It was a satisfying box to check off on the to-do list, and a task that took little energy to complete — you can flip through photos while you’re quarantine-binging TV. A word of warning, though: Trips down memory lane are usually emotional, filled with equal parts joy, sorrow and “Why did I ever wear that?”
When in doubt, outsource
Though I have a far too slowly (and I’m too lazy) to process more than a thousand photos (my husband contributed his own stash). So, I followed and carefully packed a box with prints and sent it to Scanmyphotos.com instead. Just choose the scanning and delivery package you want, pack a box and send it to the company’s office in Irvine, California. When your scans are done, the box comes back to you, along with electronic copies of your scans and a book listing your shots. The company is continuing to operate during the pandemic.
My experience was great and it only took a week to get my photos back. If you have a box of pictures sitting around, it’s an easy way to secure them. If you’re pushing the 2,000-photo mark, go for the $145-prepaid box, which the company says will fit about 1,800 prints. If you don’t have that many, scans start at 8 cents each.
After scanning, your prints will come back to you in bundles along with electronic copies of each print and a handy reference book.
Your life in a box
First, though, I had to go through my snaps one-by-one and decide which ones to scan. You may prefer to throw everything in a box and scan them all, but I was more discerning. I didn’t need scans of the dozen photos I took of Mount Rushmore when I was 11. No, I wanted to save the snaps that really mattered.
My exploration started with the first photo I ever took — my mom standing in our Southern California backyard in 1981. I was 7 years old and wanted to take her photo as a “thank you” for buying me my first roll of film. She’s smiling under a bright July sun, next to my blurry finger covering part of the lens. I texted it to her, and she replied with a heart emoji and “Ahhh… you were just a little boy.”
Sorting through the next 20 years. I saw Christmas mornings and birthdays, graduations, my sweet English Springer Whitney, a visit to the top of the World Trade Center with my late grandparents, and camping trips with my dad. I even saw my 12-year old self standing near the London building where I would live 30 years later.
Later came college keg parties with red plastic cups and the first few years of living on my own, when my energy for rambunctious nights out with friends (some of whom have left us) was far more robust than it is now. It was wonderful, awkward and painful to relive those memories all at once.
Occasionally, shots were blurry or cropped horribly, or my stray finger was back in the way, but that’s the thing about film cameras: You don’t know how your shots will look until they’re developed. Digital cameras may have given us instant gratification and editing. But they’ve also taken away that marvelous suspense of waiting for your photos to come back from the store so you could tear open the pouch and relive that amazing holiday long after you returned home.
Since I bought my first digital camera in 2002, though, far fewer of my photos make it off a memory card, even though there are countless easy ways to export them. There’s just less incentive since I already know how they came out. Perhaps it’s better that way — printing only the best shots is far less wasteful — but just like when you write for print rather than online, it’s far more satisfying to hold your completed work in your hands than it is to see it flash by on a monitor. (Photos books are another great option to give your digital picture life.)
But by sorting and scanning old prints, I have the best of both the print and digital worlds. I still can leaf through my old photos when I’m feeling nostalgic, reminisce with my parents and embarrass longtime friends at milestone birthdays. Now these mementos also live in the digital realm, and if disaster does strike, I know they won’t be lost forever.
Those pleated pants, though? Well… they go back in the shoe box.
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