The Way Things Have To Be

He is standing by the pie counter, talking on the phone.  Nick’s at the bar doing shots before the show.  I am waiting—wondering what the hell I’m doing here, partying with twenty-somethings in Manhattan when in a few days I’ll be turning forty.  

“A girl?” I ask him, and he nods, sheepish, rolling his eyes.  “Do you like her?” I ask later, when he hangs up because he can’t bear me photographing him like this.   

“We used to be together a long time ago,” he says, confessional.  “So I guess I’ll always be in love with her.”  
I show him this picture, and he asks for a do over.  I take a handful more staged shots of him, talking on the phone and flexing his biceps.  We laugh, collect Nick from the bar and go to the show.

It’s only when I’m home that I see the pieces of a heart in his reflection and remember how he laughed to hear her voice, how he folded his body in tight when they said good-bye, remembering the way things are, the way things have to be.

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What photo do you want to share today?  What tiny truth do you see when you look through your lens?

Not Afraid to Hope

We were sitting in a coffee shop talking about the upcoming birth of her second child, when I saw a sweet light start to fill her face.  Without giving it a second thought, I picked up my camera and started shooting.  Keep talking, I told her.  This is good.

We've been friends for so long, she didn't mind, and I clicked my heart away until I got this shot--the moment in the conversation where she told me her heart's deepest wish for this birth:  that this baby girl would be born in the water and gathered up immediately in her open arms.  Wouldn't that be great?  she told me.

I leaned over to show her the shot in the little screen and watched her face brighten some more.  This is what you look like, I said, when you're not afraid to hope.

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Do you have a photo that captures a conversation that you or the subject want to never forget?  Share your links and stories in the comments below.

Friday's Featured Resource- Lens Rentals

When I was planning my trip to Rwanda this last spring, I was so excited to finally be taking a camera that could go the distance.  I knew from my prior experiences in South Africa that I needed a "real" camera and the right lenses to have any chance at all at capturing the magic of such an expansive and exotic place.   When you get the one chance of your lifetime to gather the Cape of Good Hope in your lens, you really don't want to be wielding your adorable Elph.  Trust me.

But.  All I had in the canvas backpack that doubles as camera bag was my Canon Rebel XTi and one really nice portrait lens. That's it.  I considered buying another lens, but with all my other travel expenses, I couldn't even fathom taking on one more purchase.  Especially when my trip was funded in large part by my blog readers.

So.  What to do?

Lucky for me, I had my favorite shutter sister on my speed dial, so I called that girl up and asked her to advise.  Do I bite the bullet, find a credit card that has $600-1000 left on it for the lens I really needed for this trip or suck it up and stick to those amazing children's faces?

Neither, my sage sister replied.  Rent a lens, my friend.

Rent a lens???  I had never heard of such a thing, but there I was one hour later, exchanging email with the incredibly kind Roger from Lens Rentals, an very friendly and efficient Nashville based internet company with a big heart and all the help and advice I needed.  For roughly $100, I could not only rent the $1000 lens of my dreams for a few weeks, but I could take it to Africa worry-free because of LensRentals extremely reasonable insurance program.  Roger then talked me into the perfect lens for me (a wide angle for shots like the one above) and I had it fedexed to my house in plenty of time for my trip.  Return postage and cushy packaging included.  Easy as pie.

Have you ever rented a lens before?  If so, tell us your favorite resources and lens to rent in the comments below.  If not, give Roger a try and let him know this shutter sister sent you.

The Sidewalk Says it All

I don't know what it is, but there's something about a handful of words folded into a photo that takes the message to a new level.  Have you noticed this, too? 

This week my kids and I chalked little phrases of encouragement and fun all along the sidewalk leading from our house to the nearby elementary school for the first day of school.  We were delighted to be on a super secret mission to ease first day jitters and everyone enjoyed their role in bringing some joy to our neighborhood friends.  Taking the pictures of our adventure only added to my fun.  It made me want to share the happiness with you--the whole experience of writing the messages & then seeing the delight that followed was so incredibly gratifying.

Do you have a message that needs writing on a sidewalk sometime soon?  A few words of encouragement for a kid just waiting to be gathered from the pavement to your lens?   Let's take this week to make some magic--not only with our words, but with the images we create from simple but kind experiences--like leaving a hope note on a sidewalk for the first day of school.

Holding On

They met when they were just finishing college, when she and I still shared the garage apartment attached to her mother's house.  I left first and she soon followed, all of us landing in a run-down garden apartment in an old part of town where trees dropped blooms on our cars at night and the landlord slept on a couch in the makeshift office on the ground floor.

They were jazz musicians fated to live on the side of the building where the people across the alley played Michael Jackson, Celine Dion and MeatLoaf.  I lived on the other where each night a Cuban boy serenaded me with Spanish folk songs from his balcony while I melted to the sounds of his perfect guitar.  We mourned the irony over late morning brunches in our pajamas--in my pop-music free apartment, of course.

By fall they moved on to California, taking only what they could fit in their little car.  I waved good-bye holding the last armful of everything left they couldn't carry.  They spent the next ten years carving out a life together, determined to make music their world.  When I saw them last week they had just arrived in a brand new city, seasoned and familiar with how to turn dreams into bread and butter.  I could have asked them their secret I suppose, but one look at this shot and I already knew the answer.

They have always in so many ways had each other.  And they know so deeply what it means to hold on.  This is the wisdom they share between them--the very thing that makes them able to stand by me, this time, holding all the things my soul can no longer carry.

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Who helps you hold on when times are tough and dreams are pushed to the far edges of reality?  Show us your sages, your guides, your trusted friends in the comments below.