Photographs, Memories and the Easily Distracted

You don't take a photograph. You ask, quietly, to borrow it. ~ Alma Ruth Lavenson

My children have both left the nest, and are happily ensconced in Florida and Massachusetts respectively. For the past month, I've been working diligently to clear the clutter from various spaces in the house...particularly those that were impossible to tackle with two teenagers undoing my work. I've made tremendous progress in the storage room, the children's bedrooms, the play room, the laundry room and even have begun to embrace the massive project of my own closet. I feel accomplished and proud as each room begins to look the way I had always known was possible. These spaces have transformed from being buried under hockey gear, sweatshirts and DVD cases (usually empty, with the DVD in a parallel universe) to being tidy and complete. As I've sorted each room into my regular piles of "Keep", "Give" and "Toss", I've unearthed scads of photographs. A little stack here, a giant hill there...and before I knew it, I'd built the Mt. Everest of memories.

It is completely overwhelming. Despite my brief flirtation and obsession with scrap-booking, back in the early years of the new millennium, I'm still left with a plethora of pictures. With regards to other areas of my clutter free mission, I've managed to become ruthless. If it doesn't have a purpose, if I haven't used it in a year, if it's no longer practical, I've purged myself of these space suckers. Yet, when it comes to photographs, I just don't have the heart to pitch them. Each one represents a moment captured in time that can never be rekindled. Every picture, no matter how unflattering, brings with it an avalanche of emotions and reminders. Since I have neither the time, nor the money, to scrap book every single one of them, I save them. And now, I have a cupboard of overflowing cardboard boxes.

It isn't that I've chosen to be a Photo Glutton. I'm not trying to hoard them. My issue is my own level of absolute distraction when I begin the sorting process. I have sat down, with the pure intention of, at the very least, filing these pictures by year...or even subject matter...but with each one I pick up, I am flooded with flashbacks. My childhood, my years in college, my wedding, our travels through Europe, the births of my children, and the milestones since then come rushing back. What strikes me the most poignantly, however, aren't even the photos of these momentous occasions: it is the day-to-day capturing of our lives. My mother cooking dinner, my dad taking a nap. My daughter curled up reading. My son riding his bike. My husband and me at a random moment. Our many wonderful dogs from over the years. I see these snapshots and I'm transported back to a simpler time...back to before I was a woman drowning under the weight of all these pictures.

I never seem to make any progress with sorting these photographs, let alone pitching the ones in which my Grandma's eyes are half closed or my son is in need of a haircut. I sincerely take out the boxes, or unearth the stacks, with the best of intentions. Yet, before I know it, two hours have passed while I relive what has been. My distant cousin, the famous photographer and student of Ansel Adams, Alma Lavenson wrote,"A good photograph stops a moment from running away." I think this sentiment is the heart of my problem: I am terrified that by tossing some of the truly rubbish photos out, I'll allow those moments from running away.

I have every confidence that I will, eventually, overcome my distraction and fear, when it comes to de-cluttering my photographs. For now, however, I'll remain confident that, at the very least, I've discovered a method that doesn't work.