lynsey peterson photography: the blog

ohana

2012-01-08T16:39:00.004-07:00

Last week I was informed that my biological father’s mother had passed away on December 27th. The short version of that is that she was my grandmother until I was 13; a woman who had doted on me my entire childhood, taught me how to gather eggs from chickens, pick strawberries, make jam, and on more than one occasion on a back country road in Idaho at the age of 9 with a phonebook under my bum and the tips of my toes barely reaching the gas pedal, how to drive. I’m fairly certain that her and I had a deal that I was never supposed to tell anyone just how often that lesson happened, but given that I am now a most excellent driver, I think she would be proud to have me share this little illegal fact with my blog peeps. She clearly recognized my driving talent early on and knew that I was the kind of kid that could handle some serious responsibility.:)

All families are complex and complicated and messy to some extent and mine is no different. Maybe the only difference is that the extent of the messiness of which I speak is vast and as unregulated and unpopulated as, say, a back country road in Idaho in the 80s. While there is sadness with any death, there is great comfort that this woman died an old woman in her bed, surrounded by her family. She also died an old woman in her bed with a granddaughter that had never really made peace with the roles they would play in each other’s lives when it wasn’t all strawberry picking, egg gathering, and grandparent supervised and sanctioned illegal activities
anymore.

Our last exchange several years ago wasn’t pleasant and can be easily marked as when I started referring to her rarely and also as Carol. Looking back I would have handled that differently. But looking back, I would have also paid more attention when she tried to teach me how to cook, garden, and about a thousand other things she was great at that I still to this day can’t do.

I wish this could be a blog post where I go on and on about what a wonderful woman she was and how she shaped my life by injecting it with her best qualities and beautiful lessons. It can’t be, but not because she wasn’t wonderful—she absolutely was to the extent of which I’m certain she never could have begun to realize—but because I didn’t really know her for the last 15 years.

Lately when people in my life die, which is happening all too much, I get this manic-like live-for-the-moment feeling and throw myself out there in a way that I would never even consider any other time. Vulnerability isn’t my strong suit; I get that there is a bit of humor in that statement due to the very fact that I put quite a bit of my personal life out there for the world on this very piece of internet real estate. But true vulnerability, the kind that comes with taking a risk or falling in love or…I don’t know…..allowing people to support you when they want to and you really need it…..that shit ain’t easy for me.

While I never expected my divorce to be a giant bucket of chicken, I did expect that 2 years later I would be a little better spot. Don’t get me wrong—I still really enjoy getting to eat cereal for dinner and not having to explain myself. Or share it. And if I want to stay up reading until 4am with my bedside lamp on, I sure as hell get to and that’s pretty damn great. I have the whole freaking closet to myself and if I left a half gallon of milk in the fridge, it will be there when I get back. (Or I’ve had a really odd burglary happen.) The flip side of cereal for dinner and not sharing a closet is that when something happens, something like someone dying, there is no one around that gets exactly what that means to you like a partner would. Sure, I have friends that are beyond supportive and I have a mother that would do anything in the world for me. But part of how we have been wired as grown-ups is that you share a certain history and feelings with your partner. Maybe at 4am in bed with a bowl of cereal. And that way when events transpire, you aren’t having to start from square one, telling people how exactly the whole thing went down just so they can understand and try to support you. It also means that when you have to go to a funeral that is going to be the most emotionally demanding and exhausting event you’ve attended in a while, you won’t be doing it alone.

Carol, who in death I will refer to as my paternal grandmother, did not have an easy life. She was rarely appreciated like she should have been and never received the enormous respect she deserved from some. But…..she was a wicked cool chick. So much so that I knew it at 9 (and not just because to this day I can still drive a boat of a Buick like it’s a sports car). I also think she would have been one of the few people who realized that there is often great loneliness in acts of bravery and tremendous confusion in acts of risk….and that it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t
act, it just means it’s okay to question things or have doubts afterwards. And that’s my only take-away from this one. The regrets are obviously plenty—I should have attempted to have a relationship with her as an adult. I should have told her at some point that even though I was no longer part of her family, I still cherished the time I got to spend with her. That for the last 2 decades I haven’t eaten a strawberry without thinking of her. But mainly that I knew she was braver than she would have ever given herself credit for. So maybe in some small way, now I get to be brave enough for us both.

(I don’t have a picture of my grandmother. What I do have is this—a picture of my 3 year old self and another brave woman in my life, my Aunt Bebe, taken in a massive field in Idaho that serves as the backdrop for many happy childhood memories.)

Clouds will rage

2011-12-29T17:51:00.003-07:00

It’s been 73 days since I lasted posted on this dear blog of mine. 73 days of silence. Actually, not silence. It may have seemed like silence on that end, but on this end, it was a constant screaming in my face….You just gonna give up? You had a blog that used to get thousands of hits a month and you are just going to throw it away? 7 years and you just leave it here to die like you do your house plants?

Sorta. I may be dramatizing it just a bit.;)

No, I do not intend to throw it away. I didn’t even intend to let it go this long. But, life happened and if you are reading this blog for the first time (Hi!), you should know I had a little nervous breakdown and sort of quit this whole photography gig (see below!). Now I am preferring to refer to it as a modest sabbatical, but still. I just never know how these nervous breakdowns are going to manifest themselves. Sometimes it’s tattoos, sometimes it’s purple highlights in my hair, and sometimes I just decide to quit my job and close my sweet little “business” of 8 years. When it’s doing really well. And I am 2 months away from being featured in Rangefinder Magazine. And I have build a large cliental of only the coolest people on the planet. That’s sort of how I roll. That’s my crazy train. Come on aboard.

But quit…ahem….sabat, I did. And do. The day I sent out the big goodbye email blast, I found out about a possible job that was available with a non-profit that is very near and dear to me. And it turns out that this girl that is barely employable, with the strangest skill set imaginable, found the perfect employment situation (and if you do happen to click on that link, you should know that I don’t think a worse picture exists of me on the planet). And so now I work for The Man. Well…not really. Anyone in non-profit will tell you that you are working more against The Man. Or at least doing a strange dance with him. But I like dancing. And now I spend a good handful of hours each week doing the type of things that I have done a lot of any way for an organization I believe in. And on some very, very tiny level, making a very small difference. And that makes me sleep better at night. Which is saying something considering the insomnia battle.:)

And the rest of the time has been getting back in touch with these creatures........

I didn’t realize that while my business was busier than ever, and dare I say, more successful than I ever thought possible, I was spending less and less time with the very reasons I got into photography in the first place. There was a commercial a while back where a mom is trying to be on a conference call in her kitchen and the kids are running around like crazy and she tells them that she has to call a client. And the kids say, “Mom, when can we be your clients?”. And it flashes
to her pained face and then she takes them to the beach. It was guilt at the finest hour. Now, heart of hearts tells me that this kind of guilt is a horrible advertising method. Hell, I don’t even remember what the commercial was for. But……it resonated. And visited me in hours full of complete exhaustion and utter regret. The moral of the story is that I needed to be a better mom. And better to myself. And that meant something had to give. Maybe not as completely as I thought before, but still some. The other moral of the story is don’t be an asshole if you are in advertising. No one needs that guilt, dude. Serious.

When I was in labor with Maddox, things were not going well. And hadn’t been going well for,
like, 36 hours. The child was born stubborn. My OB decided to call in another doctor to
assist in hopes that I could avoid a c-section. It was 5 in the morning and when the 2nd doctor arrived, my doctor apologized profusely for bringing in a doctor that wasn’t on-call at
5am. And she said “the day I don’t want to come in and deliver a baby is the day I quit”. I always loved that. I made a promise to myself early on that the day taking pictures felt like work was the day I quit. And it did, and I did. In a big theatrical fashion, as that’s how I tend to do things. Because it was time to let my kids be my clients. Because it was time to take them to the beach. Metaphorically speaking. No way I would load up two boys under 8 and take them to the beach alone. That pretty much sounds like pure torture with a side of insanity.

This isn’t the end all be all answer. I miss photography. Much more than I thought I would. And someday I will find a balance, even if that means never learning to juggle without dropping. But for now, I’m at the beach with my clients:).

the post with the butterflies and "i"s dotted with hearts that I promised :)

2011-10-17T15:13:00.003-06:00

Remember that one time when I posted about my little dance with severe depression? Good times! Let's keep that to just a yearly thing, okay? ;)

First of all, a huge thank you. When I posted that I didn’t expect much more than my Facebook friends reading it and my mom getting really freaked out. Instead I got literally dozens of emails from people I know well, people I barely know at all, and people that I have never met and probably never well. The kindness, compassion, and encouragement of those messages meant the world to me. Thank you. Thank you for taking the time to read my crazy little blog, for sparing judgment, and for taking a moment to put some beautiful words down on digital paper. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Even if you were someone who read it but didn’t email, thank you for taking the time to read something very personal about someone you don’t know. And Mom, I promise to not freak you out again like that for a good while. At least a week. (We will save that story about my new giant tattoo for a later time.)

A bit over a month has passed since that post. The leaves have turned. The temperature has decreased. The Pumpkin Spice Latte is back at Starbucks. And with that, I have rounded the corner to a place much more populated with hope and happiness……..and Pumpkin Spice Lattes.

In September an amazing opportunity sort of randomly found me. And with that beginning soon (details at a later time), and life taking some turns—some sudden and some a lovely curve that once you’ve rounded shows you a beautiful view of a metaphoric ocean, I have had lots of time to think about what will become of this little space I keep over here in internet land. And a little time to think about what will become of this whole deal where I hold a camera in front of my face and push buttons. There isn’t a clear answer. But there is passion. And excitement. And a great deal of hope. This is a chapter I am so very excited to begin. And if a have some time where I can do a few sessions here and there for some of my very favorite people on this planet? Well, then how lucky am I. And if I still randomly ramble on and on about really important things like seasonal coffee drinks and you people are willing to read it? Well, then I would wonder about your time management skills, but I suppose that’s none of my business.:)

This morning found me in some unfamiliar territory that once upon a time would have freaked me out beyond all reason. And something that could have been awful and painful and hard was healing and wonderful and full of purpose. Life is messy. But those messy bits sometimes bring you some of the best things you never would have thought could exist.

Let’s embrace the messy. Because I don’t know how about you people, but I am pretty darn sick of cleaning all the time.

What's your sign?

2011-09-12T20:55:00.003-06:00

It’s been dark around these parts lately. Really dark. Mixed with moments of pitch black, fumbling through the hallways, hands patting down the walls, desperate to find a light switch. I’m not a stranger to the darkness, but that doesn’t make it any easier. In many ways, familiarity is more scary because then you know exactly what kind of trouble you’re in for.

I’ve been joking to people lately that I feel like I’ve had a personality transplant and I am still learning the ins and outs of my new one while really missing my old one. The very pieces that used to define who I am are suddenly not coming to me as effortlessly as they used to. Things that were funny no longer are. Tasks that I used to enjoy are now beyond irritating to have to complete. Hell, I don’t even like Shells & Cheese anymore. And that Velvetta goodness used to be a cornerstone of my diet. My ability to be creative isn’t near as easy to connect to as it used to be. And what’s worse, in the depths of my darkness, I didn’t really care.

This summer was rough and obviously there were several events that shook me to my core. I just didn’t realize that they would also permanently change me, my needs, and my views. But they did. In many ways I feel like one of those people that gets in a car accident and wakes up, not remembering anything about who they are but has to continue living this life that was already set in motion by someone they don’t even know. One night I went to bed, realizing I was in a rough patch and when I woke up the next morning, the rough patch had been replaced by a vile and ugly land of nothingness where I didn’t really care about anything. It gets said so often that suicide is incredibly selfish. Man, that pisses me off. Perhaps if you have never suffered from severe, debilitating depression, it would seem like someone deciding to take their own life is the most selfish act. Let me assure you that the majority of people who are in a situation where they are considering suicide are not thinking about themselves. They are thinking about everyone they love and how little they feel they can offer them. And what a drain they have become to the people around them. Hopelessness is an emotion unlike any other. And you either understand it or you don’t. And if you don’t, you should probably just shut up rather than offering platitudes and head tilts of sympathy.

In this dark place I wasn’t thinking about how much I am needed by those I love. I wasn’t thinking about the very fact that I am loved. I was thinking that if I am completely and literally unable to get out of this bed, what good could I possibly be to anyone. So, for 37 hours I stayed there……in bed. I didn’t eat. I didn’t feed my pets (boy, were they pissed). And though I wasn’t tired, I was exhausted. So I slept and woke up and cried and then fell back asleep. Rinse, repeat. Until the one person that I decided to answer the phone for told me I absolutely had to get out of bed. I was willing to do anything anyone told me at that point, so long as I didn’t have to think for myself. So I did. And an emergency dose of my old friend Cymbalta was called in for a date. And 8 hours later I didn’t want to jump off a bridge quite as badly as I had been planning out. I wasn’t happy by any means and I didn’t feel like “myself”….but I had desire to breathe in and out. And that was amazing.

Five minutes after I post this, I will question myself but I hope I will leave it here. If there aren’t people who are willing to talk about things like depression, these “off-limit” topics remain dirty little secrets that no one is allowed to speak of or even think openly about. And that’s when the darkness is replaced by total a black-out filled only with silence and loneliness. And that, my friends, is the most horrific place of all where no one should have to spend any time getting familiar with.

When I was in the ugliest part of my little private hell, the part where I was looking up information about my mortgage to see if we had opted for the insurance that pays off your house in the event of your death and listing out all of the things about the kids schedules that their father would need to know and trying to remember if my best friend had all the information she would need to handle all of my personal and business junk, I hopped on Facebook to find an email address for her and I noticed that a friend had just posted this link. And I swear to god reading this lovely post about people being nicer to each other saved my life. Rather than continuing to get the details of my life together for those that would have to handle it all when I was gone, I spent the next hour trying to decide what my sign would say. I decided on “I’ve run out of courage and breathing has become a huge effort. Please be kind as I don’t know how much more I can take.”

And it’s dramatic and awful and depressing and…..…true.

There is no big point to this post. While I am in a much better place in this exact moment, I’m not going to be able to bring it full circle for you right now or end on a note of happiness and rainbows. There is no magic pill or cure that guarantees that each day is going to get better from here on out. And I am certainly not so naïve as to think that I will never again revisit that fumbling-in-the-hallway-just-trying-to-see-in-front-of-you darkness. What I am going to humbly suggest is whenever you can, act with purpose marinated in kindness. Even the smallest things you do or say can have a tremendous effect on others. You’re not always going to be the person that throws the rope, saving the life of someone who is struggling to stay alive in a sea of crashing waves, but you just might be the random person that puts a whisper of hope in the ear of someone more desperate for it than you could possibly know.

Next post I promise butterflies and “i”s dotted with hearts.:)

Happy Birthday Mom! (tomorrow!)

2011-08-27T19:05:00.005-06:00

Tomorrow my Mama will celebrate her birthday. Her 45th, if you ask my children. Because that’s what she has been telling them for years and they still go with in. In fact, when I casually suggested that Nana may be just slightly older than 45 this year, I was met with great argument. So, we will just leave that one alone.

The rule in my family is basically when it’s your birthday, you get to do whatever you want. This usually means that everyone else has to suffer through whatever it is that you have decided is your heart’s desire. But not with my mom. Because basically her request is the same every year: she wants to do something fun, she wants to go eat somewhere good, and she wants to do it with me. And, because she is like the coolest mom on the planet (and the most generous person I know), “something fun” means buy us both a pair of shoes. And as I try to refuse, she says things like “why do you do this?? You know it’s only fun for me if you get something too!!”.

So, basically what I am saying is that today I celebrated my mom’s birthday by letting her buy me a pair of shoes and a 20 dollar bottle of bubble bath. Because she wanted it that way. And since it’s her birthday, far be it for me to refuse what brings her joy.:)

In your life there are few things as constant as your parents and to have even just one that you are close to is an amazing gift (for the record I have a pretty great male parental as well). I am lucky enough to have a mom that serves double duty as my best friend, and also the best grandmother two little boys could ever have. And an extremely youthful one at that.;) As things have built high and crumbled down in my life, I have always had my mom who has spent 32 years telling me that everything I do is brilliant, and that I possess the ability and talent to do anything in the world I can possibly imagine. My smallest accomplishments have always been treated like world records, and my missteps have never been mentioned. When my luck has run out here and there, it is my mom who is happy to give away her own, and when I am certain that the world is out to get me, she agrees, lets me wallow, and then offers to fight them all. Because, as she says, “you are only as happy as your saddest child”.

She’s also an incredible cook, has the most ridiculously amazing sense of humor, and breathes creativity like it grows on trees. She also wears the same size as I do in most things, has impeccable taste, and doesn’t freak out when certain things from her closet end up missing. For like a year.

To say that I am fortunate beyond words is the most significant understatement one could make.

Anyone who has met us both will say that we look alike, talk alike, sound alike, and act alike. And that couldn’t make me more proud. She is where everything good that I am comes from and I am so lucky that in a world where everyone wants to know her, hang out with her, and be a part of her life, it’s me that gets first dibs and me that gets to call her mom.

Happy Birthday to my Mama. Who is probably crying like a baby by now reading this (she does that a lot). So, I’ll go ahead and finish the job by posting her all-time favorite song. Song by Jason Castro. Because he is her favorite. No, I’m not kidding. My hip, amazing, cooler-than-me mom is Jason Castro’s #1 fan. It’s little facts like these that you can’t help but love her.:)

if you please, draw me a sheep....

2011-08-20T13:08:00.002-06:00

It is with a mug full of hope and just a splash of sadness that I inform you that I am closing my photography business at this time.

First of all, let's not freak-out. Lord knows I have done enough of that this year for all of us, so we're covered there. I am sending this out intentionally on a Saturday afternoon, hoping to catch you in one of those times when you've maybe had an afternoon cocktail and a mild case of heat stroke, so you'll just roll with me on this one and we don't have to fight about it.:)

This is a decision that was not made in haste, but rather a little untitled idea that has been bouncing around in my head for quite some time, and when several recent events gave it a title and purpose, I was grateful to finally understand what my heart has been trying to express for a while.

I have treasured my photography clients and take great pride in the opportunities I have been allowed. I have been fortunate beyond words, not just for the accolades, but more to have the people in these pictures I take in my real, daily life. I "close" this little shop of mine with great joy and not an ounce of regret. To end on this note, at this time, is nothing but sweet.

So, what does this mean? Well, if you are some random person that just ended up on my mailing list, it probably means nothing. And if that's the case, how about this weather, eh? And football season just around the corner? Talk about good times.

If you are someone that has a gift certificate, we will book your session and precede as normal. In the past I have been able to be very lax about expiration dates on gift certificates, but unfortunately that is no longer the case. If you had a scheduled session for this fall, you will receive an email from me shortly, but nothing changes with those either. Just as I didn't come to this decision overnight, it will take some time to wrap-up everything and I am completely aware of that. Finally there are a few of you dear, regular clients that I have been exchanging emails back and forth with recently to get you booked for the fall. I will do my best to still do this. In my 8 years of photographing families, you have shown me such kindness and loyalty and I will do everything I can to ensure that I give it right back to you.

The inevitable question: But Lynsey, what on earth will you do? Well, many of you don't know this about me, but I am an incredible dishwasher. So, as marketable skills go, that one definitely goes in the "plus" column. I am also toying with the idea of opening my own landscape company which I will of course call Sad Grass (We kill your grass so you don't have to!). However, I am ruling out working at Target because I think we can all agree that I just don't look good in red. But what I see most likely happening is the management of my cats modeling careers becoming a full time job that sort of just takes over my life.

Photography will always be a part of me and I accept the idea that down the line (way, way down the line), I may miss it terribly and call each of you begging to take me back like a pathetic ex-girlfriend showing up drunk on your doorstep in the middle of the night, but right now I am looking forward to a future where the majority of pictures I take are of my kids. And my cats, of course. I will no doubt continue crazy little photo projects and loaning my camera operating skills to random things, like when 4 second grade teachers need a picture of them all jumping off a bench (to prove just how relatable they are to 7 year olds, of course). My website will remain up for the time being, mainly because I don't need the domain for my bull-riding career until I get a little more well-known on that circuit. The blog of course stays up, and now probably gets to be updated more frequently and with more swear words (can I get a HELL YEAH?). I have always gone to the written word when it's an option, and I imagine that I will be doing that now more than ever.

I was recently asked what is my most favorite picture I've ever taken. Oddly, no one had ever asked me that before. I have ones that I am especially proud of, ones that serve a benchmarks in my career, ones that remind me of how I got here and why, but in general, I don't have a favorite. What I do have is a massive print of the picture above. Taken a million years ago, it was the first picture I ever took that I thought was good enough to blow-up huge and hang proudly on my living room wall. The depth of field sucks, the focus is a little off, and it certainly wouldn't have killed me to try and fix that blown-out side before I printed it. It's not perfect. But in 8 years I never took a perfect photo. I just took a lot of ones that I really, really love and have been thrilled that you have liked them too. And I wouldn't ask for it to be any other way.

Thank you. Whether I have taken your family pictures every year, see you all the time, have never met you, or call you my dearest friends.....you have no idea just how much you mean to me.

2011-08-20T10:47:00.002-06:00

I was recently questioned about my actions and blogging of events. I want to be clear that current posts, as all other posts in on this blog, are from my perspective only and not meant to speak for or on-behalf of anyone, nor meant to be any type of invasion of privacy. They are my thoughts and emotions only, told from my perspective—the only perspective of which I am privy to. While my feelings cannot compare to the families directly involved in recent tragedies, I have been affected by this in a vast way and have done my best to navigate the path that was presented to me.

The basic right to grieve and the form of which one chooses to do that, so long as it’s appropriate, is human, personal, and something which should never be judged or harshly criticized. I am a writer that is currently conducting the use of my online presence exactly how I always have—with extreme mindfulness, sensitivity, candor, and respect. On this platform, I discuss my job, the events of my life, and lately, grieve. While I share much about my own situations, I take great care in considering that others are not as open as I am and I closely guard events and information that has been entrusted to me--things of that nature are not shared on this blog.

This blog is not required reading for anyone. If you don’t care to read it, I would suggest simply that you don’t.

tomorrow

2011-08-17T22:15:00.002-06:00

In my Mother Eyes, today was the last day of summer. Tomorrow is the day I have been waiting, trembling with excitement I admit, for years. I will have both kids in full day school. I played tomorrow out in my mind a thousand times. I would drop them off. No tears—not my style. Then I would do something extravagant. Like go to Olive Garden and have wine with lunch. See a movie in the middle of the day. Change back into my pajamas and watch bad TV all day long. The possibilities were truly endless.

Tomorrow you will not find me at the Olive Garden (a shame—I’ve been craving their breadsticks all summer), nor at a movie, nor laid-out on the sofa, Doritos crumbs all over my pajama shirt, Say Yes To The Dress blaring from my TV.

There was never any Pollyanna-ing this summer. I knew from the get-go it would be a tough one. April 28th my life took a massive downswing, followed by an out of nowhere punch to the gut on May 3rd. At that point I still believed I would roll with the punches, dust myself off, what have you. Sadly the shit continued to pile on in evil ways. And the darling children that I would be trying to raise with no daycare because my youngest didn’t meet the age-requirement for summer camp, were an expected handful and beyond. And friends and family members fell out of my life, sometimes for the better and sometimes not. And this little Lupus type situation of mine that I basically just ignore, decided to no longer play along with that game.

But…..I always had my work. My work that I love. My clients that truly mean the world to me. I wasn’t curing cancer. I wasn’t creating world peace. Hell, I wasn’t even keeping the people that I lived with happy 50% of the time. But….I was doing something I enjoyed, getting paid to do it, and being told that people were happy with the end result. The end result that I created. And when I was tired of fighting or caring or being worried…..I worked. Happy to have it. Happy to know that somewhere, I was doing something right.

In posts below this one you will find my telling of a tragic story that I am honored and humbled to have been weaved into in a small way. The yarn that makes up my part is not the main piece, not the piece that holds it all together, not a piece meant only as decoration, not anything like that. I have no idea what my piece is, what part I played and continue to play, and as far as I can tell, no one else does either.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: photographing people is something I take very, very personally. It’s not just my name, my reputation, whatever. It’s the trust that I have been instilled with and the way I choose to handle it. If I have ever photographed you, you are on some level my friend. You are someone that I can remember almost exactly and think of again and again long beyond the day we made pictures together. You have trusted me to know you as you are, to be allowed to study your face, your behavior, your loved ones, and I am honored. This is true of any person I photograph, but never is it more true than at a wedding. It’s why I have always done so few of them—it requires a lot of space in my soul and I want to do it well and do it right.

There is no roadmap for editing the wedding images of a couple where one of them has died before you have finished the job you were hired to do. None. I’ve asked everyone. I’ll be honest—I even Googled it. I was desperate. For as much as I knew how important my job was, for as much as I wanted to provide this far-too-young widow with lovely and beautiful memories, each time I sat down to look at the photos, I cried. Then I would clean myself up, tell myself to stop being a brat, and then edit. For his family. For Amy. For his honor.

And then I would cry some more, reach my limit, and start the whole process over again the next day.

To go through two thousand pictures of a man on the happiest day of his life, knowing that he will never see them, that his bride is grieving in a way almost none of us can understand, to decide what makes the final cut and what doesn’t, is the hardest job I have had. Bryan Gross jumped into a fast moving river on July 28th to save a stranger. His body was found on July 31st, just one day shy of his 30th birthday and his one month wedding anniversary. One week later, I delivered a young widow her wedding pictures.

Just as there is no roadmap, there is nothing you can say here. I know every curve of Bryan’s face. I know what he whispered to Amy when they were finally alone for the first time after the ceremony. I know firsthand how happy he was.

What I don’t know is where I go from here. It’s nearly impossible for me to edit right now. Not a single minute goes by where I don’t think about what happened. Bryan was not my husband, my brother, my family, or even my friend in the traditional sense. I did not take the last picture of him that exists. I did not share a meal with him, know where he stood on important matters, or have any idea of his hopes and dreams for the future.

Except for one. He hoped to spent the rest of his life with the girl he married.

I don’t handle grief well. Sort of like hugging, it’s something I am still learning how to do. I don’t throw shit or beg for answers or go to church or pray or bargain. I shut off the world. I hole-up as much as I am allowed. And I write. This blog post I have written a thousand times at least. And it never makes any sense. And I don’t know how to make it make sense. So, I will share the letter I wrote to Amy that I had no plans to share at the time I wrote it. But I feel like we are all trying to figure out something to say. And, so far, this is the only thing I have been able to say that has made any sense.

The story you and I weaved ended up being about a bit more than standing water and cows in the road. Amy, you had one of the most beautiful and loving weddings I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen many. There was no doubt in my mind when I watched you and Bryan say those words I’ve heard a thousand times, that you were each marrying someone you loved, respected, and cared about deeper than words can say, but that as words go, you both meant every single one.

I’m not a girl of platitudes, so instead I will say this: may you be strong when you can, may you allow yourself to be weak whenever you want to be, and may you always know that Bryan married the woman of his dreams—a woman he knew would continue to make his own dreams come true every day thereafter. Your time together was too short—there is no denying that. And it’s not fair and it isn’t right and I just want to scream and cry for days over the injustice of it all. It is my sincere hope that you scream and cry for as long as you want to, in front of everyone and all by yourself. That you eat lots of cake. That someday soon you begin to sing along to songs that come on the radio when you are in your car. That every day you see something that you know he would have thought was funny and you can’t help but laugh too.

And that you know you are loved. By many. And by a man that loved you back more than words can say.

Amy, you were the most lovely, generous, kind, and beautiful of brides. It was my sincere pleasure to photograph your gorgeous day and my truest hope that I gave it justice.

Tomorrow is a day. As ordinary and wonderful as any other. None of us know what it will bring. Be kind. Be patient. Be grateful.

round and round

2011-08-07T22:26:00.004-06:00

Someday your kids may decide that they have to ride a ferris wheel. Like, that day. And the little fair thing that had been happening all weekend a mile away, of course will have just closed. Even though it’s a summer Sunday afternoon, a perfectly reasonable time to assume that a fair would be open. So you will hunt the internet and find a damn fair. It will be over an hour away. In an area you know nothing about. With a very different demographic than you are used to, where most there speak a different language, because it turns out, the entire theme of this particular fair, is the other language. Which you don't speak. You car will say that it’s 107 degrees outside and you will agree, if not think that it’s underestimating a bit. You will get stuck on a ferris wheel ride that lasts for, no joke, 40 minutes. You will be certain that you are going to throw-up. You won’t, but still. You will try a few games and you will not win a single giant stuffed animal. Your kids will not understand that this is just the way it is. You will spend 45 minutes in the car, just trying to get out of the parking lot. You will realize on the way home that it’s after 6pm and everyone is starving for dinner. You will end up stopping at the one place that doesn’t serve liquor. You will want to cry in your iced tea. You won't, but still. You will spend roughly a thousand dollars on this day and come home feeling like you may never be able to be upright again.

Then you’ll go through your phone and find this……..

And you'll admit that it was probably worth it.

But you will also wonder if it's a good idea to let your kids dress themselves.

with care

2011-07-30T10:53:00.004-06:00

A couple posts back, I wrote something for a person I know about a trying time in her life and my hope for some peace for her and her family. Two days later, their world was turned upside-down in the most lovely of ways and their deepest hopes were fulfilled. A common friend joked to me that I must have excellent karma and could I write something cool about him.

I’d give anything that have a super power to write about someone and have their fate change for the better. Truly, anything. Especially today.

On July 1st I photographed a beautiful wedding. I don’t do that very often. Partly because I find them to be hard and long days but mainly because I get connected to the people I photograph immediately and heavily. It’s a long day we spend together—the bride and groom on their wedding. I am truly one of the very few people that sees it all. I hear the secrets they share, I see almost every tear shed, and I watch their love story unfold literally in front of my eyes.

I met Bryan about 25 minutes before his and Amy’s wedding ceremony started in the field next to the church. This is pretty unusual. We were supposed to met earlier so that I could do portraits and such. However Bryan had spent the entire morning and afternoon prior the ceremony in the emergency room with his soon-to-be mother-in-law. She had started suffering chest pains early that morning and Bryan, a man used to emergencies and knowing how to handle them, stayed with her at the hospital because everyone knew that she wouldn’t stay there if she wasn’t forced. She wasn’t going to miss her daughter’s wedding and he knew that they couldn’t start without him. And he wanted his bride to be able to get ready for her big day. That was the first thing I ever learned about Bryan and a telling first impression it was.

Bryan and Amy had a truly beautiful wedding day. I have seen many, many weddings and I feel I speak with some authority when I say that it was an inspiring day full of moments and details shared by a couple that undoubtedly are made for each other. After the ceremony, they signed their marriage certificate and I asked them to hold it for a picture. Bryan held it and did a little dance. There are grooms that are hesitant, grooms that are shy, and grooms that uninterested in the craziness of it all. Bryan was none of these things. With every word he said and everything he did, it was clear that he was having the happiest day of his life. Grateful to marry the woman of his dreams. Excited to begin their future together. As his new sister-in-law put it to me in a casual conversation “they are so solid”.

During his new father-in-laws’ speech, Bryan’s cell phone rang. We all laughed. He answered it. He was on-call. On his wedding day. That’s dedication. And Amy smiled a knowing smile without even the slightest irritation and asked him if everything was okay. That’s love.

At the reception, Bryan’s pulled me aside to tell me he wanted to make sure I got through the buffet line first. At his wedding, he was concerned about his wedding photographer getting to eat and eat right away. Again, I have photographed many weddings, and the groom being worried that the photographer gets fed is unheard of. When I told him that I would grab something later, he tried to make a plate for me. Later when it was time for me to leave, he was concerned the I didn’t know how to get home. It was dark and I live 3 hours from the reception site. The man of the hour took me outside alone and walked me through exact directions on how to get home. Then asked if I wanted him to have someone drive in front of me back to the interstate so I didn’t get lost. I told him I would be fine and he gave me a face similar to the one my dad gives me when I tell him I’m fine. It’s a face full of care and concern.

I got home fine.

It is on my every thought in my every moment that he does too. I still hope for a miracle.

I asked my dad this morning how on earth I was going to finish editing their wedding images. And he said "with care". And that is what I will do. With care and a breaking heart.

For more infomation: http://hosted2.ap.org/txash/f7ded15e4d4846268a17b79c1c4b7cb8/Article_2011-07-30-US-Missing-Deputy/id-37423c4c82204d58995ebf3ba447dd71

For prayers:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Prayers-for-Bryan-Gross/197163253675043

Bryan Gross

2011-07-29T21:32:00.003-06:00

Someday soon I will turn over images to a beautiful bride of her gorgeous wedding. And though in this moment that is heartbreaking, I am so glad I do something that is beautiful and positive even in a time of great sadness and pain. As my dear Melodee Tonti put it, it’s not curing cancer but it's of huge importance. Never before have I felt more passionate about my job.

http://trib.com/news/local/casper/article_b8626cdb-3850-5686-98f3-ae7a6e317a3d.html

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Prayers-for-Bryan-Gross/197163253675043

the summer mom cried

2011-07-29T12:55:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I bought a toilet brush at the new Denver IKEA. It was 99 cents. I got white, but it also comes in red and black. I would bet that I spend a solid 25 minutes on this decision. Not just the color, but if I should even buy it. You see, a while back Clorox came out with those toilet bowl cleaners where there are disposable pads in the holder thing and the brush part is called a “wand” (Magic!). At the time when I discovered what I thought was pretty much a life-changing invention, my marriage had just ended. Financially I was changing a lot in my life, and spending 15 dollars a pop on a new toilet bowl cleaning situation seemed pretty extravagant. I mean, I have 3 bathrooms in my house. That’s a solid 45 bucks spent on keeping the toilets in this house clean (but via a magical wand!) But I decided, to hell with it. Single mom or not, I am living in a home where the toilets are always going to be clean damn it, and if this is the system that’s going to make that happen, then I don’t just deserve it, I need it. Times three.

Well, the newfound toilet cleaning system didn’t quite live up to its promise. Partly because the system operator is a little overworked and partly because it didn’t make the concept of toilet cleaning as magical as I had hoped. Now before you go thinking that maybe I put too high of expectations in this, let me just mention that I don’t mind cleaning toilets. In fact, it’s sort of a joke in my world that it’s my specialty. This stemmed from my continuous offer to go to someone’s house to perform this task. When friends get sick or have babies or family emergencies and everyone gathers around to bring casseroles, I offer to come clean their toilets. It’s not that I do an exceptional job of it, but I don’t do an exceptional job of making casseroles either and I figure that most of my friends have a lot more people willing to cook then scrub, so might as well make myself useful if I don’t mind. And I don’t.

I’ve gotten ahead of myself. The reason I was even at IKEA in the first place was because it seemed like the best place for my nervous breakdown to come to a climax. Not a lot gets noticed at IKEA, especially one that just opened with great fanfare. I could probably ride a unicycle naked around that place (we’ll try that next time) and the only reason people would notice would be because I was blocking their full view to a lighting fixture the size of Pluto made out of paper flowers, selling for the rock bottom price of $39.95. After 2 days of sitting at home withering in my own self-pity and tears, it was clear I needed to take my little one-man celebration on the road. Before I jumped off the roof. Or painted my office. Again. Thank you IKEA— you gave me exactly what I needed, when I needed it. Our love affair continues as one of the true constants in my life.

The problem with the power of words and the people who know you best—the very people you have probably done a toilet cleaning equivalent for in the past—is they know just how to cut through you. They know what you worry about, what you’re insecure about, and if you aren’t on the best of terms with them, how to tell you in a way to break you down as quickly as possible and leave you bleeding on the floor (you know, metaphorically. Don’t mean to be so bloody dramatic.:)

Everyone’s buttons, everyone’s power-filled words that break you are different, but we all have them. Maybe you don’t even know what yours are yet. I didn’t learn mine until Tuesday morning. Lying, lazy freeloader. That’s mine. Seems so casual—words people throw around every day in fact. I’m almost disappointed that I settled for something so ordinary. I mean, I’ve called people lazy. I’ve worried about being lazy myself. I try to avoid lying, but I’ve done it. And I’ve been lied to all the same. Happens. The freeloader thing stung a bit, given that I truly believe I work my ass off and I am exhausted every minute of every damn day, but the true beauty was those words together. A trifecta of a word beating. A hat trick of an emotional thrashing. A one-two-three punch to the gut that doesn’t just knock the wind out of you, but knocks you down and leaves you there, on the floor metaphorically bleeding. For about 4 days. (Might be more, but I’ll have to get back to you on that.)

My children see a remarkable Pediatrician. Landing this in-demand doctor just prior to her closing her practice was one of the first and best parenting decisions I ever made. She is a kindred spirit in my life, and I look forward to well-child visits because she provides me a peace unlike most can. A while back when my oldest still wasn’t sleeping through the night (and he was 4 at the time, mind you), I went to see her desperate for any possibly solve and ended up sobbing in her exam room. Partly out of sheer exhaustion. And partly because it was a place and time where I could. And moms don’t get a lot of those places and times. After a couple minutes I tried to get a hold of myself and apologized profusely to her and then desperately tried to convince her of the truth—my kids had never seen me cry until that point. I didn’t want her to think that these poor children were being raised by a woman that cried all day. I mean, no wonder they didn’t sleep. I figured she had probably called social services in on less. Instead she told me the most important thing anyone has ever told me about parenting:

It’s just as important for them to see you struggle as it is for them to see you succeed.

And I laughed. And told her that they see me struggle plenty. I mean, I hate to cook and I rarely fold laundry. Two pretty basic tasks of being a mom and I was struggling to do them every single day.

And in her gentle, almost whisper of a voice, she said “if they have never seen you cry before today, they have never seen you struggle”. She said more—that they needed to learn what struggle was and that they could never learn to appreciate me or even basic things in life if they thought that they were come by effortlessly—but I was really busy not listening at that point. Because clearly she was full of shit. I am their mother and it’s my job to shield them from the crap, especially my own personal grown-up crap. Protect them from the cruelties of the world. Ensure that they never saw suffering, no matter how minor, and certainly never felt it themselves. I held on to that righteousness for at least another year until what she said finally resonated.

My kids went years having never see me cry. Years where I did a very impressive job of keeping anything negative out of not only their center, but their peripheral. And what an incredible disservice I did to them. Luckily, from about May on of this year, I am totally making up for it. The first couple times they saw me in tears they were confused out of their poor little minds. Now they have a real sweet system where they pat my head and ask why I’m sad. Sometimes they will bring me something that makes sense—like their special blanket or a cat. Sometimes they bring me something like a package of fruit snacks, usually half-eaten. Probably just because they didn’t want to walk it to the trash-can, and hey, two birds, one stone. But it’s the thought that counts and all that.

It’s okay that the Magical Wand Toilet Bowl Cleaning System didn’t work out. The ROI on that bad boy was low and that’s going to happen in life. And it’s okay that I only bought the one 99 cent new Miracle Wand (that’s what I’m calling it), when in fact I should have bought three. And it’s okay that I only bought the one because I was so overwhelmed with this new concept of knowing that an important person in my life not only thinks of me as a lying, lazy freeloader, but feels strongly enough about hurting me to actually mention it even though we are stuck having to remain in each others lives for quite some time. And it’s okay that after years of not really being a crier, it suddenly comes so easily to me that I can not only do it in front of my children, but while staring at a 7 foot tall toilet brush display at IKEA.

We are all doing the best we can. And it’s okay for people to see us struggle. And a clean toilet and the tools needed to have one, can sometimes make all the difference in the world.

peaches do not cure insomnia

2011-07-24T20:17:00.005-06:00

Tonight marks 30 days of sleeping pill sobriety for me. It also marks 30 days of a nasty Coffee/Red Bull/Mountain Dew/Coke habit that exceeds 72 ounces a day, but replacement therapy is my only real option here so, no apologies. Instead of a chip, I should get one of those hats that holds your can or cup with multiple straws that hang down in your face for quick and effortless drinking. Because when you drink 72 ounces of straight caffeine and sugar, actually picking up the cup and bringing it to your lips can get old real quick.

It’s funny that I am actually sleeping. I mean, not much and it takes forever, but I do sleep. And that’s saying quite a bit. In AA and NA (two programs I know quite a bit about because I worked in a detoxification clinic for a while) there is a lot of talk about low points and bottoming out. If I may be so bold to borrow from this concept a bit, my rock bottom started 35 days ago when I went 4 days with 2 total hours of sleep. That was fun. I wish you could have been there. The wandering around crying teamed-up finding myself in the Target parking lot and not having any memory of getting myself there was a real party. That was the Target trip that I tried to pay with my CostCo card and then fought with the guy for not accepting it. I bought peaches. Probably other things too, but the peaches stand out since we don’t really eat a lot of peaches around here and I bought many, many peaches. As if they were the cure. Peaches will forever be my Oh-God-I’m-Really-In-Trouble-Now food. Just like Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It For Me)” will forever be a reminder that no get-up-and-go song can fight 4 days without sleep. That video still makes me cry a little, and not just because it's so awful.

Other than driving when I shouldn’t have and maybe a few emails and texts that could have waited, I don’t think I did anything really stupid. I’m fairly certain that I never left the house naked, but I could be wrong about that. God I hope I’m not though. I did go out on a date with a really random guy. Totally harmless, but picture me dating an anti-social accountant. Now picture me being so sleepy I’m basically drunk, and on a date with an anti-social accountant. Okay, now stop picturing that because it’s painful for all of us. Mainly him. Anyway, it was clear that something had to change. You can’t just go through life in an insomniac stupor dating anti-social accountants, you know?

Insomnia is a weird, nasty beast. It’s like back pain. You sort of roll your eyes at people when they complain about it, until it actually happens to you, and then you drop to your knees and pray to whoever you pray to, begging for forgiveness for ever minimizing such a real and cruel thing. I know there are much worse things, but still, it ain’t no picnic. If you find yourself in a place where you have to pick between years of insomnia or, say, a broken nose, I’d recommend the broken nose. They heal, and even if they don’t heal well, Owen Wilson has paved the way for that look to always be in style.

I have, at one time or another, taken every sleeping pill they make, both prescription and over-the-counter. I consider myself a basic expert on them. Lunesta made me taste metal in my mouth all day. Ambien made me get up and do weird things in my sleep like eat bowls and bowls of cereal and one time move all paint cans, the Rubbermaid Tote of dog food, and a ladder in from the garage to the middle of the living room floor. You know that show In Treatment on HBO? I’ve seen almost every episode. I have no real memory of any of them, but for a couple of weeks there every morning my On Demand menu would show that I had watched a couple of them and when I hear about it, it’s really familiar. I also have this weird connection to Gabriel Byrne, but who doesn’t really?

The max nightly dose of Benadryl is 100mg but that will give you a pretty nasty headache every morning by day 5 (not to mention some long-term sinus issues) I know that because I did that dose for 14 days straight before it was clear to me that Benadryl is for a running nose, not insomnia, no matter how you slice it. If you happen to have a prescription for Vicodin, as I do, a dose of that at bedtime will give you 8 hours of a real nice drunk sleep. For exactly 3 nights. But know that night 4 is going to be a bitch to the likes of which you haven’t tussled with since high school. Night 5 will make total sense to you how people end up in pain-killer addiction. So, you know, I don’t like to tell people what to do and I truly don’t judge, but I’d shy away from that one if I were you.

And I would never insult you people by saying a word about warm milk or chamomile tea. That’s just Bull Shit (capitalized). If you have ever suffered from insomnia, you know what a joke that is. And, if you’ve never suffered from insomnia, let me be the one to tell you to not make an ass of yourself and suggest that to someone that hasn’t slept in weeks to drink tea. No one likes that asshole. That asshole doesn’t get invited to parties. Don’t be that asshole.

Wine has many selling points. Does something good for your heart they say, makes you look all fancypants at parties, and it just tastes delicious if you do it right. In a pinch, I’ve self-medicated with wine for many things including insomnia (and a broken heart and general melancholy), with mild success. Bonus is that if you save the bottles and corks, you can make fun art projects. But even the wine enthusiast in me knows that a bottle of wine a night can’t be good in the long run. Also, it gets expensive. Unless you bring in a lot of money from your art projects. (Something to look into.)

So, 30 nights ago, I decided to kick what had become an addiction. Say goodbye to my sleeping pill junkie image. Vow to create a routine and try to go to bed at the same time every night and all that crap they tell you to do. It sort of works a little. I’m sure if I could kick my caffeine habit, I might feel like a million bucks. Hell, I’d probably make a million bucks in savings from both Ambien and coffee. But, one day at a time as they say.

Plus, I enjoy this little 10pm manic episode I go on every night now where I chew an entire glass full of ice and pace around the house with headphones blaring one single song over and over again at a horrifying volume level like a recovering crack head for a solid 45 minutes.

That shit’s just fun.

A letter to my friend:

2011-07-19T23:24:00.003-06:00

Today was not the day. Just like yesterday and hundreds before it. Tomorrow might be. Or it might not be. We don’t know. The only thing we do know is that one day will be.

I’ve watched you hope and deflate. I’ve heard you bargain and beg. I know you cry and plead.

Someday you will buy plane tickets. You will fly to your child’s temporary home. You will meet him or her (I get a big “him” vibe, but what do I know anyway). You will fall in love in a second. You will say that it was all worth it, that you would do it all over again. That in your heart of hearts, you never doubted that this day would come. Though in your head of heads, you doubted every single day.

Then you will leave. Without him in your arms, but with him in your heart, where he has always been anyway. But this time your wait will be comforted by the idea of how his skin felt on yours, by how he fell against you when you held him, by how you looked in his eyes and knew he was your child. You will miss him, like you already missed him for years, but it will sting a bit different because now you will know exactly what you’re missing.

You will panic. Probably have to repaint a nursery. Get clothes together. Have a couple of last hurrahs on the town before everything changes. But you have waited to get to enjoy this panic. And enjoy it, you will. With a heart that screams my baby is coming.

Someday soon after that you will buy plane tickets again. You will make another trip. The trip where you come back with your arms and your heart spilling full. The trip that you have played out in your mind a thousand times, if I know you at all. And if you have allowed yourself at all (I hope you have). Little things about this trip will pop into your head for the rest of your life. What you wore. What you drank on the plane. What people said to you. Your permanent smile that lasted the entire flight. Fulfillment. (Fear.) Joy. (Sorrow.) Relief. (Appreciation.) Gratitude.

Love.

This child will be loved. This child will never doubt just how much he was wanted. This child’s purpose is beautiful. This child’s meaning is plenty.

This child will throw tantrums. This child won’t sleep. This child will refuse vegetables and only eat things that his sister doesn’t like, forcing you to make at least 2 different dinners every night (but probably more like 4). This child will push you to beyond a patience you didn’t even knew you had. Just like the dream of him did.

This child will be a child like any other. Beautiful and challenging. Ordinary and exceptional. Practically perfect in every way.

You will be a bit more tolerant. Feel as though you have to be a bit more grateful. (You don’t. You are this child’s mother as you are to your other.) You will remember what it was like to want him, ache for him, wonder about him. And this time….this time that has gone on for far too long, will seem like nothing. A very small slice of the lifetime you will spend being his mom, seeing him every day.

Some mothers will feel they can relate. And some maybe can. Some of us say we understand and our intentions are good, but we can’t. There are pieces that are familiar to us and pieces that are not. It’s not our journey even though you have been so kind to allow us to come along for the ride. This is a journey of one, of two, of three, of four. One that none of us could ever truly know like you do. But we are a village excited, gushing cheerleaders who sometimes want to cry for you and other times want to kick some ass. Surely that would hurry things along? If we kicked some ass?

You battle alone. I know this and so do you. You are a warrior, strong beyond all possibility. A brave woman with a heart that hasn’t felt the fullness it’s suppose to. A mother that gets knocked down over and over and still gets up to greet the day. You battle alone on the front lines with your family…..and an army right behind you. Ready to kick some ass. Or babysit.

My friend, I love you. Your baby is here, on this planet today. And I just know that soon he will be here……in this country, in this town, in your home, with his family….in pictures on this very blog. I know it.

water goddess

2011-07-09T20:36:00.010-06:00

I’ve been wanting to shoot a beautiful pregnant women in water for quite a while. Just the idea of life surrounded by water, much like the womb…..

Nah, I’m kidding. :)

In reality I get into creative slumps once in a while and since I only photograph people, I can’t be one of those photographers that takes a big day trip to the beach to shoot signs and stuff to get over it. So, I get an idea or a concept in my head and I wait for the perfect model to come around and I beg. When I wrote on this beautiful mama’s Facebook wall the other day saying that I really wanted to put her in a lake, would she be willing, I was thrilled when she said yes. My people are good to me. They are also really gorgeous.

My hope is that she goes into labor tonight. I think once you have trucked your 39 week pregnant belly into a lake in the middle of July at high noon for the purpose of photographs that you have sort of been pushed into, you’ve earned it.

Interesting side note--I shot her senior pictures a million years ago. I think they were maybe some of the first I ever did. I'm getting really old. But not to old to truck out there with her.....

Thanks to her Mama for shooting these. These guys are like family to me and I love them something ridiculous.:)

Girl, you'll be a women.....soon.

2011-06-30T13:02:00.009-06:00

Two weeks after my 16th birthday I totaled my car by hydroplaning off of a small cliff and landing swiftly into a family of trees gathered below a twelve foot drop, smashing in every possible side except for the immediate area that surrounded the driver’s seat. I remember bits and pieces of it—Van Halen “When It’s Love” was playing on my dash cassette player, the feeling of knowing that you are sliding sideways even though your wheels are facing straight, the definitive crunch sound that metal makes—but for the most part, the only real take-away was that I was so lucky—not just to be fine except for a couple of bumps and bruises, but to BE ALIVE. Oh, and don’t drive fast on wet roads.

The only real memory I have from being in the hospital is laying in total shock and being completely out of it on an x-ray table where a kind woman told me HOW LUCKY I WAS TO BE ALIVE while taking my earrings out. She would put them right back in as soon as the x-rays were done.

She didn’t, and because my earrings were sort of the furthest thing from my mind---I was 16 and had just totaled my little taste of true freedom and independence (who cares if I WAS LUCKY TO BE ALIVE??!! I HAD NO CAR!!!), the holes closed and I never wore earrings again.

I know. This is likely my most dramatic post ever. The horror. It’s so hard to be me. And all that.

Flash forward to the other day when I was out with my dear friend and mentioned that I wanted to maybe get my ears re-pierced by the cool dude at my tattoo place that did my nose piercing and she said “I’ll do it! I’ll pierce your ears!”. And it just made sense. She is after all, a doctor sort of. She has all the tools needed and likely to be a little more fun and understanding than Keegan at Tribal Rites (a wicked cool dude though, and I highly recommend him for all your piercing needs—I don’t think my friend will be going into business full time) when I shout obscenities and try to punch her in the face. And if I pass out, she could give me proper medical attention.

So I “borrowed” some hunks of diamonds from my mother (that’s where I go to for all my diamond needs) and yesterday my Piercer/ Best Friend came over to my non-sterile living environment to shove a couple of sterile 22 gauge needles through my ear lobes. In my bathroom. While we talked about boys. If NKOTB had been playing in the background, the moment would have really been complete.

Obviously there were many jokes about the sisterly bond we were creating, including the idea that maybe we should perform the task in our underwear, given that we buy each other underwear for our birthdays (long story there). But we opted to stick with clothing on, if only so I could photograph it.

It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t awful either. At one point she pulled her hands away from my ear with blood dripping all over (I stopped taking pictures right about at that point) and said “Okay, I literally have your blood all over my hands”. But the bleeding stopped, I didn't pass out, and we laughed and moved on.

It all worked out and I officially have earrings in my earlobes for the first time in 16 years. Which will take all of the fun out of totally judging people who give me earrings as a gift when I don’t have pierced ears, but oh well. It also feels so strangely……fancy. Like when I wear lipstick that isn’t called “Nude”. In fact before I set-out to take this picture, I had on a green t-shirt. I own exactly one green t-shirt and I rarely wear it, but today felt like a special day of celebrating being a girl so I did. The green shirt lasted roughly 5 minutes as the combination of color and earrings just felt overwhelming. Obnoxious even. Like I was saying “LOOK AT ME, WORLD!! I’M WEARING COLOR AND I HAVE EARRINGS!!! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!!”. So, I changed into my black.

But I still feel really fancy.:)

words of music

2011-06-15T14:24:00.003-06:00

As someone with a fairly small family, I’m a big believer in the idea that you make up your family along the way with friends that find you and immediately feel like they are a permanent fixture. In my much, much younger days (that’s how I word it since my big birthday last month :), I didn’t have a group of friends really, but in the last decade, I’ve been so lucky to have found my family in some near and dear folks that I don’t know how I ever survived without.

One such person is this girl:

I’ve told the story about how we met a zillion times, but I am going to tell it again, because as far as I am concerned, it’s the best story ever of serendipitous fate as made possible by reality television.

I used to have an even bigger addiction (if you can imagine) to HGTV than I do now, specifically House Hunters. One day I am sitting transfixed on my sofa, let’s assume it’s 3 in the afternoon and I’m in my housecoat, eating bon-bons with my hair in rollers, just because it makes for a fun visual, and I find myself watching a new episode about a couple moving to Austin. They are singer/songwriters moving to be closer to the live music scene, and as House Hunters does, we watch them do some regular day things, which for them included singing in a club. Once I heard her sing, I was on a mission to figure out who she was so that I could stalk her and break her down until she was willing to let me become her groupie and BFF. I mean, at the time I just told her I was wondering if she would let me use her music on my website, but I’m sure subliminally I had a bigger plan. She let me, we became online friends, then she was kind enough to hire me to shoot her album cover, and the rest is, of course, history. Lovely history that now amounts to a minimum of 100 texts a day, deep dark secrets, and a close friendship of an unlikely pair that have only a few choice things in common.

If home is where your family is, then I have been lucky enough to have a home in Austin for a while, and later when they decided to move even closer to the music scene, a home in Nashville. This year has brought Lyric and I both some challenges, the benefits of which mean that we have actually been able to see each other live in the flesh more this year than over the course of our entire friendship. Between photography needs, nervous breakdowns, nervous breakdowns about birthdays, and work travel that was taking us close enough to make an excuse, Nashville truly became my second home this year and my guest room here is still referred to as Lyric’s Room by my boys, both of whom are basically in love with her.

Tonight I will get to hang with my sweet friend and Carl again as they pass through…..well, they are going about 8 hours out of their way to pass through, which makes it all that much sweeter. As she starts this new, exciting, scary, and crazy adventure in her life, I am so excited to get to stand at the gateway and see her off. And, I’m excited that I will now have a second home in California, of which I plan to visit as often as I did Nashville. Maybe even more, given that I never could get used to the humidity. And the south. And the humidity.

My sweet musical soul sister, I am so very excited for you and so proud to have such a courageous friend. You are the organic natural peanut butter to my high fructose corn syrup jelly and a big patch on the crazy quilt that makes up my family. Tonight, we shall braid each other’s hair and get in that pillow fight we have been promising people.

Tomorrow, you fly.

New In Town

2011-06-13T20:21:00.002-06:00

Often times I am lucky enough to get to photograph families that have just moved to the area. The ones that see these parts for as beautiful as it truly is, instead of, say, a lifelong resident that is jaded and takes all this purple mountain majesty for granted. ;)

These were such people and it was so nice see this little corner of the world through fresh eyes, but more, it was just fun to hang with them. They were My People--full of quirks and laughs and realness.;) The kind of people that you would hang out and drink a beer with and tell your life story to. I mean, at least I would. But maybe they aren't as open and overly talkative as I am. ;)

Together we braved the massive heat wave of, you know, mid-80s (I'm not really a heat person) and hiked around Chautauqua, laughing at the craziness that is Boulder and making this little man laugh with various words and noises that I could explain, but you really had to be there. And we played a fantastic game of Where's Your Belly Button. Luckily it was always his turn, as I didn't really want to participate quite on this level....

5

2011-06-06T19:48:00.008-06:00

This is late. Really late. And, if I am being honest, I was going to skip it completely, but I wrote (what I think was) one of my best birthday notes ever to my other child, so, far be it for me to not keep things fair.

A week ago, this little creature that entered my life somewhat more planned than his brother, but whose birth was just as fear-inducing, turned 5. Glorious elementary school-aged five. I don’t know who was more excited about that—me or him.

My relationship with Nate has always been much different than the relationship I have with Maddox. Nate is a little easy-breezier. A little more of his own element. A little less willing to include others in his version of how things should go down. A little more like his dad. By which I mean in the nicest way. I love that part of him, I just don’t understand it as well. Easy-breezy has never really been in my wheelhouse.:) But I enjoy watching it and there are many times throughout any given day that I wish I could see the world the way that Nate does. With a little less worry and a little more naivety. I often joke that Nate is a brand new soul. It’s his first time on this planet and he is just enjoying the ride. And there are few things more delicious than his wild abandonment approach.

So, with that, my sweet always-be-my-baby boy…………

May you always feel that worrying is as optional as you do now.

May you continue to think as independently as a adult, and may you respect the way others think.

May you always assume that the world is basically good, that people are mainly kind, and that things always work out.

May you share that light that surrounds you with others, and may you never really know the full extent to which it’s there.

May you never worry that you march to a different drum beat than most and may you always do so.

May the confidence you have now continue but never evolve into something more than it needs to be.

May you let people in to share your world. Each day, just for the heck of it. Because your world is a wonderful place to visit.

May you always think that your parents rigging up a last minute death-trap of a waterslide at your friends request at your backyard birthday party makes for “the best birthday party ever” and may you always have friends with parents cool enough to not sue us for this kind of thing.

And may you know that each day I’ve appreciated you more, each year I’ve been more grateful that I got to be your mom, and that not a moment goes by that I don’t cherish you in a way I don’t even understand myself.

Love, Mama

moments of 4

2011-05-24T09:37:00.004-06:00

Oh Nate. He is my baby. He is my brand new soul that just tap dances through life without tap shoes….because he lost them….and even if he found them, he doesn’t WANT to wear shoes, so drop it already.

He makes me laugh. He never runs out of energy. He doesn’t understand why I don’t want us to be connected to each other all day, every day. He can't hold still long enough for a quick picture.

A week from today he will be five. Five hit me hard with Maddox and I assume that it will hit me even harder with Nate. So, here are some reflections of four. .....

The Preschool Report Card:

The teacher says: “Nate can become frustrated if things do not go the way he expected, but if he takes a couple of minutes to calm himself, he is able to rejoin and complete a task or continue playing.”

The mom says: “That kid throws the nastiest tantrums. Since locking him in his room is such an exhausting task, I usually just lock myself in my own room. Once I am able to rejoin, I pour myself a large glass of wine and countdown the minutes until bedtime.

The teacher says: “While Nate continues to need reminders to hold his pencil in a tripod grasp, he is able to change his grip and then write his first name using correct letter formation.”

The mom says: : “This kid KNOWS how to hold a damn pencil right, he just CHOOSES not to because he knows that it frustrates the crap out of me. I’ve given-up correcting him. I figure you don’t see many adults fisting their writing instruments, so I assume it will work itself out.”

The teacher says: “Nate is active on the playground. He enjoys riding the tricycle and climbing on the equipment with his friends.

The mom says: “I don’t know how he does it. The kid never sleeps, but never runs out of energy. It pisses me off.”

The teacher says: “Nate is making letter/sound connections and is able to identify words that begin with a specific sound.”

The mom says” “When he yells “I HATE YOU!!! YOU’RE THE WORST MOMMY EVER!!!!!” at me, at least he uses proper enunciation.

The teacher says: “Nate is a curious and eager learner. His counting and one-to-one correspondence skills are good.”

The mom says” “I swear, that kid dumps out an entire box of cereal just to count and sort one more time, and my head will explode.”

The Latest Situation:

Right now there is a Roly-Poly named Bobby somewhere in my house right now. I’m told that he was let out of his Gladware home that I specifically stated he was to remain in because he “wanted to go marching”. I’m also told that he is “hilarious” and Nate’s “very best
friend”. Nate is certain that Bobby will come find him when he is done marching. I can’t wait to see how this plays out.

The Current Fight:

He wants cake for lunch. It’s 9:35am. It’s hard to decide what to fight with here: that we aren’t having cake for a meal or that we aren’t having lunch at 9:35am.

"the third and final edition"

2011-05-21T20:13:00.002-06:00

A tiny little sneak peek for the family of a tiny little guy. :)
I swear, I feel exactly like this most of every day. ;)

Left wanting another one. Got home, slept through the night, got over it. ;) But I do rather enjoy getting to hang out with them every once in a while. They just smell so good.

Dear Homeless Man,

2011-05-09T10:07:00.002-06:00

I passed you today. The car in front of me stopped and I think you thought I would too. But I didn’t. In that 3 seconds when I looked over and our eyes met, I saw your irritation with me. Maybe irritation isn’t the right word. Maybe sadness. Maybe hurt. Maybe anger. Maybe confusion. Maybe a combination of all of that and more.

You were on the corner, face sunburned and wind-burned, body just plain burned-out. You wore a jacket even though it was pretty warm out. I bet your internal thermostat is a bit off though. Tied-dye t-shirt that hadn’t been laundered any time recently. A nice backpack sat beside you and I figured that it was a gift from a local charity and probably held all your worldly possessions. You were smoking a cigarette and even though you are fighting a tough battle, one that anyone who is fighting deserves a bit of reprieve from, that part still made me sad.

I wondered as I drove away what you must think of me. I imagine you see my giant SUV and assume that I am well-to-do. But maybe you don’t. I figure that you see me in sunglasses with my sunroof open and my music playing and think that I must have it pretty easy. But maybe you don’t. I envision myself in your eyes and presume that I don’t care. But maybe you don’t.

I didn’t give you a dollar. I didn’t offer you help. I didn’t even give you a bottle of water or a granola bar, which I try to always have in my car for this exact reason.

Did you see my son in the back? He was playing a freaking video game on my freaking ridiculously expensive phone. I wondered if you saw that and found the very idea that I had a 4 year old in the car that knew how to work a cell phone, appalling. Is he spoiled? Will he grow-up being handed everything or just afforded many opportunities? Does my wanting either of those make me a better or worse mother than your own? Did your mom go out of her way for you every single day? Does she know that today you are sitting on the street corner? Would she understand that the very reason I try to afford my kids every possible opportunity is because the idea of them sitting on a street corner with a sign that says “anything helps, god bless” makes me ill? Would she believe that even though I don’t know you from Adam, you having to sit there with that sign while I sit in my car, makes me ill? Would she feel guilty about that—wonder if she could have done more, pushed you harder, made you reach further?

Did you spend a second speculating that I was a stingy bitch? Did you wonder if maybe I said something cruel under my breath—something like “get a job”? Or is the thought that I maybe didn’t notice you at all more bothersome? Or was I just another faceless person in a car that didn’t stop?

What did you do with that dollar the guy in front of me gave you? Did lots of people stop and give you a dollar or did I represent the majority? Did you eat today? Or did you just “blow it all on booze”?

A couple of weeks ago, I had to totally rearrange my day so that I could attend a meeting about a homeless artist that a community of volunteers (that I sort of kind of belong to by default) was trying to help. Maybe you know her. It was really inconvenient—me having to blow off my day to sit in a meeting, talking to people I don’t know about giving my time away for free in an effort to help a woman get off the street that may or may not be motivated to do so. I mean, I had a coffee date that I had to change the time on for crying out loud. And then I had to rush across town to get there in time. They didn’t have sodas and that was irritating—I didn’t want more coffee—I wanted a Coke. A fountain one. With a straw. And then because I had to spend all that time in that meeting, I didn’t get to go to Borders or grab a sandwich or do anything fun before I had to pick up my kids from school. I’m sure you can understand my irritation.

Do you know that I went home and worked until midnight because that’s what I do? Because I fit my 40 hour work week into little gaps of time when my children are tucked safely away at their warm, secure, middle class public school and when they are tucked into their warm, comfortable beds after a bath and stories. Do you know that every month when I make the payment for that giant fancy SUV you saw me in, I regret my choice of purchasing it when my circumstances were different, and I wonder if next month the payment will be harder or easier to make than it was this month? Do you laugh at the idea that I am worried about a car payment when you don’t know when your next meal is going to come?

Could I have given you a dollar? Yes. When you saw me, I was taking my kid to Chick-fil-a for lunch. I thought about bringing you back a sandwich. But I didn’t. Partly because I was worried that it would offend you or you wouldn’t be nice about it because you would have preferred a dollar, and partly because it wasn’t super convenient for me to swing by that street corner again. You know, with all the errands to run and people to call and stuff I have to do. I mean, it was a solid two blocks out of my way. And it was lunch hour traffic. And I wanted to get home and feed my kid his chicken nuggets and eat my sandwich.

So, I justified it. I said that I have done my part. I have helped non-profits. I’ve donated my time, my old clothes, my specific skill set. And, I’ve given a dollar to a man on the corner before.

But not you. Not today.

(*I am out of town until Thursday, May 12th. Until I return I have set up this blog to publish automatic posts of random writings, pictures, and randomness.)

I'm A Lennon Goat

2011-05-09T09:54:00.002-06:00

I've decided to head to BNA (Nashville) to see my BFF (http://www.lyriceverly.com/) for my BBC (big birthday celebration). I'm packing my bag right now for my last minute eastbound jetplane and will not return until Thursday. I won't have access to email or voicemail.....okay, we all know that's a lie. I'll have access to email. I just don't plan on returning it until I get back. :)

A blog post or two may find their way here if I have actually set it up right. If I didn't, you'll have to just enjoy this little treat on a loop, but I think we can all agree that's win/win:)

Have a wonderful week.....

waging wars to shake the poet and the beat

2011-05-06T10:46:00.004-06:00

Admittedly, I’ve been a little in a pre-birthday panic over here lately. Now, before you go rolling your eyes and telling me I’m not old, hear me out. Everyone has a number. The number that years ago you decided was The Number. It doesn’t matter what the number is or for what--everyone’s is different. Well, my number has always been 32. Mainly because when I was pregnant with my oldest, my obstetrician was pretty fly and it was the first time I had a relationship with a doctor where it felt like we were peers. She was a little older than me at the time—she was 32. And I remember thinking, 32—that’s basically the youngest a practicing doctor (sans Doogie) can be. That also meant that once I was 32 one fact would remain: I could’ve been a doctor. I could be a doctor right now and I’m not. Had I gone to medical school, or, you know, passed high school biology and all that, I could be a doctor right now. I’d have a doctor coat and the whole deal and you all would call me Dr. Peterson—not just to be brats either, but because I was, in fact, Dr. Peterson. (But, I would be one of those crazy Boulder doctors that preferred you to call me Dr. Lynsey—just sayin’.) But, alas, I did not go to medical school and I did not pass high school biology, so therefore I am not a young successful hottie doctor who is turning 32 next Tuesday, much like the Fly Dr. Johanna I loved. And, if any of y’all call me Dr. Peterson or Dr. Lynsey, you’re just being spicy. If I wear a white coat today, I am just breaking the Memorial Day white rule and probably making a couple other fashion mistakes. So, here it is—I’m staring down the barrel of The Number—My Number, and I am not a doctor. And, get this, probably never will be. If that’s not enough to want to go jump off the roof, I don’t know what is.

Also, it’s the first birthday where I am single. Nothing wrong with that of course, it’s just nice to have someone legally obligated to celebrate with you. And the ex-husband was pretty good at the birthday gig. I mean, there was that year where he threw me a surprise party. And that year did happen to coincide with the year we learned that I don’t like surprise parties. But other than that, birthdays around these digs have been pretty wicked. What with the fundraisers, and well thought-out gifts, and the parties that were not surprise in nature or theme.

However, last night I got me the smack I needed when someone said something to the effect of, hey, stop being a brat and instead of trying to kill yourself doing all the things you want to get done before you’re 32, why not just keep all the crappy things in 31 so from here on out you can say, yes, but that happened when I was 31. And now I am 32, so, you know, yea for me.:) (I’m waxing a bit poetic here, but you catch the drift.) Dude, a month of pure whining and this was all it took to get me to a place where I am actually wanting the next 4 days to fly by so I can just start a new year already? How come none of you people thought of this, say, I don’t know, a month ago when I started whining about it?

So, basically 32 is going to rock. I’ve heard medical school is a real downer anyway. And I am ready to celebrate, damn it. So long as I know about it beforehand and got to be involved in the planning. As my BFF said, "May 10th will be the stuff unicorns are made of!!! Kittens riding on unicorns, side-saddle. Blowing glitter kisses. In tiny hats. Serving shots of vodka on a sequined tray with small sandwiches and cookies."

And if I can’t get behind the idea of glitter-blowing kisses from unicorn-riding kittens feeding me cookies and vodka, what hope is there?;)

Pretty lady above? My Mama (or what I'll look like in 20 years if I am really lucky and start getting better about sunscreen). Every year she basically lets me bash Mother’s Day and talk about what a joke it is that it falls so close to my birthday and give her an incredibly hard time for being so selfish as to not deliver me a few weeks early so I wouldn’t have to share my birthday with a national holiday. And maybe so I could have had diamonds as a birthday stone. And every year she tells me how sorry she is about this injustice she did to me from the very beginning. Because she's pretty fly too. ;)

She’s as gorgeous as the day is long, funny as hell, and has spent the last few weeks (or 32 years, depending on how you look at it) making the world spin just so, ensuring my happiness. She’s my go-to lunch date, my shopping buddy, and the only person on the planet that gets to yell at me on occasion and tell me I’m wrong.....and still live to tell about it. I love her like new sunglasses and clean closets, even though she’s the only one that knows what that means. Happy Mother’s Day Mama—sorry you basically have to give-up this holiday each year in order to plan the birthday parade I demand.:)

Let’s celebrate with a sale, shall we? I mean, we’re grown adults. I’m THIS CLOSE to 32—if you can’t call the shots at 32, when can you for crying out loud?

See this beauty?

She is also this beauty:

And I personally don’t think it’s fair that so often we mothers give-up the idea of having the top picture because we are so busy making sure that there are plenty that are like the bottom. So, through Tuesday (you know, just in case someone gives you a vacuum or something and you are permitted a re-do), I’m doing a little moms day special. Let’s call it a Lynsey’s Day special, because after 31 years of refusing to think that Mother’s Day is more important than my birthday, why stop now?;) One Great Picture certificate for a family session, plus we double up the time and do a little One Great Picture: Ladies Style. You can do them at the same time or split them up and in the end you get a couple of high resolution images that look like the top and a couple that look like the bottom and full printing and usage rights of all your images. And everyone wins. And I say that you get to buy a new outfit for this too. I will also permit an unneeded salon visit and when you are questioned about that, you tell people I said it was required and if they have a problem with you treating yourself to a little pedicure given that your toes may not even show……you have them come talk to me. I’ll set them straight, done good.;)

$55 for the certificate (after purchased, an online certificate will be emailed to you—working well as a gift or allowing for you to wrap it up as your own gift and be all surprised. Little tip—don’t start crying and screaming “BUT YOU KNOW I HATE SURPRISES!!!”. I had that reaction once and it didn’t go over so well.), buy for yourself, for your favorite friend, or for you and your mom to each do sessions and ditch the idea of your children completely (every once in a while, we are allowed to do that I think--I'm not positive, but I'll check the rule book). These are limited so that I can give everyone their first choice for time slots and are good through May, 2012 (when I will be going blind at the idea of 33). Email me for more information or to purchase. :)

Summer is upon us. Life around these parts has never been sweeter. I hope your weekend finds you with unicorn-riding kittens and a doctor in the family,

Lynsey

Some other beauties that have decided that they deserve a little picture of their own lately.......

something new--pictures!!!

2011-04-28T21:22:00.005-06:00

Remember when I used to post pictures on this blog? Man, those were the days, huh?;)

Now that I have a blog where I post the random crap I create and sell--in the past exclusively through Nest in Prospect New Town, but that may change soon (and yes, I get that it’s totally blank—I’ve been busy and all that :) , and another site where I write anonymously about my life, including but not limited to random BS--though on that site, I refer to it plainly as bull shit….because on that site it’s all No Holds Barred Lynsey, if you can even imagine;)……this whole single mom dating stuff, my deepest darkest secrets (ha!), and maybe in the future, instructions for how to be a great dancer (yeah, haven’t quite figured out how to introduce that blog and probably never will)…now that all those things have their own place AND I am trying to get my Facebook addiction back under control…..I can go back to posting pictures here. Let’s all get excited about that, shall we?

Let’s start with this cute couple. They are getting hitched and I dig them. I count the brides mom and sister among some of my first-ever clients, so when they asked if I would shoot their wedding this June, I was all “Eff Yeah I will!!”…then I remembered that I was trying to be better about my language since I have that other blog for my sailors mouth now.;)

Anyway, they will be my first little step-out for the year as a wedding photographer—and they will set the bar high, this much I know.

Shot at my park, and I can say that because I ran into a ridiculous amount of people I knew when we shot these, on a day so windy and cold, that we basically guaranteed a beautiful wedding day by paying the price ahead of time.

They brought their dogs--in general I am against that, but they are so cool, I would have probably let them bring hamsters had they asked. ;)