95/89=1.067 | The CliffsNotes® of My Mother’s Life

Paul and Mom

She would have been 110 years old today. She made it to 89, my mother. And as far as I know, there are only 95 photos of her that remain. About one for each year of her life. Barely a CliffsNotes® version of her life story.

And what a story it was.

My mom was one of four children in the family. My grandparents ran a Seattle boarding house in the winter and a lodge at the edge of the wilderness every summer. Vacationers arrived by steamship. The children were all expected to pitch in. Kitchen duty. Entertaining guests. Housekeeping. Gardening. Chores. And when they weren’t needed to help out they had to entertain themselves with whatever was available.

I don’t think there was anything Mom couldn’t do. Or handle. Except the day my father died.

Einarsen Family Archives

She lived through the Depression and two world wars. A sister died young from a burst appendix. My father, a wildlife biologist, was away from home for a month at a time, doing field research, and she took care of everything while he was gone. She could build a campfire or fold a fancy dinner napkin. And to relax, there’s nothing she loved more than walking beaches when the tide was out, looking for tiny creatures like she did as a girl.

Ninety-five photos doesn’t cover all that. Not by a long shot. I’m so thankful that I have the ones I do, but I wish there were more. Granted, every day photos weren’t the thing back then like they are today, and I expect to uncover a few more among old print boxes, but like so many things in life, you don’t understand the true value of things until they’re gone.

I remember when she talked about “paring down” to declutter the drawer in her roll top desk that housed the family photos. Didn’t want to burden us kids with tons of old photos that “only meant something to her.”

It seemed so reasonable at the time.

I wonder now how much of that was as a favor to us and how much was just an excuse to revisit her own memories.

Either way, I regret not pushing back a bit more at the time. Am wondering now just what treasures might have ended up in the trash.

My Mom and Daughter - Photo by Paul Einarsen

Because here’s the thing.

It’s impossible to predict the future. And when you live long enough, you discover that your 60 year-old self is not the same person as your 30 year-old self used to be. Which means that “paring down” your photo legacy collection is tricky because you need to curate for family members you might never know, age-wise.

It’s not the busy parents who’re going 5 directions at once and can’t find their own kids’ photos, much less go through yours.

It’s more likely the empty-nesters who’ve come to appreciate life’s chapters and have time to wonder what shaped and motivated their parents. What did they love and who did they know? Life unabridged. Sure, you still don’t need double prints and all those sunset shots, but you want the whole story if possible, not just the highlights. I know I do.

And digital collections change everything. Yes, we have sooooo many more images to curate and declutter, but we also have a vastly better framework for doing that and for appreciating them. It’s a much different process than it used to be.

First, we shouldn’t be guided by space, the way my mother was. Digital organizing has infinite space compared to times past. Compression, new file formats, and the ease of viewing make richer collections more accessible. Like the film industry, we can tailor the viewing experience to the story rather than fit the story to the viewing experience. No one used to make a 3 hour movie. This year I've seen three.

Because of that, decluttering is all about clarity, not space saving. I have a bigger drawer than Mom did, and if a sequence of photos is more telling than a single image, so be it. That includes video, too; most of which need to be trimmed.

And, finally, we need to reconsider who we’re really curating for.

I used to support the notion that a CliffsNotes® version of my legacy family photo collection is just fine. And for many people, it certainly will be. But looking back now, from the other side of 60, with Mom 20 years gone, I would be thrilled to have the full, unabridged, James Michener collection to sample on winter afternoons. As it stands, I can only do so much with Mom’s collection, but I’m going to favor the generous side with mine.

Thanks Mom. Happy Birthday.

Even with her gone she’s still teaching me a thing or two.