I wrote earlier this year about how I gave my mom a camera for use in general documentation of things that annoy her. In the weeks since she’s had it, she’s shot all sorts of petty breaking-the-apartment-complex rules.
I was pleased with her photos. I mean, after years of having my head cut off in pictures, I think she’s finally mastered the concept of point and shoot. She’s actually getting pretty good at capturing license plate numbers, littering, and the random shot of someone backing up into the building.
On our daily phone call today, however, she revealed that something had happened to the camera.
“Se ve negra,” she said.
Over the phone, I tried to walk her through all the different things she could do to try to make it work.
I’d forgotten that she can’t really see. And, I can’t really describe words like “latch” in Spanish. But we hopelessly fumbled through it.
After a while, my mom seemed to get tired of the call and abruptly ended it. It kind of hurt my feelings, because I really was trying to be helpful.
A few minutes later, she called back, “Me puse los lentes, y lo hice,” she happily yelled (because we don’t speak, we yell). “Pero no lo podia hacer cuando estaba hablando contigo. Necesitaba ir a mi propio paso.”
I laughed at my mother’s pursuit of the answer to the puzzle of camera darkness. She’s dogged in her pursuit of answers to puzzles, and I’m thankful that trait got passed on.