Generally, I don’t comment much on current events. If I had to say why, it’s because taking a stand gives half of those who know what it is an opportunity to disagree and reveals how judgmental I can be.

On top of that, there’s the possibility I may be wrong.

When I read that a woman had given birth to octuplets, my first thought was of a desperate couple who had resorted to fertility drugs and why that would not be for me. I still (selectively) resist the intervention of science in nature, although my rational self knows that men around the world have interfered with nature since their time began. I admit that I might feel differently if I were more personally affected; it’s easy to make pronouncements from the mountaintop.

After a few days I became curious about the fate of the octuplets and their mysterious parents. By then it had come out that the mother was an unemployed single woman who already had had six (6) children through IVF.

There went the childless, loving, and happy Yuppie couple many of us had probably envisioned.

Six children. Six. And she wanted more.

For a few minutes, I couldn’t quite retrieve from the archives of my mind the pathology that this situation reminded me of. And then it came.

Animal hoarder.

The desire for more children, on top of six existing children, especially in a situation where it is likely that the mother doesn’t have the resources to provide adequately for so many, financially, physically, or emotionally, made me think of those sad souls who take in dozens or even hundreds of animals which, when rescued when a neighbor complains about the smell or other signs, invariably prove to be starving, diseased, battle scarred, and neglected. I’ve wondered if animal hoarders initially mean well but lose control. Do they notice how much the animals suffer and block it out? Or do they believe they are doing them a favor? Are they that blind to the cruel consequences of their actions?

Nadya Suleman, the woman for whom six children were not enough, said she wanted a big family because she had had a lonely childhood. Two, four, or even six children were not enough to fill that gaping hole in her soul. Despite her age and the odds, she thought she would end up with two more children, not eight — as though eight was the critical mass needed for the seal on that well of loneliness.

The story may yet be saddest for the children, born to a woman whose motivations and judgment are questionable, at best. How did she think she was going to raise eight children, including two infants, when she couldn’t manage six? Fourteen? Does she think she, by herself, has the resources to give these children individual attention? Or even to care for their basic needs? How did she think she would house, feed, clothe, and educate them for 18 years each? And pay for their medical care?

Most couples, when they learn they are expecting their first child, feel a thrill of joy and a thrill of fear. Both are natural; raising a child is no small responsibility. What did Nadya Suleman think when faced with the prospect of raising six? That she needed two more to complete her ensemble? Did she think of anyone other than herself? Did she consider the future at all?

I wish these 14 children well, and I hope that Suleman obtains the help she needs. Cat hoarding is appalling enough. Human hoarding? Inconceivable.

Even the most well-behaved children might develop a case of the fidgets when Dad is about to be sworn in as the 44th president of the United States, so I wasn’t surprised to see Michelle Obama lean over a few times toward Malia and Sasha. I wondered if she were talking to them or someone else, or if she were, in traditional Mom fashion, telling them to “settle down.”

There they were, taking pictures and videos and sending text messages from their unique vantage point at the inauguration. No one had a better perspective on the event, and only the most stoical of stoics could have resisted temptation. Young girls are not known for stoicism, although I imagined somewhat whimsically that they were telling their friends, “Will you look at him? He’ll think he’s important now!”

Now that we have the technology, we keep trying to capture the moment, whatever the moment may be. When I was a child, film and processing were expensive enough to make photography a small luxury. The camera, a Kodak that cost $2 or $3, came out mainly for special occasions (the obligatory birthday and Christmas shots) and excursions, with an occasional photo of Virgil in the washtub or Diane in the bath. For practical reasons, photos were secondary to the experience.

When camcorders became the ubiquitous rage and I saw fathers (almost never mothers) recording every moment, I began to wonder if something weren’t being lost. Intent on his viewfinder, the family videographer seemed unable to focus on anything beyond that narrow range. Every moment recorded represented a moment in which the dad did not see the world from his child’s perspective; he was an observer of his child’s life, not a participant in it. Do those parents watch those videos now?

Now you can’t go into a restaurant, movie theater, café, park, or any public place without being blinded by the flash of someone’s digital camera. Blogs and social networks are full of photos of smiling groups of people at their family, evening, and weekend outings and comments about fashions, hair, and memorable happenings. Joy is ephemeral. Who can be blamed for trying to cage it within a few thousand pixels?

Photos and videos show and tell the stories of our lives. On January 20, 2009, as I saw images of people at workplaces, schools, churches, and senior centers across the country with tears in their eyes, I thought that, without the distraction of trying to record history, they are the ones who have captured it best — not on chip, but in their minds, hearts, and imaginations.