Rolleiflex

I still have much of my stuff packed up in boxes at my mom's house, remnants of things that could not fit into our car when we moved to Seattle over a year ago. Much of what remains is furniture, too large to fit in our modest shipping crate, and too large to ship now. But some things are portable, like my Rollei camera. My mom came out for a visit last weekend, and tucked this little guy in her purse for me.

This Rolleiflex is from 1952, the year my mother was born. I purchased it on ebay, and it arrived on my doorstep in pristine condition, along with a bag of lenses, filters, and the striped bag sitting behind it in the photograph above. I used this camera almost exclusively in my last year of college.

I can't explain it, but I feel a connection to this camera that I have felt with no other object. Perhaps it is because Rollei and I spent such a grand chunk of my most formative years together, exploring old buildings, vacant beaches, and my own humanity.

While my mom was in town, I dug through my messy storage room to uncover rolls and rolls of expired 120 film. And I cradled this camera of mine, with real film loaded and ready to go, for the first time in years. And I photographed.

Payday is coming, and that means the film will be ready for pickup at the lab. I will share.