During my recent visit to New York, during a sudden torrential downpour my rain parka pocket filled with water and drowned my phone. The Apple store rushed me in for urgent care but my phone could not be revived. I had to turn in my phone to get a new one. It was either that or go several days without my lifeline crutch thingy while traveling. Everything was Cloud backed up. Except for four months of photos. Except.
Most of my photos stink. That’s not the point. I don’t remember what all I lost. I guess that’s the point. I use my photos to capture all the days and moments of my life. Get-togethers with friends and family. Hikes. Concerts. (The concert photos are always especially bad, of course, and mostly photos of stage lights and the raised phone screens of other attendees.) Cats. The dog. Places I visit. I’ve been surprised at how big the hole feels to have lost this segment of my life. Fortunately it was only a few months. Only.
I never thought I would quote Reverend Jim, a well-despised character in my novel Scar Jewelry. But I now realize that at least one of his views is spot-on right. “Yeah that was sure a good scene, wasn’t it? What a moment. Nobody remembers the whole movie. Book. Concert. It’s the moments.”
[Insert bi-decadal, chagrinned, too-late reminder about regular backups here.]