Ode to two film cameras

Within the last week or so, I remembered that the two disposable film cameras Ben & I took to Nashville earlier this year had been off getting developed for who knows how long. I figured that the global pandemic we're in was a good reason to slow the process, but it had been months. So Monday, I called CVS to check on the status of the film, half expecting to hear it had been lost in the process. After being on hold for quite a bit, the clerk came back on the line — my photos had been there, and waiting for me, for a month or so.

In the chaos and plain weirdness of these last few months, I must have missed the call or email or carrier pigeon that they supposedly sent to notify me.

So Tuesday, I drove to CVS to pick up my developed photos. I fully believed the majority would be bad — messed up lighting, a thumb in the frame, you name it. But the vast majority actually turned out great. It was a good time to be wrong. What followed was about 10 minutes or so of pure nostalgia — looking at newly released images showing memories from the recent past that somehow feel so long ago.

I've always been a nostalgic person, but even more lately. Every time I look through my photos from "on this day in history," it seems to be another memory I'd love to hop back in time to visit — graduation from JMU, a trip to the beach with friends, summer spent in the mountains or at the lake. And having so much monotony just heightens it all.

I'm still learning what to do with this strengthened sense of nostalgia. It does me no good to get sad thinking back on past times and lamenting the current state of things. But just maybe, it could offer some hope — of things to come, of new adventures to be had, of disposable cameras to fill.