A Camera

Antique cameras, you say? responded my grandfather. We've got one of them. As he limped spryly down the dusty hall.

As we arrived home, we unloaded the gold Prius. Turkey to the freezer. Chocolate covered almonds to the cabinet. Make room for Costco's pumkin pie as well.

Grandpa, have you got an extension cord? I ask, thinking of my recently acquired and repaired macbook charger. Out side he presents a collection of extension cords from which to choose. Boxes of antiques lie near. Needless to express transition-

 As soon as my Grandpaps remembers where he put it, the camera comes descending. Dust dust dust. Its all tidied up in a box. Gently now, carefully now, its really old you know, we really shouldn't play with it. Bang! bang bang bang. Tinker tinker tinker. I'm pulling out the wooden legs for the tripods. He's tweaking on the camera box. Soon we put them both together and presto, pronto, wa-la- there you have it, done deal. A Pony Premo dating back from before 1900. In prime condition, majestic upon its stand. Owned by my great-grandfather, Albert Meyers, at one point in time. They say he bought it to feed his family during the depression. Fine plates to shoot on. A hand pump triggers the shutter.

It's unreal how long I have wanted to note a camera of such nature. We stand in silence, marveling at its magnificence for a time. I draw my own camera, and photograph its elegance. A small dog submits in presentation to a large dog. To help him sell it better on Ebay, I tell my grandfather.  And my heart?

We fold it up. Back into the case. Back into the box. Dust dust dust. On top of its pile. Along with its legs.

My great-grandfather's soul.

The clocks strike one.




Pumpkin pie? he asks.