It’s a sad day in Mudville, or at least in Rochester, N.Y. If you haven’t heard, Eastman Kodak, the 131-year film pioneer filed for protection from its creditors under Chapter 11 of the U.S. Bankruptcy Code.  Does this mean we have to remove the term “Kodak moment” from our American lexicon?  I doubt it.  If you’re like most families, you still have plenty of “Kodak moments” awaiting you on discarded and forgotten rolls of film that will later be developed by future generations, long after the photographer and the encapsulated subjects are dead and gone.  I can only hope that future generations will still have old-fashioned, obsolete technology that will enable them to develop them. 

For instance, I have several 8-track tapes in my possession ranging from Grand Funk Railroad’s “Closer to Home” to AC/DC’s “Back in Black” that will likely remain silent plastic tombs of tunes gone by because there doesn’t seem to be many 8-track players lying about anywhere. 

Rolls of film are often removed from our cameras and discarded in that infamous junk drawer along with the other rolls that were taken during the Christmas of ’04, Aunt Rachel’s rowdy pool party in ’02, a cousin’s child’s Fluvanna graduation in ’99, and two rolls that were taken on that miraculous day when the sun cast a shadow on the ground next to our neighbor’s dog kennel that bore a strange resemblance to the silhouette of Elvis Presley.  (I get goose bumps just thinking about it.)

Then there is always that mysterious roll of film that no one can remember taking. This particular roll usually floats around from junk drawer to counter top, from counter top to coat pocket, from coat pocket to the front seat of the car, and finally to a place deep within the car where it is later found by the next owner who will develop the film and discover blackmail material. 

Unfortunately, the rolls that vanish from your possession are usually the ones that have clearly focused snapshots of the Loch Ness Monster, Big Foot, or little green men stepping from a flying saucer near the kid’s swing set.

If we ever took the time to develop all the rolls of film that clutter sock drawers, sewing kits, and jewelry boxes, we would probably have to take a second mortgage out on the house to pay for the processing.  And all we’d have to show for the money spent is a pile of red-tinted photographs that look like they were developed at the Walgreen’s next door to Three Mile Island.

You can usually find a roll or two of holiday photos taken only the Lord knows when.  No matter if it’s 1963 or 2003, the Christmas photos are always the same.  You know the ones.  The kids are sitting in front of the tree wearing flannel gowns or footed pajamas holding up gifts and looking like those lovely ladies on “The Price is Right” who caress refrigerators, washing machines, and new cars, which can be yours if the price is right.  There is usually a photo of your wife holding up a new toaster, can opener, and the Chia Pet your kids gave her.  (Thank goodness you got her those appliances again this year instead of the diamond—she would have been so disappointed.)

There’s usually a snapshot of dad in his gorgeous morning hair and puffy eyes from reading directions on how to assemble Barbi’s “Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous” Dreamhouse until the wee hours of the morning.  There are a couple snapshots of the tree which was obviously a bit too large for the room.  A few are of the outside of the house after the first snowfall.  One is a picture of the family dog that seems not so amused at having to wear the felt reindeer antlers again.  Last, but not least, there are a few photos of the house’s interior a few moments before the in-laws arrive for the annual Christmas brunch—one of those rare times when the rooms are clean enough for a House Beautiful photo shoot.

From each roll of holiday memories, at least one photo is chosen to be framed and placed on the piano to remind us all of our joyous holiday season.  The picture of me in my unbecoming hair, puffy eyes, ratty bathrobe, and white tube socks holding a tie, underwear, and an economy-sized bottle of Old Spice failed to make the critic’s cut as I am the one who makes the final all-important decision. 

One year, a serene photo of our daughters in a loving angelic embrace in front of a beautifully decorated tree won first prize.  It’s far from being their most becoming pose, but because such a peaceful embrace between siblings is so rare, we felt it worthy of the blue ribbon. 

So as the economy wreaks havoc on another American icon, all should heed the warning.  You need to develop those rolls of film that litter your junk drawer, sewing kit, tool box, jewelry box, and that shoebox in the hall closet with “Film to develop” written in a Sharpie on the lid before the technology to develop them is also a thing of the past. 

Before you know it, your rolls of “Kodak moments” will end up in the same box with your 8-track tapes, VHS movies, old TV Guides, and a set of keys that started up something we once called a “Ford Pickup.”