Where moths and rust can't corrupt

I took a mental picture as I watched the medieval hunter don his brick red, adidas backpack and walk out the front door.  This was, of course, after I had already taken a hundred digital pictures with my Canon.  The hundred digital pictures will be downloaded onto a computer that will in turn back them up on a waterproof, fireproof steel box that we've entrusted with all of our most important memories.  This, unfortunately, has not always been the case.

We used to trust such things to our family laptop that was hauled around the house daily by three boys under the age of 10.  Hindsight, they say, is 20/20.  The memories are fading of the events that have been lost.  Our second child's baptism, a vacation at Teton Village . . . I can no longer remember the other events/years that were lost when it crashed.  A kindness I suppose.

I've tried to analyze my affinity for taking pictures.  Is it because I have approximately 8 photos of me as a baby/toddler and I'm hoping to gift my children something I wish I'd had?  Or maybe I'm afraid of my failing mind and I'm relying on pictures to fill in the blanks that my memory will leave.  It could be that I realize how brief childhood is and I'm desperately trying to bottle a fireflies glow that won't last the night.  It may be for these reasons or a million more that I take such joy in capturing the details of life

and while I trust that steel box explicitly

I will still continue to take mental pictures

just in case . . .