the beauty in the breakdown

this evening, i chased the light until the sun sunk below the trees rooted in the distance as i danced in the beauty and the sadness of the last of the peonies. being a light hunter is pushing me to play and look closer and open up. yes.

(with a nod to frou frou and the song "let go" for the inspiration for the title of this post. as i took these photos, the song started playing in my mind, so i followed it here.)

scenes from this day (july 2)

i want to remember her inquisitive nature and how she reaches for the camera whenever she sees me behind it

i want to remember choosing to be out in the world and exploring together even when it means taking turns holding her and dancing in doorways while the other eats alone at the table

i want to remember the brightness, the warmth, the moments that seemed to await our arrival

i want to remember how we settled into a rhythm of summer, of family, of being

i want to remember how we decided to push through all of it to choose love

i want to remember how she laughs all the time and finds joy is the simplest moments of together

i want to remember pushing through imperfections and deciding to just be right here capturing what it is to deeply live

*****

"Scenes from This Day" is a prompt in my book Inner Excavation. It's about taking your camera with you on your day-to-day moments and capturing what it is to be in your corner of the world. It's about letting go of the need for the perfect photo from the perfect day and instead using the camera to document the small moments that make up your life. It's about telling the story, your story, in the way that will help you to remember the textures and rhythms and sacredness.

the view from here

(taken with incredibooth ipad app)

print it baby

a stack of self-portraits, many from my "what is real" series

printing photos used to be the only way to for me to know what my camera captured. now, of course, most of my photos just hang out on my laptop and external harddrives. just waiting around. many don't even get glanced at again, let alone held in my hand or viewed by someone else.

but i am pushing myself to change that. 

i used kodak gallery to upload my photos and then had them sent over to a nearby target to be printed. and the quality was all kinds of oh my goodness pretty fantastic. i am looking at my photography in a new way today because i have held my photos and looked at them without distraction. (distraction = oh another email! or wait, why did i have that window open? or what will someone think if i put this photo of me crying on my blog.)

last night, i put several of these self-portaits alongside poetry into a journal that is housing a project i will be sharing at workshops this year. a simple way to remind myself: this is me.

(when is the last time you printed out a few of your photos? do it. i dare you.)

senses . backyard spring

{see}

{taste}

{smell}

{hear}

{touch}

{know}

*****

where: my backyard
when: april 12, 2011 

several years ago, i was drawn to the creative exercise of finding the senses in a moment through writing and photography. i often return to this exercise to help me get out of my head. i find that it anchors me and reminds me to notice the beauty around me.

see past posts about the senses here.

scenes from an evening

*****

last evening, i closed the laptop and didn't open it again until this morning. the to do list is long and varied over here, but if i don't give myself permission to take a break, the truth is, the joy simply gets lost and seems to hang out with the dog fur under the couch.

this path is hard at times. this taking care of ellie and working from home each day. yesterday was a day when her health "stuff" was more front and center, and this adds a layer of emotion that is hard to explain. i keep trying to come up with a metaphor to help the people in my life understand, and all i can come up with is that having a child with specific health issues causes a family to feel a bit fractured...disjointed. the days are unpredictable. we get into the groove similar to what i imagine most parents of an eight-month old are in, and then i suddenly notice her heart beating faster than it should. i push myself not to panic but out comes the stethoscope and i listen, hoping. our days revolve around three doses of medication that must be refrigerated. i carry certain things in her diaper bag that other mamas probably don't because i know what it is like to be told that you have to go to the ICU. right. now. 

so when she finally fell asleep yesterday afternoon, and i was in a place where i was trusting she is going to be okay until i can talk to the cardiologist today, i decided to play with fabric for a change. pushing all my beads and lockets and list of custom orders to one side of the kitchen table, i began to sew something just for me. i probably should have napped (as the days and nights have been intense this week with a tooth finally popping through), but i just needed the rhythm of that sewing machine and the joy of patchworked colors side by side.

when jon got home, i closed the laptop and tried to just be right here in the moment with my little family. my heart felt bigger and more like it was at home as i simply took it all in...

i love that snapping just a few photos from this evening will always remind me of these truths.

the many faces of EJ

(taken january 6 at seven months, three days)

the view from here