The lost art of reminiscing.

We went to a slide show. Not your 1970s type where those ‘celluloid in a plastic frame’ images were projected on a wall. It was a modern ‘stick the flash drive thing’ into that monitor in the lounge room that also has a television tuner in it.

With wine in hand, we watched a friend’s trip to Uluru (or Ayers Rock for those who don’t know its tribal name). And there was something special about gathering around and sharing the stories of this trip. A holiday that could be experienced with friends who weren’t there through words and pictures.

So many photos are forgotten these days. They get shared on a timeline, deleted from a phone, and disappear from memory once time passes. And very few of us ever take a sentimental trip by scrolling back on social media to see our past.

My mum has a box full of old photos. My partner and I looked through them as my mum shared the stories of who was who and where they fitted into our family history. One particular black and white image has my teenage mother at a fairground being photographed with an old boyfriend. This picture has never been thrown out, yet all we know of this guy is that he went on to be a doctor.

There’s also one of my infant self in a pram. My mum proudly boasts that this pram was the premium model at the time. It even had brakes! My partner keeps bringing this fact up whenever he wants to point out that I was, and still am, a spoilt brat. Thanks mum.

But now we share photos like candy. A quick selfie is a throwaway thing. Comments are posted. An event is captured. And then we’re on to a new day, as history fades forever.