I have lost our camera.  There has been some wild upturning of furniture, a lot of emptying of bags and pockets, and a fair bit of checking in usual (and unusual) places.  There has also been some telephoning around and a hopeful visit to the dog park noticeboard.  But, no.  Nothing.  I feel stuck in disbelief that it could be gone when it feels so right that it would be lying somewhere, snug in its little cat case, peeking out from under a book or accidently tucked under a cushion.  I even looked in the dog food bag (for Tiny has a special "organising" logic for small items he finds in his everyday).  I feel sick about it. And a bit lost myself.  How can I show a life lived without the images that mark it?  How can I remember it?  What of the moments it holds in its memory still?

I know one answer, of course: Use your words. Let the linear march of word after word invite you to imagine the details, see the best angles, juxtapose the light and dark.  But what if I can't quite convey what it is to see Tiny in his light blue sleeping sack, freshly woken from his afternoon nap.  There he is in the sea of my bed, sitting up, bent in the middle.  He is a mermaid and a very small blue and green walrus.  He is groggy, his face is gentle, flushed and pleased to see me.  He has been calling "Da!" but begins a soft, short sentence of toddlerese - all sounds and half-formed words - when I pause at the doorway.  He is recounting, or explaining, or exploring an idea.  It is hard to tell but I feel the pressure to answer correctly, lest he think I'm not listening properly. 

That would have been a good photo.  (How many times do I think that in a day?)  To be sure, I rarely have the camera ready at hand to capture such things.  Nevertheless, I feel its loss keenly, particularly in this space.  What is there to come and visit if there isn't something sweet to rest your eye on amidst all the words?  Oh well, we'll all just have to muddle on.  For a little while, dear readers, that is just what you will have to do.  Read.  That is, until I work out a solution to my camera-less life.  I will do my best to capture moments as if I they are an image before us and we can imagine together the things I have seen. 

PS: All suggestions on how to replace a Canon Ixus 70 and with what, gratefully received.

1 comment:

  1. What a sad happening! Do hope the delinquent camera turns up. Maybe it is having an adventure of its own and will emerge with a collection of images of its travels? Thinking of the prank of "abducted gnomes" who send a series of postcards home with pics of their jaunty safaris and treks abroad. Has a lost advert been placed in your local paper with a heart-rending anecdote to prick the conscience of any miscreant who may have "liberated" it?

    Your word pictures are a wonderful substitute, tender and heart-warming vignettes of a life and its precious fleeting moments, captured with a keen eye!