House guests and Photography School

Quite literally - the most adorable houseguests I think we've ever had for a weekend. 
Humphrey and Gigi have a common love of pacifiers. 
Izzy and I obviously have a love of stripes in common. 
Kind of sad to see them go. 


Oh well. 




We know where they live. :)

ANYWAYS ---- (I'm a rambling type, by the way.)


About me - 
I don't like to talk about the things that I really care about because somewhere - it's always lurking. 


Judgement.

Hey - from what I hear - I'm a middle child which means I'm a people pleaser. According to some Birth Order book hooey. Judgement and me don't mix. 


Just like oil and water.

But in this sacred place. This blogosphere - I will bear my nakedness. 


No...


don't scroll down. 
Or leave.

I swear. I'm keeping my clothes on! 


I will bear my naked soul and tell the truth.

I am going to school. For photography.
I'm not great at it. 
Maybe I will be one day. 
But I really enjoy the hell out of it. And it's mine. So far, no carbon copies have appeared. 


I was told in high school that I had an eye for graphic design. (But c'mon - have you seen how much math is involved... how much computer softward figuring-out is done in that line of work?!?! NOT for me.)


I'm going to the Art Institute. 
I wake up at the butt crack o' dawn on Saturday mornings (because I'm a mommy and it's my only day.)

I've only told a handful of people.
So far out of that handful, I've had a few thumb their noses about it. And so it confirms for me to shut my mouth. Don't talk about it.
I'm what Kevin calls the 'creative type.' 


I might go on a binge and eat quinoa and barley for a week because I read something inspiring about fiber. 
Then I'll spend three days drinking a tablespoon of apple cider vinegar because I want to see what health miracle will happen. 


I love coffee and I will give up many meals for a beautiful cup of it with just the right touches of caramel.
I am not likely to plan a vacation, I'd rather decide on the road and grab the essentials at a grocer or drugstore.
I forget to water plants until my husband mentions they're leaning thirstily.
I may squeal throughout the house just because Gianna is doing it and it looks like so much fun. (I definitely sing here. I pity the fool that would ever lean their ear up against our front door.)

So this creative type had some homework.
This week's assignment was to interpret a song's lyrics and mood through photograph. 

I grabbed my ipod, scrolled and landed on L.A. Song by Beth Hart. 

This is what I got: 

The lyrics are: 

She hangs around the boulevard

She's a local girl with local scars

She got home late, she got home late

She drank so hard the bottle ached

And she tried, and she tried, and she tried, and she tried

But nothin's clear in a bar full a flies

So she takes, so she takes, she takes, so she takes

She understands when she gives it away

She says

* Man I gotta get outta this town

Man I gotta get outta this pain

Man I gotta get outta this town

Outta this town and out of L.A.

She's got a gun, She's got a gun 

She's got a gun she calls the lucky one 

She left a note right by the phone

Don't leave a message 'cause this ain't no home

And she cried, and she cried, and she cried, and she cried

She cried so long her tears ran dry

Then she laughed, then she laughed, she laughed, then she laughed

'Cause she knew she was never comin' back

She said

[Repeat *]

It's all she loves It's all she hates It's all too much for her to take

She can't be sure just where it ends or where the good life begins

So she took a train, she took a train

To a little old town without a name

She met a man he took her in

But fed her all the same bullshit again

'Cause he lied, then he lied, then he lied, then he lied

he lied like a salesman sellin' flies

So she screamed, then she screamed, then she screamed, then she screamed

it's a different place but the same old thang

It's all I love It's all I hate It's all too much for me to take

I can't be sure where it begins or if the good life lies within

So she said

Man I gotta get out of this town

Now I gotta get back on that train

Man I gotta get out of this town

I'm outta my pain

So I'm goin' back to L.A.

Back to L.A.

Back to L.A. Hey...

I'm goin' back to L.A. Hey...

I'm goin' back to L.A.

It's an older song. Probably from the late 80's/early 90's. Good sound. We shall see how it grades. :) 


All this photography got me to thinking about a time in my life when I was super young and hadn't a clue who I was. I was fourteen. Magazines littered the floor in my bedroom and I tried desperately to make myself appear as flawless as the models inside. 


It wasn't a good thing. I didn't understand.

In this world, we are so deadened. We're numb to super-imposed/photoshopped images. 

And I really kind of think that we miss out on the beauty of flaws.

Some folks try to plump up their crow's feet with collagen. But let me tell you how I see it these days. 

Crow's feet are BEAUTIFUL! I purposefully avoid slathering moisturizer around the corners of my eyes because I cannot wait to become a part of that club.


When I am going to visit my Dad, I have this thing. My favorite thing. I like to watch when his eyes meet his grandchildren. He smiles at them with his whole heart.


Most people think of their mouths as the part of their face that smiles.

Not this girl.

When my Dad smiles - of course the corners of his mouth turn upwards. Just like everyone else. 

But my dad has lived. And he's part of the club. He's got crow's feet or laugh lines around his eyes. Lucky guy.

My favorite feature on my Dad is his grandpa eyes.

When grandkids are around, Dad's smile is deep.

It begins when the corners of his mouth turn upwards in a smile - and the smile continues across his face.

UP... UP... UP...


until that smile lands in the corners of his eyes.

LOVE.

That's what you see on his face when he see's grandchildren. Any grandchildren. My kids, my nephew, my step-sister's kids. It doesn't matter. Children are a part of his soul and he gets those grandparent eyes. It's my most favorite thing about my Dad. 

So it's sad when I see my impressionable tweenager adoringly scouring the pages of catalogs or magazines the way that I did. Staring at the shape of eyebrows and hoping to imitate the look in her own mirror.  

Do these photos look like a fourteen year old to you? 

Nope.

I'm glad I had the experience because I can tell the fourteen-year-old girl inside of me or the twelve-year-old daughter of mine exactly what is real and what isn't.

Man, am I glad for the experience. 

Things happen for a reason, folks. 

Laugh lines. They happen for a reason. Crow's feet - reason. 

Just ask my husband. The reason he has his laugh lines/crows feet is so I can kiss them and run my finger across them when he smiles with his Daddy eyes. 

Love your features, because if you don't - I will. 

I already do.