I don't want a horse and buggy, and I'm not planning on returning to cameras that shoot film. But dang, how I loved my Polaroid Spectra, perhaps the last and best iteration of the venerable Polaroid line. Alas, the Spectra disappeared during a high school party at our house, also the same night that I discovered a half-eaten hot dog in a drawer in our bathroom cabinet and my Minolta IV light meter covered with beer. Still, if the camera hasn't survived, the images that came from it have, many of which are nearing 40 years old. Here's one of my favorites, a family photo.
John, the youngest, said, "Typically, I'm most left out."
Jadyne and Jason, flanking my ninety-plus year old mother, whose powerful frame is covered by her Cal Berkeley rugby shirt, before launching into a scrum on Witter field.
And Aspen, our beloved golden retriever, after we brought her home for the first time.
I took the Spectra to New Orleans in 1988 when we photographed Kevin Renfree's wedding. This night we found ourselves in Houma, Louisiana, listening to a cajun band.
And I have no idea who these two people are, why the guy eating the Vanilla ice cream cone is smiling at me, and whether the person in the salmon colors is a female or a female impersonator, and why they're together. I just like the photo.
And a "selfie", perhaps one of the first. I just don't look like this anymore, and that's okay.