Making a Mess to Organize a Mess

For the past few months I have sadly neglected my photos project. And considering my age, I shouldn't do that--I have a lot of photos to get properly booked and cared for! Winter is usually a time when I get the blahs, and this winter I sank into them a little deeper than usual. I've had trouble getting myself in gear to do anything useful.

I have, however, read or listened to a lot of books and probably watched more TV than I should. The reading is good mental exercise, the TV not so much. Did those two things just cancel each other out?

The only place I have that I can spread things out to work on the photo project is my kitchen table. Since I live alone that isn't usually a problem. We do have family meals, birthday celebrations, and holiday get-togethers in my home. And when that happens I scoop everything up and put it on my bed, then return it to the table afterwards. With every "scooping" things get more mixed up. My carefully organized packets of photos are scrambled. The scrapbooking accessories, likewise. And I have a hard time getting motivated to unscramble once again. So the project lies untouched for a time--and then I find I have forgotten where I was in it. Yikes. It is easier to put it off than try to reconstruct where I was before both the project and I got scrambled.

And then I got access to some of the old family history photos that I hadn't had before. So that album that I thought I had finished, needed reorganized a bit to incorporate this new (to me) material. I have gotten myself to work on that this week, and almost have it done.

But the rest of the mess I have just started on. I'm trying to find better ways to organize the various types of materials so that even when I have to clear the table I don't lose my place, forget what materials I have, forget which photos I've already printed out (I find I have printed some more than once!), and become too discouraged to work the project because I have to spend too much time sorting.

Here's what my table looks like this morning.

That mess means I have actually been working on organizing. Step one was sorting out the scrapbooking accessories such as stick on accent materials. They started out in a box. Other stuff got added to the box. More stuff got tossed in to make it easier to carry everything off the table. Yesterday I dug the varied types of stuff out of that particular box, sorted out the accent materials, and put them in sleeves in a binder. Now I can flip through, see what I have, and easily pick out what I might want to use on a particular page. (I found some things I had forgotten I had.) There was even some stray stuff in that box that had nothing to do with the project and most of that went to the trash.

Now I need to go through the photos again. I have them sorted into baggies dated with the year they belong in. The problem is where I forgot and made duplicates of some pictures, and some had not yet made it into the proper baggie. When I get that sorted, I'll give the extras to my sister Grace.

This just takes me through the mid-1940s. Once these are properly booked I can begin the next phase. The photos from there on won't need as much work. From the later '40s on the prints tend to be larger and there will be fewer that I need to scan and enlarge. Of course, for me at this point, larger is a great help.

I probably won't be working at top speed, but I feel encouraged that with the organizing I'll be less discouraged and more excited about working on The Project. I still need to find a better way to organize some of these things, but any progress helps! I love photos, but they are worthless if they are not in an easily viewed format. Boxes full of photos tend to be just boxes of excess paper, stuck away somewhere and never seen.

Memories and Photos

Memory is a strange thing. Some things we remember with great clarity; other things we don't remember at all. Sometimes a sight, a sound, a word, a bit of music, or a photo can trigger a memory, like opening a forgotten computer file. Suddenly there it is--a piece of life that has lain unremembered somewhere in the memory banks of the brain. I've read articles that attempt to describe the chemical processes of the brain that store and/or retrieve memories. It comes out sounding like an impossible thing; sometimes I think I'm better off not trying to understand the process, but to just accept the wonder of my human brain that can do such things!

Myself just a few months old

Memory is not always perfect. Get any two people together who witnessed or experienced the same event, and you may hear somewhat differing versions. Some people are more observant than others. And we tend to filter experiences through our own emotional responses, which differ from individual to individual. But, even with its imperfections, memory is an amazing thing.

I've been thinking a lot about memories because for months I've been working on photo albums and family history projects. I tell my family that my photo albums are how I remember my life, and there is a good deal of truth in that. I may remember a certain trip--but just when was that? The years seem to run together. My photo albums will tell me exactly when it happened (and I'm usually surprised to realize how long ago it happened--it seems so much more recent in my memory).

Here I am with muff and long
stockings.

Have you ever wondered why we can't remember our own babyhood? So much happens in those first few years of life, why can't we remember them? Although I can't say I want to remember having to have my diapers changed, I would like to remember the thrill of learning to crawl, to take those first steps, or of being the recipient of all the tender love that babies inspire. I can only see baby days through photos. Some people say they can't remember anything before they were about four years old. My earliest memory goes back to before age two, but those early memories tend to be brief fragments.

I'm including a photo of myself at not quite two years of age. This picture triggers two memories. While I don't remember the occasion of the photo, I do remember some of the clothing. First, the muff. No one uses muffs these days, but muffs were actually a very practical way of keeping hands warm. Seeing the muff in this photo triggers a memory fragment of being downtown with my mother and having my hands in my muff. The other clothing, which is remembered very well, are the long stockings. I grew up before they made warm tights for little girls. We had long, light brown stockings held up with garters. When we reached school age my sisters and I hated those stockings. No one else had to wear them! Now, I admire our mother's good sense in protecting our little bare legs against the cold in days when little girls could not wear long pants to school.

Memory. Sometimes precious, sometimes painful, sometimes embarrassing, but so essential to our lives.

Journaling

Although I've just recently begun blogging, I've journaled in other formats for years. I've never been good at keeping a diary for more than a short time before I get bored and give it up. I found short-term diaries more satisfying, such as trip diaries. I learned that after a little time passed (sometimes a very little time), I no longer could keep straight just when we were where, what we did on each day, where that neat little place we stopped to eat at was located, or even what year it was when we made a certain trip. But all I have to do is pick up the trip diary and start reading and it comes back.

I've always loved family photos. They are a window to a moment that will never come again, the record of our lives. My photo books have morphed into photo journals. I don't write a lot to accompany the pictures, but I write enough to remind me of the events surrounding the photos.

Another form of journaling that I've being doing for several years involves my personal Bible study. I've found that I get much more meaning from my reading if I journal as I read. It fixes my attention; it keeps my mind from wandering. Before I started using journaling I could read a whole chapter and really take in only a sentence or two before my mind took off following a new path. The words went and the words went out. Only a phrase or two was retained. But, if I journal as I read, my mind stays with what I'm reading. I find that I notice things in the text that I would probably have simply glossed over otherwise. When I reach a section, such as the "begats" or the descriptions of how the ancient Israelites performed their sacrifices, that usually would put my mind into a coma, I discover there are little nuggets of interest even there. If I journal I am forced to THINK! Sometimes the journaling on a certain passage can take me down thought trails I would not have paused to pursue otherwise.

Words are powerful, even my own words to and for myself.