Let is Snow

Snow. So many of you today are out there playing in it, thoroughly enjoying it. Or maybe you're  cursing it. Two years ago, we traveled to Illinois to spend the holidays with my parents and it snowed on Christmas Eve. It was magic, I tell you. magic. I grew up with snow but for most of my adult life, have only lived in cities where snow is a rare occurrence. I'd forgotten how magic it is. How quiet it is. How it so silently covers every little thing in sight. How it seems to make color and light sing.

Today, show us magic. Snow magic, that is. Dig up the old favorites. Or, if you have snow, get out there in it and make some new ones. Whatever the case (or whatever the weater), share a few shots of your outdoor surroundings with us here with us today as we recoup from the haze of the holiday.

A Wish for my Daughters

As my girls grow up right before my eyes, I often wonder what it is that they will remember from these days of our togetherness. Will they recall the silly moments, the laughter, the fun? Will they remember the chaotic moments, the impatience, the bickering?  Will it be big trips and special events or the daily routines that stand in their memory? Will they look back at the many wonderful experiences they’ve had or better their childhood disappointments? Will they roll their eyes and commiserate together about all the things I did and said that made them crazy? Likely, the memories will be a little of all of it.

I’m fairly certain that there will be plenty of things that I have said along the way that they will dismiss (both unknowingly and deliberately) as they move into adulthood but I can only hope that they embrace and internalize all the messages I have sent them, both in words and in actions, that are the most important to me; the ones that I hope that they carry with them guide them throughout their lives. About how amazing they are, about how beautiful, strong, capable they are. And that’s just the beginning. There are so many things I want them to grow up knowing.

Every once in a while I see, read or hear something that expresses exactly what I want to say to my girls. When you set a simple, sweet sentiment it to music, like in the case of this song by Lee Ann Womack, it really sings (pun intended). As cheesy as it may seem, I don't mind admitting, I cry every single time I hear this song.

“I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance.”

What messages make you weepy? Tell me I'm not alone.

Comfort and Joy

It's that time of year again. You know the one: holiday photo time.  One thing I've learned is that the more relaxed and comfortable I am during a shoot, the people I'm photographing will be the same way.  I give direction but I like to have fun, too and I tell them to do the same.  I use humor during my shoots, always.  If I can make them laugh, that's half the battle, and once that starts, everyone involved is having a good time, myself included.  I love it even more when it shows in my photos, like the one above.  

When the boys and their dad sat down for this photo, I snapped a few 'proper' photos and then told them to have fun and to do whatever they wanted.  Before the boys could do anything, dad reached around and covered their mouths, his expression -and theirs - priceless.  Nothing brings me more joy than knowing that they were comfortable enough to 'let go' and just have a good time.  What a gift, for  both myself and them.  

Today, share with us those photos that bring you joy.  And if you haven't already, please join our mailing list! 

just be.

Take my hand and I will pull you through
The light is gone but I am still here with you
You are so far away thinkin’ you should roam
My arms are ready for you to come back home

Can you feel me, feel my reach?
Take it easy, honey, and just be.
from the song "The Reach" by Miranda Lee Richards 

When difficult/bad/sad things happen in my life, I have a system in place.  I acknowledge whatever the difficult/bad/sad thing is, shove it to the back of my mind into neat little compartments and go on my way. I've always done this and it's worked just fine.  This past year I've had more than my normal share of things occur and once again, I used my 'system' of dealing with everything and again, it's been working just fine...or so I thought.

While at Oasis, during a talk Kim Klassen and Xanthe Berkeley gave, Xanthe showed a video she had made for One Day on Earth.  I'd seen it before. Numerous times, in fact.  But on that day while I watched it again, one of my neat, little compartments that I had shoved to the back of my mind cracked open and I began to cry one of those ugly, snot-nosed cries (Thank you, Siobhan Wolf, for the use of your shoulder that day).

I realized at that moment that I had stopped enjoying the most simplest of things in my life and had essentially been just existing.  When I should have been celebrating all the little things in my life, I had been in a fog, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, for the bad things to get worse.  But you know what?  That other shoe has not dropped and in watching that video made up of Xanthe's gorgeous photos celebrating everyday life, I had an 'aha' moment.  I realized that I could take what I had been shoving away, examine it a little closer, acknowledge it fully and then move on.  I was going to be okay. 

Thanksgiving is this week and my immediate family is no longer here.  This saddens me greatly and once again I put my famous system back into place just like I've always had, but this morning while looking for something in my desk I came across a photo of my brother and grandmother, both of them tucked together in the very back of my desk drawer. I held them in my hand looking from one to another and at that moment, I let myself just be.  I cried a little, but at the same time I knew that I was meant to find those photos.  My brother has been gone 13 years and my grandmother 3 years. I'll celebrate them this week and remember them lovingly, making their favorite Thanksgiving dishes to share with my husband and my boys and tell them stories of holidays past and when the day is done, I'll feel blessed and full of love for all that I have...and just be. 

Today, share with us those photos that move you and in celebrating the holiday this week remember to give thanks...and to just be.  

A Legacy of Love

My father was a professional photographer, illustrator, ad man, and filmmaker.  He photographed Charles Lindbergh and other famous people, but his favorite subjects were my blonde mother, sisters, and me.  My dad died when I was 3, so everything I know or made up about him came from a lifetime of studying his prints. 

My sisters were a lot older than I, so they didn’t need pictures to jog their memories.   I was so young when he died that I still believed in magical thinking.  You know, “step on a crack” kinds of thoughts.  My father achieved immortality for me through his photographs.  At 13, Brownie Starflash in hand, I photographed everyone I loved to insure their permanence, and I never stopped.

The Starflash became a Nikon 35mm, which became a DSLR, while my own darkroom got better safe lights, a real sink, and suddenly an iMac appeared on my desk.  I breathe photography.  Yes, I know that capturing image doesn’t keep people from leaving me.  But, it comes close.  When photographing people, an immediate intimacy happens that stays in my heart through the archived moment.  I love everything about photography.

I have immersed myself in photography projects like, They Come and They Go; a series documenting everyone from UPS drivers to first cousins who visit me, “keeping track” showcasing objects relating to memory, or Loving Aunt Ruth; a 3-year odyssey into the life of my aunt, the last of my mother’s family that turned into a book with a possible 2013 release.  I am interested in memory, time, impermanence, and love.

In 2007, my oldest sister moved to live near her daughters.  I photographed her packing and the truck taking her away, and her move prompted a feeling of urgency in me to get closer to my Aunt Ruth.  I asked Aunt Ruth if I could photograph her for a book without imaging a “real” book was possible.  At the time, I was probably thinking of a photo album.  She said, “Sure, I’ll have a party, and you can meet all of my friends.”

Loving Aunt Ruth is the culmination of everything for which I have cared:  family, story, respect, hardship, triumph, humor, and my work as a photographer.  Since the book began with a party, I chose to end it with one.  My Aunt’s 90^th birthday was a beautiful place to close a journey that we began together.  Aunt Ruth had 165 people of all ages, ethnicities, and religions to her party.  I only “know” that many people on Facebook!

My father left me the legacy of an understanding of photography’s power which opened the door to my understanding of Aunt Ruth whose philosophy of living life guided by loving and caring for people has changed mine forever.   

In the last year, both of my sisters have died.  Aunt Ruth offered me comfort and wisdom.  I asked her how she stays determined in the face of so much loss.  She said, “I have my faith, and I have a will to live…that will comes from loving people.” 

 Image and words courtesy of Honey Lazar. Discover more about her and read more about her Aunt Ruth on her blog.