Anyone Want To Go To Washington?

Remember slides?  Remember the screen that pulled up like a reverse window shade and the projector with the white hot bulb?  Remember the shuffling sound made each time the remote control button was pushed and the carousel turned and the next slide dropped into place?  Remember the exclamations of amusement that would rise in unison from your captive audience when an image would flash on the screen upside down, or words would appear backwards?  And speaking of captive audiences, remember the five most dreaded words in the English language: "Want to see my slides?"  Many unsuspecting dinner guests back in the day found themselves suddenly subjected to the equivalent of being taken on a long ride in a car with no windows, while someone else described the scenery.

Time marches on, and crushes technology in its path.  No one mourned as the carousel was gradually replaced by the Polaroid.  And countless celluloid memories sat in closets and attics across America, dimming, if not totally dark without the required backlight.

Which brings me to Mother's Day, 2013, when my family gave me a modestly priced scanner from Hammacher Schlemmer that converts slides and negatives to .JPEGs.  My family had given it to me because I told them it was what I wanted.  I had asked for the scanner as a gift because I had upwards of 250 family slides from the late 50s and early 60s that I was dying to convert to .JPEGs so I could finally view them at my leisure on my computer.  I suppose I could have asked them to find my a slide projector on eBay, but that would defeat the purpose.  There would be no more dealing with unwieldy screens to set up.  No more burnt fingers and melted celluloid.  No more suffering through the tedious chore of inserting each slide, slot by slot, into the carousel -- holding each up to a light to first verify its north-south/east-west orientation.  And certainly no subjecting everyone else in the room to my maudlin fits of nostalgia.

And that is how I recently came to spent an entire weekend converting upwards of 250 family slides from the late 50s and early 60s into .JPEGs on my Mother's Day, 2013, gift; so I could finally view them at my leisure on my computer. 

Yes, I know I am writing this in June, 2015, and yes, I've been that busy so get off my back!

I was especially happy to find the slides of a family trip to Washington, D.C., from 1960.  I had only been three (and a half!) years old, and as such, the only memories I had of that trip were the ones that had been reinforced by later screenings of the slides my father took.  I didn't remember being there so much as I remembered seeing myself there.  My dresses with the puffy crinoline slips, the matching outfits my mother made my brothers wear, the Confederate soldier's hat Doug loved; these images from my childhood once again stood before my eyes in full color and focus.  An experience as close to traveling back in time as I will ever get.

We had driven to D.C. from Michigan.  And in fact, the only true memory I have from that vacation -- because it doesn't exist on any slide or home movie -- was sitting between my brothers in the back seat of the car while they taught me how to snap my fingers and sing, "The Mashed Potato started a long time ago with a guy named Sloppy Joe."  But other than that, I am told my station was primarily up front, between my parents, staring at the in-dash radio, hour, after hour... after hour.  Today the drive from Michigan to D.C. takes roughly ten hours if you drive straight through.  I don't know how long it took back then, but I'm sure it was at least as long because as family legend has it, for months after we returned from that trip, whenever I had to get into the car I would loudly announce, "I don't want to go to Washington!"

And the only reason I remember that vacation today is because I had to also sit through the metaphorical road trip in my family living room 50 years ago when my father set up the slide projector.  Kind of ironic, when you think about it.

So, okay, I admit it took me a while, but the important thing is that I finally did scan all of my slides.  And it was a lot of work.  Did I mention it took me a whole weekend?  And now, I have finally realized my dream of being able to view the upwards of 250 slides of my family from the late 50s and early 60s at my leisure on my computer.  Which I have done.  Many times.  Just sitting here at my computer.  Not bothering anyone.

I guess those pictures will be there on my hard drive for another 50 years, or until science invents a chip -- which you can still buy from Hammacher Schlemmer, no doubt -- that we can insert directly into our brains, and then we won't even need a monitor.  And absolutely nobody will be able to see our slides, even if they wanted to.  Total isolation; modern technology's greatest achievement!

Um, hey... Anybody want to see my slides?