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Letters From Heather - 2028 - So Many Memories
🕑 Added 2021-07-12 14:14:04 +0000 UTC(The latest in the "Letters from Heather" series, loosely based on a true story. Take my word for it, fellas — if you're a denizen of the modern age, and happen to have all of your precious images stored only on one ganky old external hard drive, get a second drive and make a copy so you don't experience the same tinge of horror I did. A backup drive is NOT a backup drive if you only have ONE copy of it! One of those hindsight-is-20/20-no-duh moments that, thankfully, didn't turn out disastrously. Anyway! Enjoy!
As always, artwork by the amazing @aldoinheaven on IG; also, if you're feeling generous, check out his Patreon here. He's a super guy, and is just sooooo amazing when it comes to some really one-of-a-kind large breast/BE art. you'll be contributing to his well-deserved wine fund, and will help ensure that he can continue making more incredible art like this!)
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That was a close call… my ancient hard drive, long-since stuck in that drawer in my office. Going to plug it in, only to have it make weeeeird noises and freeze up. Click-click-click. The death knell of an antiquated electronic device that’s on its way out. Heart. In. Throat.
But, all hope was not lost. I have no idea the magic he worked, but Carlos was about to take the whole damn thing and back it up into the Cloud for me, where, as he put it, “It’ll be safe until I’m long gone.” Macabre sunuvabitch. But, he saved 20 years of photographs from oblivion, so he can sacrifice a goat and make a blood oath to Kthulu for all I care — the guy’s a tech wizard.
Still, permanence aside, you can never be too careful. And besides, I’ve needed a mundane little project recently. When I was on pins and needles, wondering about the fate of my life-through-photos, my sleepless nights were spent visualizing the couple of hundred pics I might never see again. Those irreplaceable moments that would snap back into my brain just when I was about to nod off, sending another pang of fuck across my mind like a firework.
It took me a little while to track them all down, but there they were. One-by-one, into a file, and then, off to the printer. A stack of 4” x 6”, glossies, destined for the scrapbook. Printed photographs? A literal, physical scrapbook? Kinda feels like going to the 24-hour photo counter at the drugstore when I was in highschool. When was the last time anyone even printed photos?
It’s just like when I sort through the first draft of a manuscript. Even the dining room table isn’t quite big enough — I need a bit more room to spread out. I guess I probably shouldn’t thought about sorting these shots out a little beforehand. But I’m a tactile person. Better to see them on (photo)paper and figure out where they’re gonna go in the thick, leather-bound, Grandma-Class scrapbook.
Double scotch prepared, and off to the big funky-print, that-hardwood-can-get-cold rug in the middle of the living room floor. Gingerly lowering Olga until she just meets the plush surface; a shuffle to the left; and slowly coming to a kneel, butt on the floor, with Natalia resting between spread legs. Sorry, Big-O: Mommy’s gotta get some work done, so she needs you to wait next to her for a moment.
Memory after memory… Should I just go chronological? Year-by-year, or place-by-place? Should I separate out that dozen-or-so from that big week in LA? Or put them into the overall “back in the States” pile? One after one, the photos are gently laid on the floor in a semicircle that starts behind my butt, and ends at the base of Olga’s chillout spot to my right.
No… that photo from the afternoon by the pool at the Winshaw’s place… That doesn’t belong there. Remaining photos clutched in my left hand, I lean forward to retrieve it, smushing into Natalia on the way. A slight tug on the right side of my chest forces me to angle my back a little bit... Olga doesn’t budge as easily as she used to (for better or for worse).
