We didn’t know eachother a long time, 2 gig camera SD memory card. But like some of the best relationships, we were fast and furious. I trusted you immediately, and so I shared some of my most intimate moments with you. Now, I don’t know where you are. Maybe in the grubby hands of our mean Dutch taxi driver. Maybe you’re being sold on Europe’s ebay as we speak. I’ll never know. But instead of dwelling on the nefarious and unseemly loss of you, I choose to honor your memory.
In the early months, you were my connection to home. You dutifully captured my amateurish photos of our new life abroad, and allowed me to stubbornly jam you into the side of the laptop multiple times before Picasa would decide to open. We always traded a quick knowing glance when I would click “safe delete.” We didn’t mess around- we made you tabula rasa each and every time. And together we captured sunny days in parks, visits from loved ones, trips in the U.K. As a matter of fact, you were there before it all began. Remember that crazy going-away party in Manhattan?!
But it’s just a few days ago that I will think of forever. Those first attempted artsy sepia-tone shots of us on the train out of Paddington station, on the way to Heathrow. You know how there is nothing like the moment you embark on a trip? In some ways, the feeling is more pure, more high, than the trip itself. It’s like how Friday feels euphoric and Christmas Eve is just pure possibility. Or the grin when your roller coaster ride starts uphill.
And then Saturday- my god. 75 degrees and blue skies in the magical city of Amsterdam. Over 100 shots we took and I remember all 100. Me posing in the big yellow clog, much to Bryan’s chagrin. The glow of suntanned shoulders as we watched hundreds of boaters pass by while we sipped Dutch beer. That hen party of girls dressed all in pink, the “bar” trolley with the men singing and chanting, the vertical shots, the horizontal views, the series of black & white pictures of me that Bryan took. The endless attempts to capture the happy absurdity of everyone biking everywhere. And lots of dogs on boats. All of it.
I don’t miss your vessel- that brand-new tricked-out Canon with the huge LCD display view. I know I should miss your host camera, with it’s power and flash and terrible expense to us. But there will be others. But there will never be those not-yet-downloaded 100 photos of our trip that you took with you when I carelessly let you out of my grasp.
So long my memory card friend. Thanks for the memories. Even if someone else is looking at them right now.