Infinite Jest--Time will find us

From one media to another

Times change, without a doubt.  As technology made photographs more accessible and cheap, almost every family documented big events.  Burgeoning photo albums showed the styles of the 1960s and the 1970s.  Silly hair styles and mini-skirts were part of the albums.

Just don't bend over.

Movie cameras shrank from complicated monsters with four blinding headlights to hand-held quiet 8mm cameras, capturing the silliness of my era. 

We were the hippy generation, the postwar baby boomers.  Long straight hair and ‘hot pants’ were the style; leisure suits were dressing up.  We documented our life together with photo and film. 

Hot babe

At Christmas 2012, I arranged to transfer a big box of 8 mm film to DVD, with my narration and background music. 

From our early marriage days, through our children era, and then to the mid 90s, I soon found myself smiling big and a little teary.  I don’t know what reaction I expected from our now adult kids. Oh, Mom! These are so great! Thank you so much!

Because we were diligent in recording our history and obsessive about keeping those films, we have a new position in the minds of our grown children:

                           We are their source of INFINITE JEST.

  

What we did get were peals of laughter, OMG-dad-you-were-such-a-geek, and LOL-mom-you-were-so-hot.

Our grandchildren will have hours of diversion and entertainment with our visual legacy to our progeny.  

Hours and hours of infinite jest. Yes, our legacy is digital.

The Letter C: Shall we gather at the river....

Source: hot hot hot

The Letter "C"

The year 1971 brings up some scattered memories:  Hot pants (I had two pair--purple striped and bright red with a star on the back pocket), marijuana (not for me, but the rest of the dorm floated high on the weekend), Vietnam War, protest marches, falling in love, keeping my scholarship, and home.

Home meant church to my family.

In the late fall, it was decided to have a photo made of the church body, to commemorate the congregation of that time.  The elderly founders of the church (mostly widows by this time) were seated in the center front row, with the attendees surrounding them.

I wasn't there.  But I remember the names, the faces.  

For some reason, my Grandma Amy was not included in this group, although she deserved to be.  Politics, I suspect.

Nebo Church of the Nazarene, 1971

Today, the letter C stands for Church.

When I write about Nancy and her church, this is the source from which I draw.