Lost Cameras and Symbolism

My camera has mysteriously gone missing. This is one of the reasons you have seen very few new posts in the month of December. This is concerning for a couple reasons.

Of course, there’s the obvious reason. It’s my camera. Yes, it and I have a love-hate relationship: I never was able to find its rechargeable battery, so its battery life is either really short or really expensive, and I never managed to become familiar with its manual settings in the same way I did with my old camera. It’s not a high-end piece of equipment by any means. But it did a surprisingly decent job in artificial lighting and I have almost always been happy with the quality of images that I can work out of it in my kitchen as I took pictures of the things we eat. And, I just bought this thing a year and a half ago. It’s no where near worn out and I am just not ready to spend the $600-$1000 I would want to invest on a new camera just so I can take pictures of food. And honestly, I don’t really want another point-and-shoot. Unless it’s really good and therefore worth about as much as a low-end DSLR. (Oh, and, unless it’s a Canon Powershot A620.)

But the loss of my camera is maybe not that important. Even worse, I’m fairly certain that something rather important to me was in the camera case, carefully tucked away someplace safe. Or so I thought.

My parents (my mom, really) gave me and my sister versions of this necklace for Christmas probably 5 years ago now. I don’t know why this particular symbol is important to my family. I’ve always wondered if we have a little French in us somewhere that passed the symbol down through the matriarchy of my family. My mom gave a necklace to each of her daughters in the same way her mom gave each of her daughters a necklace. Did my Oma receive her necklace from her mother? I don’t know. Either way, this necklace has always made me feel connected to my family, my mother and my sister in particular. It’s a connection to what we believe, a connection to something bigger than myself: a family by birth and by holy means. This necklace reminds me of the connection I have to the Trinity through my family.

So, the thought of losing it is not so pleasant — not that I think I’m going to lose those connections — I know it doesn’t work that way. But the reminder of family is a comfort. I took my Hugenot cross off for J’s wedding a month ago yesterday and tucked it into my camera case. I forgot to put it back on later, but always knew it was there, safe, in the little front zippered pouch. And now, the camera case is missing, the camera that goes with it and, likely, the little sterling silver cross too. I can’t imagine not finding it. It must be here somewhere. But it’s a little uncomfortable not knowing exactly where.

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1 Comment

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One response to “Lost Cameras and Symbolism

  1. Mom

    If it makes you feel better, I lost the one my mother had. I was saving it for one of the daughters (had never decided which one), but when I went to look for it one day, it was gone. It never reappeared.

    In one way, it was a good thing, I did not have to decide which one of my girls would get the one that belonged to my mother and which one would get a “store-bought” one. They are replaceable and not very expensive.

    But it would be nice to have both the necklace and the camera back.

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