The theme for this year’s gift swapping was framed photographs.

Among other things, I gave framed pictures of my niece to my parents, my grandmother, my brothers, and to some of my cousins. Meanwhile, my brother gave me a gorgeous studio shot of the baby in a beautiful frame. My cousin filled an antique frame with a sepia portrait of my niece. And my godmother restored two black and white photos of my grandparents.

I’ve been taking pictures for as long as I can remember. My first camera was a Yogi Bear Instamat. I’m a firm believer in capturing those Kodak moments, evidenced by the stacks of photo albums piled in an enormous chest at the back of my parents’ shed.

A picture captures a memory. Funny that I don’t feel the same way about home videos as I do about a set of photographs.

And I love looking through other people’s snapshots. Or walking through photo exhibits in galleries and museums. Or buying someone else’s black and white night shot of a momument I’ve already photographed.

What is it about pictures?

The phone has been ringing off the hook all day. My poor mom is convinced that these are the end of times.

Today has been especially stressful.

The first phone call came in at 8:00 a.m. I just assumed it was some family emergency. She never, ever phones me that early unless there’s some sort of bad news.

“I don’t have to work today,” she says.

“Well, ummmmmmmm, that’s good ma,” I say, as I stuff reports and steno pads into my big black bag.

“Don’t you want to know why I don’t have to work today?”

Uh oh – did she get laid off? Was the car totalled? Did she win last night’s lottery?

“Ummmm… is everything okay?” I ask.

“A ten-foot wall of water is coming our way. So they figured it would be best if everyone stayed home,” she replied. My mom was refering to the wooden Whittenton Pond Dam . Because of all the extra rainfall in the northeast, the poor dam is about to burst.

“Well mom, I hope you enjoy your day off. I’ve got to run,” I said. “Love you.”

Not three hours later I get another hysterical phone call.

“Have you heard about Baltimore?” she asked in greeting.

“No mom, what’s going on in Baltimore?” I ask as I type “Baltimore” into the Google search.

“There’s a terrorist threat. They’re closing everything,” she replies as I pull up the first story about the tunnel closings. “You’re not safe.”

“Mom, I live in DC, not Baltimore.”

“You go there for baseball games.”

“It’s FORTY MINUTES AWAY.”

“Close enough. If it’s a nuclear weapon, ABC said forty minutes was close enough.”

I sigh. There is no arguing with a mother’s logic.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I have an important lunch appointment.”

“Okay, call me tonight.”

I sigh repeatedly.

An hour later. It’s her again.

“Why don’t you come up to Massachusetts for a visit?” she asks. “You can leave right now.”

“Mom – you need to turn off CNN and step away from the television. Listen to yourself. Get a grip. You want me to leave my perfectly safe city, to travel towards a terrorist threat, in traffic backed up all the way to Maine, so I can finally pull into the driveway only to find the entire neighborhood drowned in ten feet of water.”

Silence.

“Goodbye mom.”

“Don’t forget to call me tonight………”

My grandfather would pick up my brother and I from school and drive us to the mall until my mom got home from work.

The routine was always the same. He’d have a Hershey bar for each of us – plain for my brother, with almonds for me. Then he’d park beside the Sears entrance. We’d spend about 30 minutes playing games on the computers in the tech department, while he stood and watched and laughed.

Then we’d stop at Papa Gino’s for a slice of cheese pizza, before continuing on to the bookstore. My brother would position himself in the animal/wildlife/nature section. My grandfather flipped through enormous books illustrating World War II. And I would head towards the young adult books, eager to know if the next installment of Sweet Valley High or the Sweet Dreams series had arrived.

An hour later, the afternoon culminated at the video arcade. He’d give us each one dollar to play. My brother would bounce from one machine to the next, eager to master them all. But I would always steer toward Galaga.

I loved the premise. I was the hero-fighter defending Earth from the evil aliens coming to destroy her. I loved watching as the bug-things marched down the screen towards my ship, my fingers working double time to obliviate them all. I was greedy with my extra lives, watching as I earned extra ships to maintain the fight.

Although my actions would prove the contrary, I was always more of a reader.

We begged Santa for Atari and dad brought home a Gemini system he found on sale for $50 less. We eventually got used to playing the four games that came with the system. My favorite was Mousetrap.

A few years later the Atari 2600 replaced the Gemini system. By this point my baby brother was old enough to partake in video-game pleasure. And I was far too interested in MTv and the cable movie channels to make a fuss about game-time.

Many years later, a boyfriend presented me with a Gameboy and Tetris when I left for college. It was the perfect gift and I still play that game occasionally.

My brothers own Nintendo systems and Sega systems and virtual computer systems. They play football games and adventure simulations where the graphics are so real they resemble real-time sports coverage or Hollywood blockbusters.

My heart belongs to the classics… Galaga, Defender, Mousetrap, Pac-man, Pong and Donkey Kong.

And I bring all this up because this weekend America’s Video Game Expo will be at the Washington Convention Center from 10am – 5pm. So if you’re in town, think about stopping by and playing a game or two.