Nothing gold can stay
I have many photos of Randy taking photos
Over the last couple of years I have wondered aloud what I should do with all of Randy’s camera equipment. Should I sell it? How much is it worth? Where would I sell it? Erin knows someone who knows something about cameras so today she came over and took pictures of his camera, all his lenses, and other sorts of equipment I can’t identify.
After she left I found the manual and did a little online searching around for more info. It’s a professional camera, top of the line at the time—Pete Souza, Obama’s photographer, used one. That was around 16 years ago though, and Canon doesn’t support it anymore, which means you can’t get it repaired. (Not that it needs repair now.) But as with everything tech, tremendous upgrades have been made and a camera we paid $1600 for is now worth maybe $300. Plus whatever the lenses are worth—I don’t know if they fit the newer models.
It’s kind of sad and it reminded me of our lives back then. We were in our early 40s, in the prime of our lives, with good jobs, owned a home. And now the camera is worth a few hundred dollars, the house is so expensive we couldn’t afford it now, Randy’s dead, and who knows how many years I have left. Like almost everything, the shine wears off.
I remember when we bought that camera. Randy had pressed Ariat to buy him a camera so he could do product photography and so on, saving the company fees for freelance photography. He did all the research in his Randy way and they paid for what he wanted.
And he was excited. He had his manual, and he bought books to learn about all the elements of photography and his particular camera, how to shoot video with it. And he was great at it. Of course he was. He kept the camera at home since there was no one else to use it, and he took photos of EVERYTHING.
He enjoyed it so much I thought we should buy one for his personal use. I wanted to get it for his birthday, but of course I couldn’t do it without him since I didn’t know what I was doing. And he was resistant, thought it was too expensive and the one he had was good enough. And I said, Look. You love photography and the creativity involved. And here we are in the best place in our lives, we make enough money, and this is a splurge just for you, because I want you to have it. We can afford it and you will love it.
Eventually he agreed to buy one and gradually he added bits and pieces. Lenses, extenders, tripod, light diffuser, I don’t even know what all. And he really enjoyed it. I probably have thousands of photos he took. And he took many photos of houses when I was in real estate and needed them to write the accompanying copy.
But as the years went by and his health declined and phone cameras got so good, he stopped using it as much. He bought a foldable stool so he wouldn’t have to stay on his feet when he photographed houses—he was too tired to stand the whole time I was walking through a house taking notes. And then the camera with all the needed lenses just got too heavy for him to use much. And that period of our lives just faded away.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
—Robert Frost