Kodachrome, the waning Harvest Moon

Fifty digital photos and I am still looking for the perfect capture of sea and tide.  The Buddhist is perched above me on this coastal rock, his face buried in a book.  He looks up at me and smiles, unaware of my inner frustration.

The waves form a pattern and I wait for the moment to hit that little round button on my new ever so clever phone. 
There!  Click. Fifty one.
Now. Click. Fifty two.  
Hmmm.  Timings off...
OK.  NOW. Click. Fifty three...

All at once, I am transported back to a trip to Maine with my family in the mid 1970s.  I am thirteen and have my Kodac 126 camera dangling from my wrist, an up grade from my old Brownie camera (which I would kill to own now).  Babysitting money and allowance have combined to grant me two cartridges of film- a whopping forty eight photos for a one week trip.  I am fully aware that more babysitting and allowance will be necessary upon my return to extract the images from the cartridges. 

Forty eight photos?  How did I ever decide what was worthy of setting my eye to the view finder and pressing down the button.  That "Kodak Moment" sign was yet to be in vogue, so I had to rely on my instincts.  Not too many photos the first few days.  Make it last! Make it last!  Followed by too many photos of something stupid on the last day...

Yet, the beauty of this primitive photographic system was that I was present every second of my trip.  I experienced the rocks and the tide through my eyes, not a camera's lens.  

AND I had to wait a week after vacation to see the results of my photo prowess.  No do overs. No obsession.  I wasn't musing over memories while still making them. 

I laugh, turn my phone off and wave to my spouse.