more-accountant-like) part is screaming, “SUNK COST! Throw the crap out!”

So tell me: how do you keep your older photos?

(not so F)AQ – Moving

Ever since I wrote about where I spent my childhood, I’ve gotten some questions about moving. I moved between third and fourth grade, sixth and seventh, and eighth and ninth.

Why did you move around so much as a kid? Was your Dad in the Army?

No (though I do keep an unofficial tally of whether people use “Dad” or “One of your parents” when discussing my family’s moves. I think we are currently at Dad: 834, Parent: 2). Anyway, no military here. My mother’s job was the reason for our relocations.

Did it suck?

I remember bawling like a thousand puppies died when we left Texas, but you have to understand that we lived in Mayberry where all the neighborhood kids played together and the sun never set and nothing bad ever happened. All my memories of that time of my life are golden.

Moving wasn’t easy. Sometimes I felt like I’d just made friends and we were leaving again (like in New York).

However, looking back on it from the ripe old age of thirty, I have different perspectives. Moving made me who I am.

First, I’ve seen a LOT of the US. At present, I have four states left before I’ve seen them all (Alaska, Hawaii, South Dakota, Kansas – I’M COMING FOR YOU!).

Hand-in-hand with that, I’ve met many different kinds of people. 

I’m not shy and can talk to anyone. Yes, this is likely a personality trait directly inherited from my father, but in the nature-v-nurture game, I’m going to put a point in the “nurture” column. I was the perennial ”new kid” so I had to learn to take risks – or eat lunch alone.

So, yeah. I probably could have lived without moving before and after Junior High, but that is, of course, unthinkable now as my life would be completely different.

3rd Grade

third grade school photo

I start the school year with my ankle wrapped in an Ace bandage. I fell off the hammock at my grandmother’s house in North Carolina and intend to milk my injury for all it’s worth.

We learn cursive. Every day, we learn a new cursive capital letter and practice writing the name of classmates whose names start with that letter.

Ashley. Ashley. Ashley.

Evan. Evan. Evan.

We finally get to H and Mrs Harrington has us practice her name rather than mine. I’m disappointed, but don’t say anything.

I’m seated next to a girl named Melissa. She tells Mrs Harrington that I talk too much. After several complaints, Mrs Harrington confers with Ashley, a girl I sat beside earlier in the year. I hear Ashley confirm that I talk too much. It stings.

I learn all the words to the Animaniacs theme song so I can sing along with all the other kids on the playground. I’ve never seen Animaniacs, but I know I’m supposed to love it.

I’m invited to Ashley’s birthday party and show up in a dress and Church shoes. There’s a Moon Bounce, so I need a different outfit. Ashley’s mom let’s me borrow some of Ashley’s clothes and I’m very excited to wear her slip-on shoes. I’m not allowed to have slip-on shoes.

We move to Midland, Texas before I learn the 11 and 12 times tables.

(explore earlier grades here)

2nd Grade

2nd grade photos

For Halloween, I am Pippi Longstocking – of the South Seas variety. My mother and I dye an old pair of pink pants black and cut them off at jagged angles like pirate pants. We braid my hair over pipe cleaners so the pigtails will stick out from my head. To represent Mr Nilsson, I borrow a stuffed monkey from my cousin and cry when I have to give it back.

My teacher, Ms. Salter, does something special for every kid’s birthday. During the day, she sneaks up behind the birthday-kid and dumps confetti on his or her head from a Dixie cup. I wait excitedly for April 10, but she forgets. When I remind her at the end of the day, she tells me that we can do confetti on the 11th if I want. I tell her never mind.

2 grade class circled

I befriend Kristen and begin to boss her around. I make her tie my shoes whenever they come untied.

I’m obsessed with Magic Nursery dolls. So is Kristen. We take them to school with us and Ms. Salter lets them sleep under her desk during the day.

For Christmas, Santa brings me a stuffed gorilla to relieve some of my post-Halloween primate-related sadness. Santa brings Kristen a Magic Nursery doll carrier. Santa has unwittingly shifted the balance of power with these gifts.

Kristen and I smash both our dolls into her doll carrier and use it for transport to and from White Oaks Elementary. Now, when I have orders for Kristen, she tells me she will make my doll sleep on the floor. She never ties my shoes again.

(Read the rest of my school memories here)

1st Grade

(You may want to start at the beginning. Or not. My life is a Choose Your Own Adventure book).

first grade polaroids

On a field trip with my Brownie Troop, one of the mother-volunteers accuses me of saying “shit”. I am bewildered. The other Brownies stare at me in disbelief. My troop leader informs me she will have to tell my mother. I cry.

My mother defends me. If I say I didn’t say it, I didn’t say it. Later, privately, she tells me that sometimes, adults get things wrong. I am amazed.

first grade class circled

In school we are learning about the Animal Kingdom; fish, mammals, reptiles, birds. Mrs Harrington goes around the room calling out names of animals and asking us to state their classification.

“Zebra!” she calls to Nathan*, a boy sitting near me. He’s unsure of how to answer.

“Fish!” I whisper helpfully. I laugh with the rest of the class when he repeats this answer aloud.

The girls in Mrs Harrington’s class are obsessed with getting braces like the older kids. We con Naveen into giving us each one of the many thin, metal bracelets her grandmother brought her from India. We bend them in half and put them in our mouths. Smile! We look like 6th graders!

* Name changed to protect those who trusted me too much in 1988.

Kindergarten

[In honor of this new school year - which, truly, has very little to do with me personally at this stage in my life - I'm starting a new series. Between now and the end of September I will share my recollections of Kindergarten through Graduate School. I've been told I have an exceptional memory. Buckle up.]

kindergarten

On the first day of Kindergarten, Mrs Tolken gives me a sticker for being a good participant in a class activity. For the rest of the day, I wear it prominently on the front of my blue and white romper. A classmate calls me the “teacher’s pet.” I have to ask my mother what that means.

I love our science lessons. I memorize the order of the planets (including Pluto) and watch chicks hatch from eggs in an incubator. We aren’t allowed to touch the eggs, but once the chicks have hatched we each get a turn holding one in our hands.

Kindergarten class photo circled

We learn about money using plastic coins replicating the real things. I’m stumped. I can’t keep track of what each coin is worth.

We practice using our coins in  a small “shop” set up by our teacher. We have a minute to look around and then have to purchase an item of our choosing with exact change. I always get the plastic elephant because he is eleven cents: one small coin, one brown coin.

Then, I’m not allowed to buy the elephant anymore. I start accidentally dropping my coins on the floor when it is my turn at the register so I have extra time to count.

In the afternoon, we have to take naps. The teachers pull out pint-sized cots covered in the sheets our parents sent from home.

I never sleep at nap time. A teachers aide rubs my back to help me calm down. She finally gives up and we make a deal. If I wait until the other kids are asleep, I can sneak over to the teacher’s desk and quietly read. At my request, she supplies me with books about animals. I read about how sometimes sharks eat their own babies. I am terrified.

The Backstory #14: Pin Shadowbox

The Object:

pin shadow box

The Origin: I’ve acquired a fair amount of pins and coins over the years as older members of my family pass away. They all have emotional significance and I wanted to figure out a way to display them as art rather than keeping them hidden in a jewelry box.

The items within the shadowbox are varied, but the idea to display items this way is from Jess Lively’s jewelry display.

The Backstory:

pin shadow box with numbers

1: The Eastern Star pin belonged to my maternal grandmother. She and my aunt were long-time members.

2: A pin from my great grandfather (father’s mother’s father) who graduated from my alma mater in 1907. He was an engineer, and this pin was given to graduates of that college. It features the letters E, M, A, and S for Electrical, Mechanical, Agricultural, and… I’m not sure what the S is for, so guesses are welcome.

3: This dragonfly hairpin was purchased for me by my aunt when we were in Boston for my great aunt Alice’s 100th birthday party in 1999.

4: Another pin from my maternal grandmother’s collection.

5: My great uncle Bob, brother of my paternal grandmother, donated blood every time he was eligible for the majority of his adult life. When he passed away in 2005 the Red Cross presented us with a beautiful tribute. This particular pin marks him as a 9 gallon donor (!!!).

6: A University of Illinois lapel pin from my great grandfather.

7: A flower pin that made it’s way to me via my great uncle Bob. It likely belonged to his sister, Jan.

8: A bus token from the Chicago & Calumet District Transit Company – the local bus company in Hammond, Indiana, where my maternal grandmother spent part of her youth.

9: Another flower that made its way to me via my great uncle Bob.

10: A token from the Chicago Surface Lines – the streetcar predecessors to today’s Chicago Transit Authority. This token was likely acquired on a trip my paternal grandmother and her siblings, Jan and Bob, took from their Hammond home to Chicago.

Read the rest of the series here.

Flashback Tuesday: Wedding Practice

One of my favorite things at my Bachelorette Party was going through the photos that Kerry asked people to bring. Here was Kerry’s submission:

helena at uncle john's wedding

That’s me, August 1990, at my aunt and uncle’s wedding in Vermont.

My mother’s sister Mary (on the other side of the family from the happy couple getting married) made these sweet Swiss dot dresses for  my sister, my two cousins, and I to wear.

We all got to pick the color of the sash (which, in the picture above, I’ve hidden with the bride’s bouquet). I picked “seafoam green”. Yes, as an 8 year-old I specified that my sash would be seafoam, not just any old green, thankyouverymuch. I later learned that my sister and cousins had chosen shades of rose, pink, and lavender and I was so embarrassed by my “boy-ish” choice that for years I swore that my mother picked my sash color. Sorry, Mom.

This picture is right outside of the church where the wedding took place. We were all about to walk to the bride’s mother’s farm for the reception. The four of us little girls in white wanted pictures with the bouquet because we were enthralled with the idea of carrying flowers. The newlyweds had wisely gone outside the family to choose a flower girl (rather than pick among their eager little nieces and cause a lifetime of jealousy). As a 30 year-old, this makes complete sense. As an 8 year-old, it made me a bitter shrew.

The bouquet came back to our family later in the wedding when my quick and nimble five year-old sister caught the bouquet as the bride tossed it from a hot air balloon (yes, a hot air balloon. swoon!)

The four cousins were reunited before Christmas that year at my new aunt and uncle’s home. The little flower girl from the wedding was also in attendance, and she was excited to see us again – she had big news! Her parents had gotten her a pet parrot and she’d named it “Kerry” because it loved to talk. That still kills me.

The Backstory #13: Eiffel Tower

The Object:

brass eiffel tower souvenir

The Origin: Paris, naturally.

The Backstory:

As you all know (because I talk about it quite a lot), I studied in Paris when I was 20.

On my first day of orientation, I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in nine years. Angela, a girl who attended my 11th birthday party in Midland, Texas, was there in Paris from the University of Texas at Austin. Small world, no?

Angela and I spent a lot of time together that year exploring Paris, travelling to London and Luxembourg, and proofreading one another’s schoolwork.

At the end of the year, Angela presented me with this small Eiffel Tower to commemorate our time as ex-pats. It’s from one of the thousands of vendors who swarm you when you visit the actual Eiffel Tower. In Angela’s words, it was a purchase I wouldn’t have made for myself (as I was trying painfully hard to be seen as French or, at least, European-of-indeterminate-origin).

brass eiffel tower souvenir base

Read the rest of the series here.

The Backstory #12: Cat Vase and Yellow Flowers

The Object:

As this object is technically two, it needs multiple views. Here’s the face-side of the vase:

ceramic cat vase yellow flowers front

… and here’s the tail:

ceraminc cat vase yellow flowers side

The Origin: The flowers are from my cousin’s wedding in 2010. The cat vase is from the thrift store (the same one where I got the orange tray and blue pot).

The Backstory:

Let’s start with the vase. I knew it was coming home with me the minute I saw it at the thrift store. It’s bizarre, it’s fantastic, and it was about $2. I’d planned on giving it to my sister as a surprise gift of sorts, but she took one look at it and said it had no place in her apartment.

white ceramic cat vase thrifted empty

Admittedly, the cat’s head is like something out of The Exorcist. It’s spun around 180 degrees from normal. Additionally, though the tail forms a handle, there’s no hole in the cat’s face to make this vase a pitcher. Whatever. It’s awesome. In a terrible way.

silk flowers yellow spider mums

Those yellow spider mums were what we bridesmaids carried in my cousin’s wedding. She and her sister assembled them and wrapped black and white ribbons around the bases (everyone’s ribbon was slightly different). The flowers are a reminder of a wonderful memory. They also add a little class to my cat vase.

Read the rest of the series here.