Sybaritism in Seattle

Mt Rainier with Milky Way from Tolmie Peak

2010-11-08T08:47:00.001-08:00

Mt Rainier with Milky Way from Tolmie Peak
Originally uploaded by Cap'n Surly

Fall is one of the most spectacular times of the year in Seattle. The skies have been really clear and the stars have been so sharp that it hurts to look at them. Still, I haven't seen anything quite like this image from Cap'n Surly yet! I guess I need to head to the mountains...

Whiskey Managed

2010-10-19T13:52:00.001-07:00

Jameson Whiskey
Originally uploaded by maciekhau

I often say that there is a Harry Potter reference for everything in life, much the same way some feel about James Joyce, others about the bible, and one guy I know says that about Jack Handy. But the funny thing is, sometimes I say things without realizing I'm referencing Harry Potter or that I'm saying it out loud.

Last week I mentioned that when I get depressed it's like I just cant get away from the Grindylows. Insert cricket noises here.

This morning, we found out that my company has been bought by a large Indian corporation and that our little headquarters in the Northwest is now a "wholly owned subsidiary" of said company. I sighed and said, "Now we can all see the thestrals." Blank stares.

But what cracks me up the most (yeah, I make myself laugh; it's a gift) is that a couple of nights ago I sat alone, but for Sparrow, my arm around his puppy dog shoulders, on my boat, and poured the last of my Jameson into a glass. I tapped the bottle on the table twice and muttered, "Mischief managed." And then I laughed out loud.

Sparrow thinks I'm crazy too.

Morning Snow with Swimming Ducks at Gasworks

2010-10-01T10:04:00.001-07:00

Morning Snow with Swimming Ducks at Gasworks
Originally uploaded by Cap'n Surly

This winter is supposed to be a tough one, La Nina and all, according to Seattle resident weather guru, Cliff Mass. Maybe I'll get a chance to take some of these types of shots. I'm already gearing up for work from home days.

Best wedding invite ever!

2009-12-22T09:49:00.000-08:00

This is a 5 minute wedding invite, done all in stop motion by shooting over 5500 images and stringing them together in iMovie. Genius!

Murano

2009-12-22T08:29:00.000-08:00

Here are a couple more shots of me on the most fabulous sunny day in Murano, the glassmaking island in the lagoon of Venice.

CarrieBobo: last new artists of 2009

2009-12-22T08:22:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm already offering lasts. I came across this artist this morning and I love her style. Find her here for a wider variety of styles.

Happy 30th Michone!

2009-12-16T23:08:00.000-08:00

My big sister turned 30 on the 9th, so Mom, Michone, and Charis came over and spent the weekend with me. We saw the musical White Christmas at the most magical theatre in town, ate lots of chocolate, had drinks at Pigalle in the Market, saw fantastical gingerbread houses, ate Moroccan food with our hands, had french pastries and generally had a very nice time. Here are a few shots from that.

Thanks for coming out, girls. I love you all so much and I had a wonderful time with you. Michone, thanks for being a delightful sister, a friend of my heart, and the amazing woman you are. I love you very much and hope your birthday was all you wanted it to be.

Venice, reintegration

2009-12-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

Coming home was difficult (an understatement I assure you). Getting back into the swing of work has proved impossible. Aside from the photo shoot that has been going on and setting up, and for which I will be out of the office all day tomorrow and working all day Saturday, there has been the holiday confusion that is normal...one thing leads to another.

And Venice still has her grip on my soul. Europe always leaves fingerprints on me when I come back, but Venice is a special kind of magic. I hope everybody gets to experience her entrancing beauty at some point.

San Salute, Venice, across the Grand Canal. Gondola poles in the foreground.

I will be transcribing my journal entries into blog posts this weekend, likely Sunday, so check back then. I actually wrote them all on paper, with a pen. It was a retro experience! If I can read my own handwriting, you'll get the firsthand account soon. Until then, here are a couple of more shots.

Murano, main canal, wine jugs.

The Rialto Bridge, Venice, Grand Canal. 'Nuff said.

Venice images

2009-12-14T07:55:00.000-08:00

Bonjourno,

If you click on any of the Venice images I have posted thus far they will get MUCH larger and you can see better detail, in case you were wanting more, as I am. Today it is snowing in Venice. I wish I were still there to revel in the magic.

Venice, Gondola

2009-12-13T15:38:00.000-08:00

The first Gondolier I saw was this fellow, disappearing down a canal.

Ancient Venice

2009-12-13T15:26:00.000-08:00

A black and white from my trip...

Venizia, the rainy day

2009-12-13T15:19:00.000-08:00

Here are a few images from Day 1 (after the day I arrived when I collapsed on my bed and didn't look around too much). I'll be obsessing about it all week, so expect LOTS more images and detailed verboseness to follow.

This is the outside of the island that is Venice, where there are very few tourists.

This is a gondola workshop. I think the man was making repairs.

The same outside island area.

A local with her dog.

Gondolas, St Marks

2009-12-09T14:55:00.000-08:00

These gondolas are in front of St Marks square.

More San Marco.

Academia Bridge, Venice

2009-12-09T14:39:00.000-08:00

From the Academia bridge. Venice, Italy

.

Venezia, day 3

2009-12-09T13:32:00.000-08:00

Venice is like a wild swan: beautiful, unpredictable, the most lovely thing in the world.

The only problem is a major DUH that didnt occur to me when I decided to leave my computer at home. I have no way to edit camera RAW images on a public PC, so I have no images to upload.

Yesterday I wandered in the rain for about 8 hours. It poured, and I borrowed an umbrella from my pensione and took my 5D, my TLR 120 film camera, and a pinhole body cap (Thanks, Michael!) and shot here and there and everywhere. I froze. Not Paris in March froze, but it was cold.San Marco Square was a bit disappointing, as so much of it is covered in scaffolding, but the basilica is still entrancing. Mark Twain said it looks like a large unknown insect going for a walk, and he is not far wrong. With the Byzantine domed roofs and the spires, it hardly looks at all like a European cathedral to me. However, it is still a hushed, sacred place, and the anti-camera police are out in force. Notre Dame said no cameras, but the French look the other way. Italians take their Catholic places much more seriously and you damn well better not try anything here. I followed the coastline for a long time, walking along the larger canals, trying my darndest to get lost in the back passages and nearly succeeding, both before and after San Marco Square. I eventually had to feed my growling belly, so I darted into a trattoria that I had to duck under the balustrade of a bridge to get to and dined on the most delectable Gnocchi al Ragu I have ever tasted. Coupled with red wine at 1 euro per glass, I was blissfully sated before I made my way back to San Marco to take long exposures and soak in the shiny pavement that shimmered with Christmas lights from Prada and Gucci like the reflected glory of the angels.

I returned to my pensione for a very hot shower to thaw before bed and woke up to radiant sunshine today. My room includes breakfast every day, which I was doubtful about, since I am not a cereal fan and rarely eat breakfast anyway. But the food here is fantastic, and they offer scrambled eggs, Andouille sausage, sweet croissants, prosciutto, 3 kinds of cheese, coconut yogurt (which is amazing) and more. I've found I can get by on breakfast and dinner if I eat dinner a little early and breakfast a little late and save myself a few bucks a day that way. Today I again wandered in the byways of the city, snapping photos of gondoliers in red ribboned straw boater hats and striped shirts, like a Monet come to life, and I ended up at the Rialto bridge just at sunset. They say if you kiss your lover as you cross under the Rialto bridge you will be happy together forever. There were many gondola passengers trying to make that come true tonight, and I sat and watched them while I took pictures. On my way to the bridge I stopped at a boat that was a floating produce stand and bought a bag of cherry tomatoes, and I leaned against the bright pink plaster of a sinking gothic building to savor them as I watched these embodiments of optimism pole their way past me.

I am still looking for a way to edit the RAWs so I can post some images. Tomorrow I'll shoot a couple of jpegs for that purpose. In all, Venice is a dream so real I can taste it, even now, even here. It is almost too good to be true, too beautiful to touch. As I ate my extra chocolate gelato today and watched the pigeons dance to the song of the canal waves, I sighed deep sighs of utter happiness, and I soaked up the luck, the beauty, and the GOODNESS of my life.

I am truly the luckiest girl in the world tonight. Without qualification.

the sass

2009-12-03T16:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, I'm feeling it today!

Scarlett

2009-12-03T09:16:00.001-08:00

Not my image, but gorgeous. LOVE the Rolls.

Adelaide Rose

2009-12-03T08:25:00.000-08:00

Adelaide Rose is 13.

She is also a well-known burgeoning photographer who sells prints worldwide through her flickr site and has developed an ethereal aethetic that I wish I could match on the best of days.

With enough self-awareness to run a regular blog called "Cold and Pale" (which accurately describes her style to an eery degree), she also runs a photo blog (access here) and a flickr site. Fascinating, talented girl....Go far, Adelaide. Fly high.

You can find Adelaide's regular blog here.

6 days in Venice

2009-12-02T10:27:00.000-08:00

I have a magical golden ticket for a ride on a plane that will take me almost anywhere in Europe. I have had it for nearly a year and a half, since our Paris trip flight debacle. My work schedule has been insane, and Tim's work schedule has been precarious, so we have not used them, and they expire in March. Because of a series of meetings and product launches, I cant take any time off after Christmas for a few months, and when I mentioned the ticket to my boss the response was, "Go now." 2 weeks ago I called the airline and asked what was available during the next few weeks and December 6th to Rome jumped out at me. I sunk my teeth into it, and now I am headed to Italy on Sunday. Tim's job may come to an end in January, so he needs to work while he can. Even though he has a ticket, too, he is planning to hold the fort down here and make his way to a surf destination later in the winter.

I pulled this image from Conde Nast Traveler.

I am so excited that I periodically can't breathe. My plan is to fly into Rome and take a hopper to Venice for 5 days, then back to Rome for about half a day, and return to Seattle Saturday, the 12th.

I have had my camera gear packed for nearly a week, and I keep envisioning myself on the streets of Venice, bundled in my red coat, red heels clacking, as I find the perfect bridge, the right foggy canal viewpoint, the best glimpse of a church tower, and set up my photographic island on the island to shoot slowly and deliberately. My goal is enough fantastic photos for a show, enough wine for a year, enough food for a day, and very little sleep. I plan to take my 5D, 3 lenses, a pinhole cap, and the old Twin Lens Reflex camera my dad gave me, which shoots 120 film, which I have in black and white.

I have 2 new pairs of red shoes and other than shooting, wine tasting, eating, and wandering, I want to find a place to dance in my red shoes...

WIlliam Anthony Photography

2009-12-01T09:54:00.000-08:00

This image was on the PDP photo of the day (kind of a big deal) and I think it is just stunning. I like the crop, I like the color, I love the lines.

William Anthony is an LA based photographer who shoots lots of people and places around him and lives in the cool arty district in downtown LA that is not well known. I found LA overwhelming, a giant who wanted to eat me with it's square tin teeth and stared rays of hate at me with its cold concrete eyes. I admire a man who can be so inspired by such a place.

This image has nothing to do with the above image, but it's also by William Anthony. It feels oddly, eerily like ME to me.

Check out more of his work here. Be sure to see the Jackson fans gallery of MJs funeral. Poignant.

Tye River Cabin

2009-11-25T08:50:00.000-08:00

All by Olsen Sundberg Kundig Allen Architects

This is in Skykomish, WA, near Seattle and right now it is my dream house (it changes).

Provided it is warm, as it has been a tad chilly here of late.

I adore the simplicity and modernity of it, the beautiful lines of the wood. It's a strong but almost delicate balance.Of course, you must have lots of windows in the Northwest, so that's covered...

Dr. Horrible's sing along blog

2009-11-24T08:51:00.000-08:00

I think Neil Patrick Harris (Doogie to those of us over 27) is sublime. His oddball sense of humor is
most evident in the Dr. Horrible persona, and, I think, utterly delightful. This is part 1 Act 1, and there
are many more to be found on YouTube. You can also download from iTunes.

collage

2009-11-23T15:15:00.000-08:00

I think this series of images captures the vintage summer romance that we all wish our teenage years/early 20s were. I feel the heat coming off of it and get nostalgic looking at it, as though it is a memory of a time I never lived.

oh what a difference a year makes

2009-11-23T15:05:00.000-08:00

I was showing off this image of my devastatingly adorable nephew when someone asked, "Is that Sparrow's costume?"

It's not, but last year we did dress Sparrow in a remarkably similar out fit! He sat and sulked in it, refusing to move or open his eyes. I don't think I have ever laughed so hard in my life.

Sunny Seneca

2009-11-21T17:23:00.000-08:00

Last summer, on a perfect Sunday afternoon in August, we met a friend at his boat on Lake Union and took off for a cruise. His boat is a 1958 Chris Craft named Seneca, and she has been lovingly and perfectly restored. A gorgeous marvel of wood and brass, she glides through the water with twin V8 engines and a galley full of fine whiskey, smoked salmon, fruit and cheeses.

My friend, Michael, the boat owner, generously and bravely filled my tumbler with whiskey and ice and let me drive out of the lake and into Portage Bay. He's a photographer that I met professionally and have been lucky enough to become friends with. He took a few shots of me and I think they are some of my favorite portraits I have of myself.

This is him. I think he looks a little like my father, but Tim thinks he looks like George Lucas.

It's good to be a gangsta. So I hear.

New Moon

2009-11-20T14:48:00.000-08:00

Not that I have plans to see it, but I do want to mark it because I am THAT dorky: Tonight is the release of New Moon, #2 in the Twilight saga movies. Just so you know what I'm thinking about. Also, that the actual new moon was on the 16th, which I would have chosen as release date for a movie called New Moon if it was me.

Addictive inspiration

2009-11-18T16:49:00.000-08:00

I love to go on Flickr and click the "Interesting in the last 7 days" button. It's like a photographic magic 8 ball, rolling up interesting and unpredictable answers. I cant load images today, oddly, so you'll have to just go play.

Go there, get some addictive inspiration.

Star kisses

2009-11-17T15:57:00.000-08:00

And the stars came down tonight and greeted me.
And kissed me.
And their kisses tickled my skin.
And they felt like what stars would feel like.
Or how I imagined them to feel like.
And I smiled for the first time in the longest time.
And I cried for the first time in the longest time.
And I lost myself.
In darkness. In light.
In dreams of stars and midnight.

written by Yasmine of A Print a Day

Paul Nicklen's Polar Obsession

2009-11-17T12:54:00.000-08:00

The PDN photo of the day gallery for Polar Obsession is beautiful, but there are even more to check out. All I'm going to say about it here though is see it! Do you remember the Island of Misfit Toys? That. Visit here.

Potter Byrd wedding

2009-11-11T19:22:00.000-08:00

Ok, so it wasn't "tomorrow," but here are the pictures of Andy and Rachael's wedding, finally. It was so fun, and SO HOT. 106 in the shade, shooting an afternoon wedding...where there was no shade. But a Byrd wedding is worth the heat, and we had a fantastic time. It was an honor to shoot our first extended family wedding.

The Bride and Groom gave us 45 minutes to just shoot them, so we headed to a secluded spot on Lake Chelan. It also gave them some time to chill before the rush of the reception.

They were really good sports.

Jeanette was amazing. She did the flowers and whatever else came up, being super sister with Jennifer. Love that Byrd power!

Jeanette's flower handiwork. I rented a 70-300mm lens with a 2.8 aperture for this wedding and I am now officially addicted. Beautiful piece of genius. It allows for this close, that shallow depth, from 30 ft away, which means I get to stay a little more out of the guest's view.

And it gives you that reach out and touch someone closeness, without being that close. I can't not have it now!

She was so excited and so nervous!

Particularly love this shot.

Colin ad Jeanette. So photogenic! It was fun to get to shoot family.

The boys were hilarious, and very willing to shoot, despite the heat. I tried to keep them in the shade. Mostly.

But how can you say no to this!?

Girls, too. Check out that flower girl sass. Love it.

Best cake topper ever?

Oh yeah.

The wedding was at Wapato Winery. Good wine, lovely people.

And lots of toasts.

All in all a lovely weekend.

Rachael and Andy,

Thanks so much for picking us to shoot your amazing day. We feel so privileged to have spent such a wonderful weekend with you and to have been such an integral part. Rachael, welcome to the family!

the love and books

2009-11-11T09:39:00.001-08:00

This is by Jessica Johnston (not my sister, either sister, a different one), and I really love it. Jess, your shots just keep getting better and better! See more on her blog.

Paris J'Taime

2009-11-09T16:37:00.001-08:00

I love this movie. This is just a clip of 18 shorts. You should see it if you've ever loved Paris.

Roid week

2009-11-09T16:19:00.000-08:00

It's Polaroid week on flickr and there is a ton of amazing stuff floating around out there.

Seanyeh

harpy

Click around, be happy. See pretty.

A bit of Lost

2009-11-09T16:04:00.000-08:00

I don't even like Lost (I'll get my stress from LIFE, thank you very much), but I love this typographic discovery of the plot line (wow, could that sound nerdier?). Thanks, Gus!

A bit of Lost. from Emily Barrera. on Vimeo.

Super cool flash site

2009-11-05T16:04:00.000-08:00

Just check it out here. Roll your mouse over the images. Sa-weet.

Halloween

2009-11-05T08:20:00.001-08:00

We had a fantastic Halloween this year with many friends. I hope you all had a great, and safe time, too.

Texture of happiness

2009-11-05T07:57:00.000-08:00

These are from the incomparable and inspiring Jasmine Star. I love the poses and the colors and the texture.

The sass.

The happy.

Check out more of her work at her blog.

Princess

2009-11-02T11:25:00.000-08:00

Every now and then I get a "story of the day" from Story People and it inspires me to go read some more of them. Here is my favorite today:

Are you a princess? I said & she said I'm much more than a princess, but you don't have a name for it yet here on earth.

Coffee with Sparrow

2009-10-31T11:09:00.001-07:00

My pretty boy.

From last weekend at Pioneer.

Sushi party

2009-10-31T10:44:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Konrad was here while Marie flew to SF for Anthony's ordination, so we had a little get together Saturday night with Konrad, Karl, Jeanette, and Colin.

And Jeanette taught us how to make sushi rolls. We decided to stick with the easy ones and made California rolls and smoked salmon Philly rolls. They were really good.

Colin is adamantly opposed to seaweed, so it was a bit of a problem for him, but he was a good sport. And Konrad made him a seaweed free roll (which he said was not made more appealing by Jeanette and me calling it a sushi turd. Who knew?).

Tim's sister met Jeanette a couple of weeks ago and her comment was, "Are there any Byrd women who are unattractive?"

The answer to how to make good sushi at home seems to be start slow, have good ingredients, drink LOTS of sake, then play dominos in front of the fire with one of your favorite cousins! Ok? Now, your turn: go!

Best pumpkins

2009-10-30T15:48:00.001-07:00

Ever.

"You need kissing badly."*

2009-10-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

"That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."
*from Gone with the Wind.

I've been reading this blog called "Eavesdropping on the boys club" lately and it started with this post, below. I love it. We all deserve to be kissed like that.

Why the way he Kisses you says more than you know

Most people say that there are no true aphrodisiacs other then human scent. You know the smell of a male or female and the effect that it has on one another. I disagree, I think that the one true aphrodisiac in the world is a kiss. Not the peck that you plant on the check of your friend or family member, but the deep intense kiss that you receive from a man of interest.
You know the one I am talking about. The kiss that makes you weak in the knees and slightly moist in the region slightly above them. The type of kiss that makes you feel as though the room is spinning and you have butterflies in your stomach just thinking about it. The type of kiss that makes you blush just thinking about it now.
How many women of you have had this type of kiss and although it was a first or second date, because of it's intensity lead you to go further than you had planned. Many women have been fooled by a long facial embrace and mistook it for what what it could lead up to and not what it actually was, passion. If the passion and the chemistry are just right anything can happen. How do you think women end up in one night stands?
Since I brought up the topic of "One night Stands", let me take this moment to explain something from a mans prospective on this phenomenon. One night stands usually become that because one party believes that the intensity and passion can never be re-created and therefore there is no reason to try. The mood, feelings, emotions were as such that to try to make anything out of it would be foolish. Not! I sounded like a man huh? Trying to rationalize why men take advantage of women. Sorry about that, I'll try to stay on point from now on.
The kiss, women love it. Men do as well, however they tend to down play it to maintain their masculinity. Very few men run back to their friends and boast about how good a kisser you are. Sorry. However, women do and men know it. Therefore to get you into the mood and into bed we put a whole lot of effort into that first kiss when the time comes.
As men we know that if done properly, you'll melt and we can have our way. If not right now, very, very soon. If we fail to bed you at this time, we simply want you to walk away with that feeling in your stomach that you've just been kissed for real. No pressing of lips or that cheek thing that we all do to relatives and close friends, but seriously, deeply and intimately kissed that will have us on your minds all day and night, and conjures up images of things we will do to you in the near future. Our goal as men is for you to walk away thinking that you've just had "your last first kiss!" That's how good we want it to be.
Kissing like this is personal, deeply personal. Why do you think that as a rule Prostitutes refuse to kiss clients? For this very reason, if done properly she wouldn't make much money for one. She'd possibly feel that she had feelings for her customer and therefore become uncomfortable with charging him for making love to her. That, and the fact that pimps make it a rule that they are never to kiss any client on the lips. Remember "Pretty Woman?" Julia Roberts roommate chastised her for kissing Richard Gere, stating, "Didn't I teach you anything?"
Do you remember the first kiss with the one you are with now? I know that you do. Now my next question is when is the last time he kissed you like that?
Men don't remember kisses, I am sorry to say. After awhile we tend to kiss you like that only when it leads to making love. This is sad, because if as men we remembered that the way we kissed you in the beginning continued long after we captured your heart we would never ever have to worry about you becoming content. We would never have to worry about any other man taking our place. We would never ever have to worry about our relationships period!
I've been married for quite some time now and I make it a habit of kissing my wife like the first time at a minimal of once a week. Why? Most men would ask. Because I need for her to understand that I still desire her after all these years. I don't do it for the sex, although it helps sometimes, but I do it because I want to be the one on her mind. I purposely do it sometimes before she leaves for work, because I want her to think about me all day. I do it before I leave for work at times because once again, I want her to think about me all damn day. I want her to know that the passion and fire that ignited with our very first kiss years ago is still burning hot years later and I desire her just as much today as I did then and more. Why you may ask? Because if you really want to keep someone forever you have to show how you feel about them, each and every day. Nothing shows how much you care as a real, deep, meaningful kiss to say, "I still love you and only you!"
Now, for each and everyone of you that have a man, ask yourself this question? When was the last time he kissed you and really meant it? When was the last time that he kissed you and you said "WOW"? When was the last time he kissed you and it made you want to stay home from work just to spend the day with him? If that time was too long for you to remember, it's time for you to remind him. Let him know what he is missing and how the lack of this passion is possibly wrecking your relationship. Because if the passion that started the fire is not there anymore, then you're only in the relationship because you're content or comfortable and possibly both.
Women need passion, it's what makes them beautiful. They glow when there is passion in their lives and you are no different. Make him assist you in rekindling that passion and make you feel desired because you deserve it. All women deserve it and you my beautiful one are no different.
If for whatever reason he simply will not conform to you suggestion, politely explain the obvious to him. Every women is delighted to know that for every women that is married, or in a relationship there is a good man that wishes she weren't! He'll get the hint and hopefully the passion will return. For your sake I hope it does, you deserve it so much, to feel like everyday is the first day of your relationship. To be desired by the man you love and who loves you and expresses it in his kiss, like the very first kiss you two ever shared.
Now I must leave you, my wife will be home shortly and I need to remind her just how important she is to me and how much I love her still to this day. And you know what? I'll be doing it with a kiss, the exact same type of kiss that made her mine years ago before children and a mortgage and car payments and work and everything that we men use as excuses for not doing our job as men. Because in the end, that one slow, long passionate kiss makes everything we've been through worth it. She doesn't know I know this, but I do. Hopefully your man does too. If not he's depriving not only you but himself as well.

When I say tunnel

2009-10-27T14:03:00.000-07:00

You scared yet? No? HOW ABOUT NOW, SEATTLE? This is why we need a tunnel. Because THE VIADUCT IS NO LONGER AN OPTION.

5 words

2009-10-26T21:17:00.000-07:00

I was looking through one of the MANY blogs on my RSS and they were featuring "5 Words a Day" journals. The theory is that if you only write 5 words a day you will still be able to look back and clearly remember what was happening in your life at the time. Blogging is a little like that. Journal out loud, so to speak.

That said, last weekend I found an affordable pair of leather pants IN MY SIZE and did not buy them. This is a hinge point in my adulthood, I firmly believe that. But is this who I want to be? No leather pants? Not sure of that at all...

My 5 words? I didn't buy leather pants!

A few more: summertime romance

2009-10-23T14:20:00.001-07:00

The bride with her papa. A little experimental processing here.

The ring bearer.

Entering the site.

Reception

Hetzel Cummings wedding

2009-10-23T10:49:00.001-07:00

I realized earlier this week that I haven't ever shown you any of chelsea and Luke or Andy and Rachel's wedding shots. How neglectful of me!

We'll start with Luke and Chelsea's wedding and do Andy and Rachel's tomorrow.

Chelsea wore a simple white sundress that fit the casual Western atmosphere perfectly. My sister, Michone, did the flowers, so they were exquisite.

Jessica shepherded the ring bearers down the aisle. Liam, Luke's nephew, was being very brave. Banyan, my nephew, was being the handsome little devil he is. He learned to walk just in time and he was very proud of himself.

My parents gave the benediction. They were very honored to be asked. This is one of my favorite shots because of the cool depth of field.

The kiss. I have some closer ones, but I like this one best because you can see the nervous dogs. Luke has one and Chelsea has two.

They are showing you their buckles.

I love it when I can make the bride laugh. These sisters were having a good time.

It was HOT and BRIGHT.

They had custom boots made to match. So cool!

The reception was really fun and the happiness was palpable.

Chels and Luke,

Thanks so much for having us be a part of your day. We had a blast with you and were honored to be there. I know that weddings can be stressful, but you were so relaxed and did a beautiful job of being loving and welcoming, sharing your happiness with everyone you came into contact with. Thank you and many happy returns. May your path be smooth and your days be joyful.

my red letter day

2009-10-23T10:40:00.000-07:00

anessa Hutchinson
I just wanted to see the letter with my name there like that. Inspiring.

Daily Drop Cap is a blog project by a typographer/illustrator named Jessica Hirsche who has decided to offer a hand drawn drop cap every day until the alphabet wears out. Typography is my biggest challenge as a designer, so I really admire those who have such a talent for it. Today she posted my letter!

Great big little tiny

2009-10-21T11:23:00.000-07:00

Scamper at Friday Harbor

Tim's nephew, Jedric, used to refer to things really liked as the "great big, little tiny" this or that. The quote below reminded me of that.

Sparrow at Doug and Kari's, San Juan Island

“Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” – Robert Brault

I know these images have nothing to do with anything, but they are just images from my archives that I like.

Sybaritic weekend of absolute perfection

2009-10-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

Granville Island

I took Friday off last week. Partly because I was thinking of going surfing with Tim and some guys in Oregon, partly because the last month has been more than I can handle and I needed some time and space to be able to drive in traffic without freaking out, see a theatre advertising sign for Cabaret and not start crying, or needing to go to bed by 8:30 p.m. to cope with the sadness and head cold that come from the kind of month I had.

It rained Friday, and I knew it would rain. Now, I am a Terrible surfer, and I am terrified of the ocean (yeah, you divers out there are so brave...), so I deferred. The guys left Thursday night and I cleaned the house and watched them drive away, secretly relieved to be polishing my floor instead of heading into the drenching void.

Instead I woke early on Friday and headed to Capitol Hill for coffee at Vivace, my favorite coffee place in the city, with a friend. We talked for too long and had a wonderful time, laughing hard and generally being happy, sipping our incomparably velvet lattes. There are few things uncarnal that are better than a Vivace latte. When I came out I had a parking ticket, which meant free parking for the rest of the day to me (or prepaid), so I went into a few of the fabulous thrift stores that litter the Hill and bought a new hat and a new sweater before starting home.

Of course, the way home takes me by Bakery Nouveau, so, of course, I had to stop there, and it was miraculously quiet for lunchtime on a Friday, so there was a table available. I bought a baguette (theirs are perfectly Parisian) and some rich coffee and perched myself at a spot by the door to watch the world of sumptuous, butter loving, pastry goodness unfold around me. Shea, the bakery guy, came by my table on his way out when his shift ended and said hello and mentioned that the new fall pastries came out Saturday, so I filed that away for happy dreams and morning munchies.

Granville Island

I came home and slipped my heels off, pulled on my Uggs and went for a walk with my red umbrella in the downpour, the vegetative smell of the Sound surrounding me in the fog. Perfection. Upon returning home, I built a fire and cozied up in my giant, Lilly Tomlin chair and began searching friends on Facebook and designing a logo for a client, Yo-Yo-Ma sawing away softly in the background.

When Mike died last month, I was broken hearted. Not just because of the fact of this tragedy, but also because of my own stupidity and neglect of our friendship in recent years. I decided this was not happening with any more friends, hence the burgeoning Facebook addiction. It's a great way to find all the people I still love but have misplaced through the years. Mike's death gave me, through the darkness of his passing, the gift of understanding again who is really important.

In the midst of this I received a dinner invite from a colleague from Copoenhagen, in town for the week, who wanted to see downtown and Pike Place Market, so we went for dinner at Chez Lounge at Pike Place and coffee at the Pink Door in Post Alley, both exquisite epicurean delights.

Returning home, I was on Facebook again, when I connected with two good friends I had not seen in 10 years (have I mentioned how much I LOVE Facebook?), Nicci and Micah. Unfortunately Nicci lives in Minnesota, which is too far away for a quick lunch, but Micah lives in Vancouver, BC, which is less than 2 hours by BMW (a little more by Karmann Ghia). So Saturday morning I again rose early and hied it out the door into the sunrise deluge. With the requisite stop at Bakery Nouveau for the new fall pastry (figs on a bed of custard cream and croissant, mmm), I winged my way to Canada in the silver bullet (my car is so dang comfy), arriving just in time for hot Thai soup with Micah on Granville Island. We talked and laughed for a while at the restaurant, catching up and remembering when. We moved on to coffee at a nearby shop, then walked the island together, cameras in hand (he, Nikon, me, Canon), shooting and chatting, when the sky cracked open like a water logged tenement ceiling. We rushed into a nearby restaurant and ordered an exquisite Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, and sat and chatted some more. When we had arranged the lunch we talked about the fact that it had been 10 years since we spoke, and I joked about it being a 5 hour lunch. 6 hours after I arrived, Micah left for a hockey game and I headed to the border.

Granville Island. This guy was singing songs in French, in the rain, in a tux. I am delighted.

Exiting Canada, I received a call from Tim asking me to spend the night and pick a friend up at the airport there the next day. I found my way back to Vancouver, had sushi for dinner, spent the night in the city, picking Kari up in the afternoon and chatting about her trip all the way down the I-5 corridor.

In all, a perfect triangle of friendship, food, and coffee. And therapeutic to no end. I hope you all had such a wonderful weekend.

Micah.

Kristin Vining

2009-10-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

Kristin Vining is a wedding photographer extraordinaire, and these are a few shots from a recent wedding she covered.

Aside from the gorgeous job she did how incredible are these clothes? And the feather fascinator?

And the bride's hair? Forget shooting like that, although I want to do that. I want to look like that! And dress like that (maybe not the wedding dress, but holy cow)!

What an incredible shoot. From Style Me Pretty. They have a lot more of the shoot up. Go see.

America is my country

2009-10-19T22:38:00.001-07:00

And Paris is my hometown.

Missing this place right now.

The angels doth sing

2009-10-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

And Canon doth introduce the EOS 1D Mark IV DSLR with HD Shooting, Extreme ISO Capabilities, and Revamped Autofocus System.

Warning: super dork overload below. But Oh, the beauty!

Oct 19, 2009
By Dan Havlik, PDN's Technology Specialist

Canon introduced a new flagship digital SLR for sports photography this morning, the 10 frames per second, 16MP EOS 1D Mark IV. The 1D Mark IV will sell for $4,999 body only and ship to U.S. dealers in late December.

The new DSLR, which features a revamped autofocus system and HD shooting capabilities, is the replacement for the 10MP 1D Mark III.

Though it's been over two years since the Mark III camera out, little has changed superficially with the new Mark IV model. The two cameras look almost exactly alike though the new 1D Mark IV has three dots below the EOS-1 logo to identify the microphone.

Yes, that monaural microphone is there to support the Mark IV's new High Definition movie mode which is very similar to the video capabilities of the recently announced Canon EOS 7D.

Like the 7D, the 1D Mark IV can shoot 1080p video in frame rates of approximately 30fps, 25fps, and 24fps. It can also record 720p HD video at 60fps and features a stereo mic jack.

Along with sharing the same 10fps still shooting speed of the Mark III, the new Mark IV's sensor is also a non-full-frame APS-H (27.9 x 18.6mm) size with a magnification factor or 1.3x.

Revamped Autofocus System
What the 1D Mark IV doesn't share with its predecessor or the 7D is a completely redesigned 45-point autofocus system with 39 cross-type focusing points. (The Mark III had 19 cross-type points and the Mark II had only seven.) The new system also features a new focusing algorithm called AI Servo II.

"The purpose is to substantially increase the percentage of in-focus shots," said Chuck Westfall, Technical Advisor in the Professional Products Marketing Division at Canon U.S.A. "We are revising the algorithm so it makes better decisions in a variety of ways with moving subjects. We've redesigned it in such a way that we feel it will be far more consistent and stable."

Though the Mark III's speed and rugged build made it suited for shooting sports as well as for photojournalism, the camera's autofocus system came under withering criticism from some photographers and websites for being inconsistent and inaccurate. The revamped AF system in the Mark IV is clearly an attempt by Canon to make photographers forget about the past.

"We heard a lot of different things about the 1D Mark III," Westfall said. "People wanted to have have more consistent and reliable performance and after going through it very responsibly, we knew it had to be not just a hardware and a software upgrade, but a complete upgrade."

Extreme ISO Shooting
Canon has also broadened the 1D Mark IV's ISO range, offering ISO 100-12,800 in standard mode in addition to a specialty low setting of ISO 50 and a boosted high of ISO 102,400. (Just last week, Nikon released the D3s digital SLR which can also shoot at ISO 102,400.)

It will be interesting to see how the 1D Mark IV handles image noise -- especially at the extreme ISO levels -- given that the increased resolution has lowered pixel size to 5.7 microns compared to 7.2 microns on the Mark III. (In contrast, the full frame 5D Mark II has a pixel size of 6.45 microns while the 7D is at 4.3 microns per pixel.)

The shooting buffer on the 1D Mark IV is a maximum of 121 JPEGs or 28 RAW images in a continuous burst. The RAW + JPEG buffer limit is 20 frames.

To achieve its speed whether shooting 10fps, 1080p HD video, or 14-bit RAW images, the 1D Mark IV has dual Digic IV image processors which gives the camera 6x the processor power of the Mark III.

"That's the way we're able to cope with the extreme amount of throughput on this camera," Westfall said.

Despite the extra processing power of the the two Digic IV chips, the 1D Mark IV's frame rate did not receive the perfunctory boost from the previous model.

Westfall said increasing the speed further may have caused additional wear and tear on the camera's mirror box. "And honestly, 10 frames per second is just about as fast as you can run one of those things and still have the autofocus see each shot shot."

The LCD screen has been upgraded on the 1D Mark IV to 3-inches in size with 920,000 dots of resolution. Canon has also put a layer of optical resin between the cover plate and the LCD to help eliminate reflections for better viewing in bright light.

The Mark IV's camera body has a magnesium alloy inner and outer covers along with a magnesium alloy chassis with a magnesium alloy mirror box. (Yes, that's a lot of magnesium alloy!) It's also fully weather sealed.

Along with the 1D Mark IV, Canon also announced the WFT-ES II A wireless file transmitter for DSLRs this morning.

Ridiculous

2009-10-19T15:21:00.000-07:00

Ok, so to all of you who asked:

Lullaby Moon was especially spectacular last night and dreamlike. They all climbed into a schooner and sailed off into the sunset. And it all was over in less than an hour. Which is why we missed the whole thing.

I had taken a whimsical trip to Vancouver BC (which is one of my favorite places in the world), had lunch with one of my oldest and favorite-est friends, and spent the night in the city to pick up my friend Kari, who flew in yesterday. In all the kerfluffle I lost track of time significantly and we were at the border forever and then had to stop for dinner, and reached the park at almost 7pm. Oops.

If you were there, share your shots with me. Please.

Lullaby Moon

2009-10-14T17:37:00.001-07:00

Last month, on the same Saturday as Octoberfest (why are most Octoberfests in September? That really bugs me), Tricia and Pat's engagement party, Uncle Doug's arrival, and the faux Johnny Cash band that we had tickets to go to with my boss, of all people, was the second to last performance of Lullaby Moon.

Lullaby Moon is a group of performance artists that gather, dressed all in white, every new moon to dance in costume. It has been going on for a year, and Sunday is the last one. I'm very much looking forward to it, and it may be that this is the most excited I have ever been to go stand on a windy beach in the rain, watching the sky become darker and clutching my umbrella for all it's worth. The excitement is mostly due to the proximity of giant dancing rabbits, cats, and clocks.

And Owls. I am a sucker for the owls.

Last time it was at Magnuson Park, on Lake Washington, and Tim and I wended our way down the darkening path, guided to the scene by the distant tinkling of piano music, wafting toward us on gusts of wind.

We came upon the clearing, a white baby grand piano under a white tent, played by a man in a white tailcoat tuxedo and top hat, as hundreds of other people, also dressed in white, filtered into the meadow. The middle of the field was outlined by a ring of white tape, and the audience gathered outside of it on blankets. As we waited for the festivities to start, a horse drawn canopy bed drove by, filled with merry makers laughing and ringing golden bells.

We were distracted from this Alice-in-Wonderland-esque scenario by the entrance of a group of dancing, gamboling, lighted clocks, closely followed by leaping giant rabbits in white tailcoats. In an eery, but joyful, coreography the rabits danced with the clocks, who were gradually replaced by the entrance of cats, and the rabbits gave way to owls.

We stood, entranced, for over an hour, until the torrential rain dragged us from this waking dream, watching, laughing, marveling. If the camera hadn't been in imminent danger of drowning, we would have stayed.

If you are in town Sunday and want to join me, please do. Golden Gardens at 5:30. Wear white; bring a bell. AND THIS IS WHY I LOVE SEATTLE.

MINE

2009-10-12T15:52:00.000-07:00

Mine. Thank god, mine.

I used to look over at Tim and think that a lot when we were first together. Walking down the street, sitting across the table, waking up in the morning. I've mostly gotten used to him now, and how lucky I am. But that's not to say I don't have blinding moments of gratefulness for him.

I'm thinking about this because I just had this conversation with a German friend about the possessiveness of American relationships and the cultural understandings of personal possession of each other in European versus American society. He contends that it isn't a lack of commitment that separates us, but a lack of possession that separates the Euro from American mindset. And I agree with him to a large extent. Even though I don't want to say anything that would be hurtful to my father, for he has learned a lot in his time, as I hope I have, and he has changed, and I am proud of him. But one of the reasons why I left home early and never looked back, so to speak, was that my childhood was a epic possession by my father. Careful, yes, but also over-protective, over-bearing, and possessive. Therefore, the word is abhorrent to me, and I never meant to get married because of it. However, you don't have to become your own cultural understanding.

My relationship with Tim is different that the "typical" puritanical style of marriage as ownership. We try to understand and trust and allow. It was in our wedding vows. A vow to change and grow and allow for it in each other, not to hold on too tight. And I appreciate that, every moment of every day. I love to be able to emotionally breathe deep breaths. That's not to say there aren't line to be colored within. There definitely are, and there are certainly expectations.

But still, some times it blows my mind that I have been with anybody, or, more accurately, anybody has chosen to remain with me for 9 YEARS.

Last week, the 7th, was 9 years since we met. 9 YEARS.

Old Ben didn't know what to think.

2009-10-11T08:29:00.000-07:00

We are in Portland again, for a few more hours, heading to breakfast at Mother's with Marie and Konrad. They graciously allowed us to stay with them again, cooking us dinner, offering a soft bed, distracting us from the grief and exhaustion of Mike's "Celebration of Life."

The memorial was beautiful, and Tim and I sat in the back and cried, our tears hiding our head colds nicely, while first Todd, Mike's brother, then the rest of his family, followed by any number of friends, got up and told funny stories, happy anecdotes, and familiar jokes about Mike. It was wonderful and beautiful.

Through all of this the Boire/White family has been so strong and supportive of each other, so loving and concerned for one another. It has really been a marvel watching them come through this tighter together, and even more loving than before. I hope I and my family could be so gracious in the face of our own naked pain.

While I was at Mike's bedside 2 weeks ago I called Joe Legate, the hub and soul of our group in Montana, and asked him to send some video of Mike in plays if he had any. He sent a long reel of plays and a short slideshow of images of the man in tuxedos, chef's hats, even dresses, onstage and off, happy and earnest. Mike's mother spoke while the images Joe sent merged with photos of him as a smiling child and looped into a montage of memories through my tears.

He was an amazing man. Complicated, less than perfect, as he would have pointed out, but lovable, brilliant, and wonderful all the same. And I am missing him today.

Mike's obituary

2009-10-08T09:37:00.001-07:00

This is from Oregon Live and it features a place to leave comments, which a number of friends have done:

Boire, Mikel Anthony 39 3/22/1970 9/26/2009 Mike Boire passed away Sept. 26, 2009, in Wilsonville. Mike was born in Portland and was celebrated as the first child of spring by the Rose Festival Association. He attended schools in the Centennial District and Mt. Hood Community College. Mike worked summers as a pipefitter and machinist in the Alaska seafood industry. During winter months, Mike worked in and taught theater in Kalispell, Whitefish and Missoula, Mont. He was a superb actor, a fine director and an inspiring teacher - and he could sing. One year he was selected as the grand marshall of the Whitefish Winter Carnival following his wonderful portrayal as the Ghost of Elvis. Mike loved the pace of life in the small Alaska cannery towns stretching from Kodiak Island to Ketchikan, and traveled there each spring before the salmon started to arrive to get the canneries ready to process the catch. When cannery work slowed, Mike organized impromptu stage and talent shows among the college-age cannery workers who still retell stories of their remarkable Alaska adventures. Mike was never one for the common path. He was unique - summers in Alaska, winters in Montana, never much money - but he was one of the wealthiest of people in ways our culture undervalues. His wealth was his friends, and he had them by the hundreds. His friends loved him. His family adored him. He touched lives every day. Heaven would not be heaven without Mike. Mike is survived by his father and stepmother, Ken and Nancy Boire of Beaverton; mother and stepfather, Stephani and David White of Wilsonville; brother, Todd Boire of Portland; sister and brother-in-law, Michelle and Jack Lindersmith of Battle Ground, Wash.; nephews, Sedale Boire and Zane Lindersmith; half brother, Andy Gillam of Texas; step-siblings, Katrina Moyer, Cherina Burch and Nathan Beck. A potluck celebration of Mike's life will start at 2 p.m. Saturday, Oct. 10, 2009, in the Charbonneau Country Club, 32000 S.W. Charbonneau Dr., Wilsonville, OR 97070. Friends of Mike and his family are invited. The family requests that remembrances be sent to the Drama Program at Flathead Valley Community College, Kalispell, Montana; or to the Alaska Fish and Wildlife Conservation Fund. Details available from Crown Memorial Center, Tualatin.

We are headed down to the memorial on Saturday. Hope to see you there if you knew him.

L-O-V-E

2009-10-02T08:30:00.000-07:00

Had this song in my brain all week...

Log church

2009-09-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not much for log buildings most of the time. I like airy, light filled structures, and I think of log homes as dark and heavy. This church however is a totally different story...coolest log structure ever?

A sadness alone

2009-09-28T08:56:00.000-07:00

It's hard to do the smallest tasks when tears are dripping off the end of your nose and clogging up your eyelashes. I mournfully washed the dinner dishes that way last night until Tim wrapped me in a bear hug. Sobbing, I told him that I wished I was in Montana, with my old FVCT friends, so we could be sad together. It's hard to be so sad by yourself, I told him.

Tim is sad, too, but he is sad for me, and that is helpful, but different. I do appreciate it, but it's not the same as being with someone who is equally heartbroken. I miss the man I saw so rarely. It's like realizing that that a favorite flower from my childhood has gone extinct, only 100 times worse.

Thank you all for your notes, texts, emails and Facebook pings. I love you, too.

See you on the other side

2009-09-27T16:55:00.000-07:00

There are people you think of as your loved ones, people you know you love, people you try to love. And then there are the people you don’t really know you love until they go away or you have an argument or they do something that is bad for their health or dangerous in other ways and you realize just how much you really care about them. And sometimes, these are the very people you have actually tried not to love. To that I say if you are trying not to love someone, you’ve already lost that battle.

Mike was one of the latter for me. I lost that battle years ago. He was talented, and funny, and sweet, and irresistible. He was also offensive, and unhealthy, sometimes rude, and had a penchant for disappearing for months on end without saying goodbye. But he was someone I couldn’t shake, someone who really got under my skin. Once, when I hadn’t seen him for years, I thought I glimpsed him in a store and my heart gave a little treasonous leap of gladness. Another time, when I hadn’t spoken to him in months and he called, I knew it was he by the way he sucked in a breath before speaking, and I was filled with gladness. A hug from him could speak volumes, and always said to me, “We’ll always get through anything, we’ll always know each other.”

We worked on numerous plays together, Mike directing and I assisting him, once me onstage while he directed. I got used to his rhythms, his preferences, his ways, but I never got used to his talent, his jokes, or the sheer force of the way he loved you. He was a man to be reckoned with, one who engendered strong feelings; never one you could push away or forget about. Nor one whom you should. I love him, and I am still shocked by the power of how much I love him.

When I received an email a couple of months ago, informing me that Mike was in the hospital, fighting an illness that was affecting his liver and his kidneys, I was dismayed, but I knew that this man, of all men, was one tough bastard, and I believed he would win. This man, who spent summers for 20 years in Alaska, working a hard cannery job, and winters in Montana, shaping actors out of children of wheat fields and mountain stones, could take care of it. It was what he did: take care of things. I called him; we joked about the illness and talked about seeing each other this winter in Montana.

When I got another email last week with an update, I was devastated. 4 days was the prognosis on Wednesday evening, and so I jumped in the car Thursday morning and was at his bedside before lunchtime. I was shocked at the physical change in Mike, and tried to remember all the tricks he had taught me to control my facial features. Always one for an inappropriate joke to break the tension, Mike accepted my kiss hello and leaned back to survey me. “Those eyes…” he said, squeezing my hand as my eyes betrayed me with their redness. His gaze took the rest of me in. “You know,” he finished. “I always like it when you wear a shirt that shows a little more cleavage.” We laughed, and, despite the sallow skin and emaciated frame, beyond the obvious exhaustion and overwhelming weakness, there he was, decidedly still himself.

I sat with him through the day, leaving just before dinner to give his family a little space with him. I kissed him goodnight and started to tell him goodbye, but he cut me off. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked. “Yes,” I said quickly adjusting my plans. “I will see you tomorrow.” He nodded emphatically and squeezed my hand. “You better.” I smoothed the remnants of his hair away from his forehead and kissed his face again. “I love you, you know,” he said. “I love you, too, you know.” I said.

Friday, he was tired. So tired. He slept a lot more, but was coherent and witty while he was awake, insisting on getting up, sitting in a crowd with all of his visitors while we looked at picture of him and videos featuring his talent shows, smart-ass comments, and the love of friends. I left the room for a moment to wipe my eyes and came back to see him surveying the crowd with a smirk. Mike’s trademark smirk, when so many things about him had changed, was still the same. He sat somewhat apart from the visitors, watching them laugh and talk, his wheelchair standing alone as friends and family crammed together on couches and chairs. I brought a chair in from the kitchen and set it as close to him as I could and sat down. He reached out a hand to me and I held it gently. He raised our hands to his face and pressed mine against his cheek, then to his lips. “All these people.” He said, shaking his head, as though he couldn’t believe they had come from all over to see him one last time. “You are popular.” I said, feeling his 3-day stubble on my skin. He snorted. “Everyone is popular when they are dying.”

The laughter and love buoyed him for a time, but exhausted him after a while, and his brother returned Mike to his bed for a nap. The crowd remained in the living room, still watching videos, still looking through pictures, and now, with Mike out of the room, crying. I slipped into his room and sat with him as he slept, a 3-hour time warp that flashed by, until he awoke with a start, realizing the sun was setting. He squeezed my fingers. “It was a nice day,” he said, and asked me about my life, my husband, if we had kids. We laughed about that, remembering once when he thought he may have created a child, once when I thought maybe I had, celebrating together both times when we found out we hadn’t. We talked about karaoke in Montana, his jazz ballads of choice, the one time he talked me into getting up there, and he asked me how that song went. “L is for the way you look at me,” I crooned. He smiled a rueful smile. I had regretted getting up there, but now I am grateful for that memory. We remembered when for a few more minutes before I reluctantly gave up my seat to another friend who wanted to love him for a little while longer.

Mike got up again once more on Friday, to eat barbecue ribs. We laughed and joked our way through dinner with his family his friends, and I have rarely seen death faced so bravely, so graciously, and with so much love. I took a few last family portraits of him, his sister, brother, mom, dad, and step dad, and then he was wheeled back to bed. “Wait,” he said, and held out his hand to me. I stepped closer and took it, stooping to kiss his forehead, but he turned his face at the last minute and planted one on me squarely on the lips. Mike grinned, pleased, and winked at me. “Are you leaving?” he asked. I shrugged. “I’ll do whatever you want,” I said, and he smirked.

“Goodnight, Mike,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning. I love you, you know.”

“Good night, kiddo,” Mike said. “I’ll see you on the other side. I love you too, you know.”

Saturday morning, I woke up crying, the same way I had gone to sleep. I had dreamt all night the events of the previous day, and felt exhausted, but privileged to have lived that day twice. Mike’s sister called then and said that he had taken a turn for the worse in the night and that Saturday would be limited to family only and thank you for visiting. I hung up with her and cried some more. Tim had joined me the night before, and we decided to head to the beach for the afternoon, a place Mike had always loved.

I woke up this morning in my own bed, with the phone ominously silent. Two phone calls to the Boire residence yielded full voicemail boxes and a knot in the pit of my stomach. Finally, this afternoon, I spoke with Mike’s father.

“We lost him, sweetie,” he said, and I found I was not surprised. “Last night, in the middle of the night, in his sleep.” I murmured the proper words of sorrow and thanks before I hung up, and then I cried again. And again.

The world is a poorer place today. We have lost a great man who was way too young to die. Yet I am richer, for the last few days I got to spend with him, for the moments we remembered, for the laughter we shared. I’ll try now to hold onto that, and let go of the wish for one more day with him.

Goodnight, Mike. I love you, you know.

Little Jackasses

2009-09-24T08:38:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid summer was, of course, my ultimate favorite time of the year. If I could have, I would have changed my birthday to be in the summer and spent every moment in the summer time, it was just that good. One of the things I loved about it was the giant green canvas tent that we would set up in the backyard. It was big enough for all six of us kids and a couple of cousins besides. We would fill it with mattresses and sleeping and bags and spend every night out there in the summer, all six of us, side by side like sausage links in a pan.

Without parents close enough to mediate disputes, we learned how to come to our own resolutions and deal with our own disagreements. When Michone steam rolled us all one night just as we were falling asleep, I dealt with it in a way that shocked her into silent giggles. I dredged up every swear word in my 8 year old vocabulary and hurled them at her like shoes. She lay across me, weak with laughter, as my blue streak tapered off, and then the tent unzipped, and mom loomed large in the doorway, silhouetted by the light she had left on in the kitchen window.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" she asked me in a terrifyingly calm but large voice. I said nothing and tried to disappear.

"WE DON"T SWEAR IN THIS FAMILY AND YOU KNOW IT," she started. And from there mom launched into a lecture that would have done any activist English professor proud, enumerating all the ways to convey what you feel without swearing and how four letter words were demeaning and unintelligent. A torrent of "why's" and "you know better's" washed over me. And she was right. I had never let it rip like that. But it was just so satisfying!

Gradually, as the torrent trickled away, mom became aware of a whispering, and as she decreased in volume, it became clear that Michone, still draped across me, had her face buried in her hands and was fearfully whispering a mantra over and over again.

"Shit, shit shit," she said quietly. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit shit."

Mom stared at her, hard. And we all paled at my sister's unconscious exposure of all of us as a pack of swearers. We looked to Mom, dreaded the consequences, and waited.

Mom's face twitched, and straightened, and twitched again. Then she dissolved into giggles, which turned into guffaws, and then whoops of laughter. She sank to the edge of the mattress and laughed and laughed while we watched her in appalled silence.

Abruptly, she pulled herself together and stood up, stepping out of the tent, and she paused just before she zipped the door closed and eyed us all with a twinkle.

"Goodnight you little jackasses," she said. And then she was gone.

the errant shoe

2009-09-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I decided, with a couple of the girls from work, to splurge and buy tickets in the first balcony at the Paramount to go see Wicked. The downside of planning so far ahead is that plans change and things come up, and one of the girls couldn't make it. Tim decided he would go with me and the other girl (who was bringing a friend), and so we bought the extra ticket, too. We had fantastic seats, three rows up in the first balcony, dead center, just high enough to see over all the heads of the people in front of us, catch a glimpse of the orchestra, and be face to face with the action. Perfect.

I rushed home from work on Wednesday to find that Tim had made dinner and changed into dress pants, a button down shirt, and a tie, ready for an evening of musical theater. I dressed up in a skirt, put on my extra sexy, slightly painful, slingback heels and pulled my hair up.

We made our way into the theater, which always makes me feel a little thrill with its gilded chandeliers and mirrored walls. The crowd pulsed with mid-week luxury and we all wended our way to our velvet covered seats. The lights went down and the curtains went up and the dragon hovering over the stage puffed out the first cloud of ferocious, magical, smoke, and my shoes began to pinch my toes.

Wicked was wonderful, with gorgeous sets and fantastical costumes, and the performers were just brilliant, but by the end of the first act all I could think about was just how much my left shoe was pinching my toes, and I put my right foot against the heel of my left shoe and began to wiggle. I wiggled and squirmed my foot to the edge of my shoe and in one irreversible moment pushed a little too hard. The shoe went flying and bumped down a 2 foot drop to land under the seat in front of me. I began to reach for it, but then realized that would place my head very near the lap of the woman to my right, whom I did not know. If I lean the other way, my head would be squarely in Tim's lap, and then what would happen when we got thrown out for indecency?

I poked Tim.
"Tim," I whispered. "Can you get my shoe?"
"Your shoe?" he asked.
"Yes!" I said. "It is under the seat in front of me. Can you reach it?"

He didn't require an explanation, but leaned gingerly down and groped under the seat carefully.
"I can't reach it," he said. "You'll have to ask her to hand it to you."

I was mortified at this suggestion and my brain spun furiously to come up with another course of action.

"No," I said. "No way. When they get up reach over and grab it."

Intermission was upon us, and I knew the couple in front of us would likely go get a drink or use the facilities, so he could get my shoe before anyone was the wiser. The lights came up. We waited. And waited. The woman in front of me didn't stand up and neither did I. However, everyone else in my row did. I was next to Tim, who was on the very end, and people were beginning to stare at us hard. We were blocking 50 women from the bathroom. I sighed.

"You'll have to ask her for it," Tim said again.
With resignation, I tapped the woman on the shoulder.
"Excuse me." I said.
No response.
I tapped again.
"Excuse me."
Startled, the woman turned to face me. "Yes?"
"Um," I said. Gulp. "Um, I think my show is under your seat. Can you please hand it to me?"
"Oh!" She looked genuinely alarmed.
She reached an arm under he seat and fished around for a moment pulling my shoe out triumphantly.

And then, she waved it above her head.

And said in a very loud voice, "HERE IT IS!" She handed it back to me with a grin.

"Thank you," I whispered, as though trying to compensate for her very loud announcement. The people in the row who were waiting for me had begun to chuckle. Swiftly, I replaced my shoe, stood up, and strode out with as much dignity as I could muster. I heard the woman who had handed me my shoe giggling uncontrollably behind me as I walked way.

Waves of the future: Underwater Ads

2009-09-15T08:26:00.001-07:00

A few weeks before we moved, perhaps six weeks ago now, we saw this boat out in front of our old house, driving in circles. Every turn it made caused it to belch out clouds of basement level crud from its exhaust, and we sipped our Gin and Tonics in the sun, wondering if we should report them to the EPA. Turns out it was a mapping expeditions, looking for 40's era underwater billboards.

Watch the short video below to see what the West Seattle based crew is up to.

The power of blogging

2009-09-14T10:50:00.000-07:00

I have been reading numerous blogs lately (my RSS boasts that I skim over 47 blogs) that have been addressing the readers directly. They don't talk to "Internet" anymore, like Dooce does and most people used to, but instead reference "Blogosphere." One more word that has entered the English language via technology, and it is new.

A few years ago I worked at a creative agency, primarily creating branding from logos up. It was fascinating, creative, fast-paced and challenging. Like all agencies that cycle through a large number of clients, we eventually created work for a major trouble maker who did not want to pay the fee agreed (and signed) upon. I remember one of the principals getting really frustrated in the beginning of the debacle and shouting out, "FINE! You want to be that guy, do it! But be forewarned, I will blog that shit into the atmosphere!"

In 2007 that was a laughable warning in most circles. Today? Not so much. We know now the power of blogging, the far reaching consequences of the impressive, permanent cloud of words we leave on the internet. Even new job seekers are warned not to EVER post anything ANYWHERE online that might be sen by a potential employer. Facebook? Be nice!

Cracks in the sky

2009-09-11T16:21:00.000-07:00

I found this on this blog.

I've had this story typed up for a while, waiting for a suitable interval to blog it. I wrote it for Dad's birthday, August 29th.

My dad was gone a lot when I was a kid, as I remember it, working two jobs at a time and traveling in the state to fight fires to pay the mortgage. Most of my memories are of my mother from that time, being the ages of perhaps 5 to 9, but I do remember my dad telling us fabulous stories that he would simply make up on the spot, off the top of his head. He would spin yarns about dragons that shimmered in the sky, reflecting all the colors of the rainbow, about frogs that lived on lily pads and brought about the creation of Santa Claus, and about the northern lights.

Sleeping deeply one night, as only a child who has never experienced the cruelty and worries of the world can, I was awoken by my dad, shaking me gently and whispering my name. He woke all six of us up this way, and led us outside where we laid on the cool summertime grass and watched the Milky Way disappear under green and purple bruises: the Northern Lights. We stared at the sky for a long time as it alternated in streaks of color and pin-pricks of light, like a dysfunctional, celestial, waveform. Mom brought us blankets and as we were bundling up, dad began to speak.

"Most of the time the sky simply looks like the sky," he began. "It is blue or it is black, with stars. Sometimes you can see a planet, and scientists think they know what is out there. We are seeing the stars, and the planets, but the dark curtain behind it is something that the scientists don't know about yet. It isn't infinity or empty space. It is a dark wall, high and broad, made of nearly impenetrable, ageless rock. It surrounds Heaven, and hides from us the glory that would be too much for us to take."

I watched the lights subside and the stars come back, a foreground of diamonds on the raven-feather color of the ageless wall, wondering how dad knew so many things.

He went on, "But sometimes, on certain nights of the year, all of heaven gets together to celebrate. They celebrate souls who have joined them after full and good lives; they also celebrate new babies that have been born to good and kind families. On these nights they turn on a glittering gold light that floods the city and reflects the gold of the streets and the inside of the walls, and it shimmers with their happiness. Sometimes, depending on what they are celebrating, they add other colors to it, red and pink and purple and green. Even blue. The light you see now, that we call the northern lights, is really the celebration seeping through the tiny cracks in the ageless wall that surrounds Heaven."

It was a magical story, and I believed I could see the top of the wall, where the light spilled over it, pouring the gyrating luminescence into the universe.

I've thought of this story so many times since then. I thought of it the night my childhood best friend died, and I stood in the dark, watching for the Aurora Borealis. I thought of it the nights before my wedding, watching the dancing green haze at a warm Montana lake. And I think of it every year on Dad's birthday.

Happy belated birthday, Daddy. Thank you for the stories. I love you.

Remembrance

2009-09-11T16:13:00.000-07:00

I don't want to post depressing pictures or go into a monologue, but if you guys want to join me and a group of others in remembrance, please light a candle tonight at 9:11 p.m.

I remember sitting in my mom and dad's living room eight years ago, clasping hands with Tim and crying together as we watched the towers fall. Let's light a candle for the victims and , most of all, their families.

Electronic page NY Times

2009-09-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

Click on US and here it is!!!

Audio version of the NY Times Article

2009-09-07T21:15:00.000-07:00

Check out the A/V here. Awesome. Some cool photos and dad says, "Do I really talk that slow?" No, he doesn't mostly, but there are times when he slides into this Garrison Keillor thing...

FAMOUS: my old man

2009-09-07T20:49:00.000-07:00

I know this is tiny, but if you click on it you can read it.

My dad just called me, and I should be posting this on his page (technical difficulties, it'll be up tomorrow) but MY DAD IS IN THE NEW YORK TIMES!!! THAT'S RIGHT!!!!!

Check him out here, in a an article called "From a Porch in Montana, Low Power Radio's Voice Rises." It's a fantastic article and really captures his vibe in the audio/visual portions.

BOOYAH!!!!!!!

Daddy, I'm so proud of you I think I actually just busted a button (though that could have been the brownies and Prosecco. MMmm). You deserve the best of anything and everything and it's about time you got a little love. Good to know the Old Grey lady still has some taste left.

I love you.

Tune in to listen to my pop's station at www.montanaradiocafe.org.

A moment to pause and breathe

2009-09-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

Twice Baked Almond Croissant, from the Bakery Nouveau site

Bakery Nouveau, from their site

Yesterday was a grueling day of removing sod, putting in plants, catching up on deferred yard maintenance, sorting books to give to goodwill, sorting trash for a dump run, building a bookshelf, organizing the basement, and collapsing in exhaustion. This morning my complaining back woke me up at 6:30, creaking and protesting, and I hied it down to the backyard to sit in a sprinkle of sparkling raindrops while the Bromine scented steam escaped and the 104 degree water eased my aches. Tim woke up and made coffee while I hit Bakery Nouveau for what has become our Sunday morning ritual Apricot Danish and Cherry Almond Croissant. If you are in Seattle and have never trekked out to West Seattle to make a Bakery Nouveau pilgrimage, you are really missing out. Do go soon. I watched the counter guy, Shea, put out fresh baguette's and they were irresistible. I bought one and tore off a hunk to savor before I made it out the door. It was like a bit of the body of Paris in my hand, steaming, inviting, delectable.

I meandered home, the slight sprinkle escalating to a downpour, and opened the door to the warm embrace that is the scent of coffee in the morning. We devoured our pastries and planned our day, and I began to wash the dishes absentmindedly. Unfortunately, absentmindedly is not the way to wash freshly sharpened knives, and now I am waiting for my finger to stop bleeding with an ache in the bottom of my gut. It really is prohibitive when I have to keep my hand elevated but I want to finish setting up house. And typing this is taking forever!

We are still planning to have a barbeque tomorrow, though it may be largely in doors. Seriously, come by if you are around. Leave me a message or comment and I will get you the address.

Seattle Flash mob

2009-09-01T07:44:00.000-07:00

A flash mob is like a flash flood of people who all come together quickly, seemingly randomly. and perform some sort of art or dance or something (sometimes just people with no pants). This happened all over the world Saturday, from Trafalgar Square to Pioneer Square, right here in Sea-town. It was to celebrate Michael Jackson's 51st birthday and mourn his passing on the day he was finally to be laid in the grave (which I gather was postponed again). Imagine if this had been going on before he died?!

Thoughts from Sparrow upon moving house (again)

2009-08-28T08:13:00.000-07:00

Sparrow submitted to me a letter, or rather, his attorney did, petitioning to stay in our current location, with our current neighbors as the couple upstairs. It was effective in communicating to me that he does not now, nor ever in the future will he; want to move from our house to any other location, regardless of where that might be.

I post it here for your review.

Msrs. Dog and Cat, Attorneys at Law

Specializing in Herd Breed Distress

Seattle, WA

August 20, 2009

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson,

On behalf of my client, one Mr. Captain Jack Sparrow Twin Cedars Highlander Marie Hutchinson (herein referred to as Client), I do herby request that you cease and desist all efforts to remove him and yourselves from the current residence you share, and continuing to reside in said location. Please also swiftly return all possessions already removed and unpack them from their boxes.

In addition, my Client asks that you petition on his behalf the upstairs neighbors, one Mr. Karl, one Mrs. Rachael, and one Uncle Andreas, to stay in their current location forever. It is his wish that, “Sheep stay together.” Please take into consideration his extreme distress at the removal of said neighbors from aforementioned premises. It will inconvienence him to herd humans in two or more locations. He asks that you consider this adequately before moving forward with your decision to vacate the premises and move into separate abodes.

His complaints about the new house are as follows:

It smells weird.
His food has not yet been relocated and he does not want to be hungry. Ever.
The fence is too tall and he can only jump it in one area.
He doesn’t know the neighbors.
The strange dog next door growled at him.
There is a cat that enters the yard unmolested.
The basement is a little scary.
You won’t let him climb on the roof, even though he could get there from the bedroom window really easily.
The hot tub makes scary noises.
That wasn’t his ball.
The bushes have someone else’s pee on them.
You keep going back and forth and he is not sure where he is supposed to feel comfortable any more.
The windows don’t look out at the same view as the current house.
He doesn’t want to be left behind.

Please address all complaints with me directly on my Client’s behalf, or call the number provided to set up a meeting with a mediator so that we may reach a speedy and adequate resolution on this matter.

Thank you for your time.

Msr. Dog, Attorney at Law

P.S. My Client wishes me to stress the following: PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND, PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND.

We spoke with Sparrow about the letter (and where he got the money for a lawyer) and we have come to some resolution. We will still be moving, but he will come with us, and his food will, too. As a concession, he will get more treats and be allowed in the yard alone. Oh, and he will get some new tennis balls and sticks. And WE WILL NOT LEAVE HIM BEHIND as long as he stops spending money on attorneys and starts sharing the wealth.

Moving on...

2009-08-24T15:57:00.000-07:00

We spent the weekend moving everything that we don't need desperately this week. Which included all of my boxes of books, everything from the bookshelf (as much as I'd like to believe I desperately need them, I guess 5 days without won't kill me), christmas decor, outdoor gear, gardening supplies, etcetera. And furniture. It was so much easier to move than last time, when we were wedging boxes into the Toyota and the Hyundai. Tim's boss lent us his Dodge Sprinter. You could live in one of those things fairly comfortably! We are exhausted, but excited, and the new cottage is beautiful. We are planning a Labor day barbeque, so if you are in the area plan to stop by!

European Americana

2009-08-21T08:35:00.000-07:00

I came across Tim Irving's work today on his blog, StyleMed, and on his Etsy site. His work, taken all over Europe, is striking and I love the Holga-esque borders and distressing. His fair pictures are my favorite, and make my think of this book called Geek Love, set in the freak show carnivals of the early part of the 1900s.

In fact, I'm so in love with his work that I think I will go back and process some of my own images similarly and see if I can effect a style homage. Right after I buy the above print.

Seriously, do take a look at his blog. A little beauty to bear up your soul.

Happy Friday! Oh, and we get the keys to the cottage today. It needs a name. I think ClamSong Cottage is good, but that is the name of an historic beach cottage that used to be on Alki and Tim doesn't want to "recycle." Any ideas?

Find love today

2009-08-20T10:41:00.000-07:00

These come from one of the blogs I check daily, Please Sir.

And I love the question at the end of the post: Where will you find love today?

Go. Love. Be loved.

A very grown up house

2009-08-14T08:25:00.000-07:00

I think we assume a lot about people by their houses. When we lived in a 350 square foot apartment we most certainly appeared to be the broke college students we were (or I was, while Tim worked his butt off to put me through). When we moved to our current house, which is the bottom of a duplex on the water, our status clearly said "Renter, but one who is choosing to be here, now."

Today we sign the lease on a new house, one that is a mile from our current place and still across the street from a park the fronts on the water. However, it is a much more grown up place than any we have ever lived in. Built in 1908, it is a classic Seattle bungalow/craftsman, and reminds me a little of my parent's house, but probably only due to era, not really style.

Here is the owner's description: Ultra charming beach cottage with formal entry, very large living room with box beam ceilings and woodburning fireplace. Formal dining room. Kitchen with built in breakfast nook. 2 bedrooms upstairs, 1 average, 1 small. New tub and shower in bath. There is an unfinished basement for laundry and storage. View of sound from front porch, entry, living room (partial) and upstairs.

We move in September 1. I am still sad about moving out of our home, but this does salve the wound a bit, don't you think?

August rain

2009-08-13T18:06:00.001-07:00

I am cozied up alone, backing up wedding photos and processing others, in front of a twinkling fire. It is pouring rain, and the stomach of the heavens is roaring out great, grumbling thunder rolls. The puddles of freshwater sit like eggs on top of the cookie dough of Puget sound. I was reveling in the overheated dryness of summer, and I am not ready for this winter weather, but the fire is inviting, and perhaps, if this is only an interlude, it is a good incentive to remain inside and work. Let's hope it is a temporary glory of moisture.

We are trying to find a new place to live now, coming up on the deadline that our landlords gave us, and all I can think right now is how much I love where I love. How much I don't want to move.

Midnight View of Seattle from Rockaway Beach on Bainbridge Island

2009-08-12T11:37:00.001-07:00

Midnight View of Seattle from Rockaway Beach on Bainbridge Island
Originally uploaded by Mantis of Destiny

Beautiful. From the Seattlest Flickr Pool.

Dog days of summer

2009-08-12T11:24:00.000-07:00

The week after we got home from Montana and Shooting Chelsea and Luke's wedding, we were really tired, but really looking forward to Chelan, and spending some time on the lake with Jeannette, Collin, Jennifer, and Jeff. I love hanging out with all of them, and I'm so proud of those girls and the women they have become and the relationship choices they are making, and I'm glad I've had the opportunity to know them better the last 2 years. I know, that sounds little mommy-ish and condescending, but I really am proud of my extraordinary family.

I took Sparrow to Weather Watch park that week, when I got home at 6. It was still 100 degrees (July 29th was the hottest day on record ever in Seattle, 103 degrees!) and I waded in up to my waist, the furthest I've ever been in Puget Sound. It was like when you drink coffee and then take a drink of ice water and your teeth ache; I thought my leg bones were going to explode. It was the first time all summer that Alki has been relatively quiet. I think it was even too hot for the homies to go cruisin', and Sparrow and I reveled in the buzz of the heat and the lap of the waves.

Our neighbor, had her house broken in to while she was swimming with the homies (don't ask) the other night around 1:30 am. I think it was one of the kids, as they only stole her TV, Laptop, cash from her purse, and her cell phone. There were other things of value that they either didn't recognize or were too hard to move. She woke us up at 1:49 to use our phone to call the cops. Sparrow didn't like that one bit. Grumpy!

Since that super hot week, we have been to Chelan and shot a wonderful, fun, family wedding, and played in the lake, spent a week working 14 hour days at a photo shoot for my day job, a weekend trying to recover and editing photos, and now it is Wednesday, halfway through August, and it is raining. Hard.

Whew! No more recaps. We'll be back to normally scheduled blogging soon.

What now?

2009-08-05T17:09:00.001-07:00

see more Fail Blog

I especially love the memo line!

Apple tablet?!!!

2009-08-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

from Blurbomat

This would be so awesome, if it is true. The blogosphere is buzzing about the possibility of an Apple tablet coming out sometime in November, and I think it would be amazing to have a touch interface (like an iPhone) for the actual screen of the tablet. It would be especially awesome for graphic design/illustration and photo editing. Please be true, please be true, please be true... Read about the "why this would be great" here.

The sticky wicket

2009-08-03T20:07:00.000-07:00

I love a good turn of phrase, like the things my grandpa used to say, that my mom still quotes.

"That ski hill is steeper than a cow's face," she told me last winter.

"God willin' and the creek don't rise," he said to me when I was a kid. It took me days to figure out what he meant.

"Higher than a cat's back," mom said, referring to a teenager who was obviously baked.

Janet left me a comment on the adoption/kids post I wrote last week. She said that she got the not having kids part, but that suggesting people adopt was a "sticky wicket." I loved it, and I don't disagree. It is presumptuous. You all do what you want, but I get invasive questions, and I give invasive answers, it only seems fair.

6 years

2009-08-02T19:46:00.000-07:00

We just pulled back in to town from two days in Lake Chelan, shooting my cousin Andy's (and his beautiful wife Rachael's) wedding. It was really fun, but T and I both went into the weekend fighting colds and (me) a headache. Thank god for proper doctors and good migraine meds. Say what you will about large pharmaceutical companies, but god bless 'em, every one, for discovering migraine medication that works for me. I was headache free for the wedding, and it was a beautiful, fun event. It was the first cousin wedding we have shot (I hope there will be many more) and was an incredibly positive experience. I'm so grateful I have the family I do.

We are exhausted and unpacking and heading to bed ASAP so we can work tomorrow (it is 7:30) and the rest of the week. I called in sick Friday so I could combat the headache and be able to shoot yesterday, and I'm glad I did, though that means craziness at work this week...

And in the midst of all of that, today is our 6th anniversary. I watched Tim tip his hat back and shoot the ceremony, reception, family photos, bride and groom, and more reception last night with confidence and ease, laughing with my overwhelmingly gigantic family comfortably, and I was awash with a sense of pride and relief that I'd been lucky enough to find such a man. Sometimes I feel like he is just to good to be true and I might wake up one morning to find it was all a dream. (And then how do I go on?) But I keep waking up to find him next to me, strong, sweet, handsome, skillful at everything he does, endlessly patient, and smelling like the wind on the Sound. I am the luckiest girl in the world. We'll celebrate next weekend, and I am looking forward to it, whatever it is.

Thanks for marrying me, Tim. I'll love you forever.

raspberries and cream

2009-07-29T09:17:00.000-07:00

From Five Spice Duck

All I can think about right now are (is?) raspberries and cream. I'd like a big bowlful, and to sit here in front of my giant screen and eat it spoonful by endless, delicious spoonful. It's that time of the summer, and I remember picking raspberries with my sister at the garden where she worked as a teenager, dodging biting flies and yellow jackets, swatting at mosquitos so persistent and mean they make Joan Rivers at the Oscars look like Emily Dickinson. And then we would have buckets full of the ripest, most mouthwatering berries, hot, freshly removed from the sweltering summer sunshine, and we'd douse them with fresh, cold cream, creating thunderclaps in our cereal bowls.

As much as I enjoy the pestilential blackberries that take over your house while you are sleeping in Seattle, they don't compare to a Montana summer raspberry.

Because they all became mommy bloggers

2009-07-27T18:12:00.001-07:00

I'm going to preface this, as I do most posts that are potentially offensive to those who like to think that all humans think as you do, I don't love you less because you don't choose to live your life like me. I may be a little exasperated with your choices and would not choose the same, but I love you and I'm glad your little rugrat is here. Probably.

I was driving home from work, thinking about Heather Armstrong. Let me clarify: I was driving home from work spending mental space on a woman I've never met who lives in Utah and wondering what kind of antidepressant drug mix was enabling her to be a good mom to a brand new infant when I know all about how she ended up in the psyche ward last time she had a baby.

Why?

I was reading Heather's blog (Dooce.com) and then I had to run out to the printer's, and while I was driving there, I heard a show on NPR about the Blogher conference, an annual conference for women bloggers that has largely turned into a mommy blogger get together. Mommy bloggers are women who write online about their experience raising children. The reporter brought up Armstrong repeatedly, as she is considered to be one of the foremost mommy bloggers who wasn't famous before she started (#26 on Forbes top 50 mommy bloggers), and I thought, "Great. I read mommy blogs."

The thing is, I read Armstrong's site long before she was a mommy, back when she was getting "Dooced" in LA, (fired for blogging about work) and before she married Jon. Long before she reproduced. Likewise, I read other blogs that were by/about courageous 20- or 30-something women, making their way bravely in the search for career, love, and the right pair of shoes. Now, these women have become mothers. I keep reading them, skimming over the ick factor posts about birth and pregnancy and sick kindergartners, because they are still smart women, still searching, still making their way. And we can all use a little solidarity with a sister, amen. But then today she wrote about how she and 40 other people were in the room while her friend was giving birth and how she had a great view of the head crowning and EW EW EW EW EW!!!! Is there no shame? Is there no privacy? Is there no sense?

Isn't there, somewhere out there, a contingent of women like me? That's vague, I know, but I feel like there has to be a group of women who believe in being women with out the biological oppression that requires them to throw common sense and logical thinking to the wind and procreate because they are turning 30 or really want to see a child with "his eyes." (Blech, give me a break.) Where are the women who do feel complete without adding another person that they don't have time for to an already overloaded life and relationship? Is there anyone out there who is complete without the experience of becoming a combination 9-month test tube and fetish with a science/porn show at the end? Am I seriously the only woman who think this overcrowded world needs another one of anyone like it needs another Pacific Garbage Patch?

How about an uprising of the non-mommy bloggers?

Possibly I am feeling this way because I just spent 4 days in Montana, where women my age routinely have 10 year olds baking bread in the kitchen, and I was asked by no less than 7,479 people when we will be having kids. I smile and say "Oh, we aren't." and then I quickly change the subject because the person who asked this horribly invasive and non-of-your-goddamn-business question (want to know how my sex life is too? That's basically what you're asking!) looks horrified and, on more than one occasion, begins to well up with misplaced sympathy for the poor girl who doesn't value nature's greatest gift. I often want to follow it up with what I really think, but I would alienate the entire population of, well, people I know, and I do love those people.

Yes, I know that domestic adoption is horribly complicated, and I do know people who have lost their baby up to a year after adoption because that's the risk you take in the great USA. I also know that a typical non-domestic adoption costs around $20,000. I'm not saying it's not hard. I think the entire system is flawed and needs to be changed drastically. In fact, I think insurance should require home evals for biological parents before they approve any bills, just as you have to have home visits for adopting and for getting a puppy. I also think they should drug screen and credit check before you are allowed to breed, just like they do for adoptions. And I think that insurance should pay for adoptions. Just like they do for biological babies. But I know that isn't going to happen anytime soon. Why? Because it's free to breed, but need is difficult to address. Because people think it's their right to have a child with their eyes. Should it be? I firmly believe it should not. Vehemently. It isn't even a "right" to drive a car. But have a child? Be a parent? Shape a life? Get a license for that thing!

This digresses into government in our lives and I can feel the rebellion rising in Montana as I write this. Well, suck it. I think humans need to be governed. We do a terrible job on our own (Somalia, anyone? Rwanda? Darfur?). Effective government is about the safety, health and well being (physical, emotional, mental, and financial) of it's citizens. We can't keep filling up the earth and expect it to take the trash we generate, the war we create, and the pollution we seem to thrive on. You can't even talk on a phone and drive for god's sake. But you can breed without restrictions? DOES ANYONE ELSE FIND THAT CRAZY?

And yes, mom. I'm glad we're all here, too. There's no sense in closing the barn door after the horses got out, or however that goes. I'm not saying put anyone back. But you can't miss someone who never was.

What about the nobel laureates who will never be born? Don't you think that an existing child, put into the right family, taken out of a war zone or a meth lab or a brothel can become a nobel laureate? We humans are marvelously resilient. Give a kid a chance.

Whew. Anyone still there? Well, it's a nice empty room.
And, hey: now you know. Nice to meet you.

wildlife on parade

2009-07-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Logan Pass, Glacier park. Click to make huge.

War with mosquitos

2009-07-24T08:22:00.000-07:00

We are in Montana, and I haven't recently processed any images, so this post will be naked.

We spent yesterday in Glacier with Krista (my best friend from my angsty, horrible years), her husband Jason, and their adorable 1 year old son, Jonah. It has been over 5 years since I saw Krista, which is a long time not to see you best friend- maid of honor- the one who knows your humiliations and inside jokes from when you were 13, and since neither one of us really likes talking on the phone, we had a lot to say. We did a short hike at the top of Logan Pass, filled each other in on our past years of heartbreak and drama and love and triumph and health, and we were on our way back, look at the trail and the view, going "I don't think we came up this way."

Yes, in Glacier, we didn't even see the scenery! But it was good, so good, to be there with them (and Tim, but I sort of feel like I don't have to add that because he is me and I am him and it's only when he is not there that I am not really there), and I feel like when you come off a long road trip and take a hot shower and everything is new again and you can go on. Only, emotionally.

I missed you, Krista. REALLY.

I took some pictures of the park, and the Wendles, and this deer that was seriously less than 5 feet from my lens! Awesome! You'll see them tomorrow. And then we fought a pitched battle with some mosquitos who may have actually been flying monkeys in disguise and were trying to carry Jonah off to the Wicked Witch's castle. But we saved him and came home, but not before getting a flat tire a mile and half away from mom and dad's. BMW, I love you. The tools were all where they were supposed to be, the jack worked well and was easy to use and my spare tire? IS AN ACTUAL TIRE! Not a dinky donut! 7 minutes, and we were on the road again.

So today we are getting our heads in wedding shooting mode, gearing up for Luke and Chelsea's wedding tomorrow, and I'm really excited. I really like shooting weddings, which is only natural for a girl who has been a guest at no less than 32 or more weddings.

And if you see pictures of Ed Harris on Facebook with me tagged in them, don't ask.

Web cam picture of the day

2009-07-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

From St Mary's in Glacier park. Webcam!

Toma Leche

2009-07-15T14:07:00.000-07:00

I think these princess ads for milk are beautiful and entertaining– a far cry from Brooke Shields in a milk mustache!

Tim Clark beaches

2009-07-15T08:02:00.000-07:00

Tim Clark is actually an interior design photographer, but I really like this shot of his the best! It's in his "native woods" section.

Re-vamping old memories

2009-07-12T16:02:00.001-07:00

Yesterday i spent some time pulling old photos to print, and realized that I have learned so much about processing images in the last year. I re-edited a couple and I love how they turned out. I don't have time to write much, so I may explain more later, because I am working today! (Yes, for my weekday job.) So suffice it to say that my philosophy of photography has changed DRAMATICALLY in the past 3 months. I look at it now as much more of an art, and less of a journalistic documentation. And it is amazing how much more truly my images match my memories or imagination!

This one is heavily "tone-mapped" to make it match my summer light imaginations.

This one is minimally light enhanced. The human eye deals with dark/light interchange better than the digital lens, so adjustments are often required to match what you see.

Also minimally enhanced in the same way as the one above. Also, the color in the boats was brightened and saturated more, as the sun washed it out more than I remembered it being.

That's all, just a little excitement over what I hope might be skill/artistic growth and a little art-self understanding.

Summer solstice parade

2009-07-09T15:39:00.000-07:00

This year's Solstice parade in Fremont was smaller than usual, and the floats that did take part were a little less elaborate. However, it was no less fun, and was, surprisingly, sunny and warm!

Naked bikers

There were probably 200 naked bike riders this year.

There was also this "Rio" themed float.

Beautiful women.

Also the requisite gods.

I hope you are all having a very lovely summer.

Mediocre

2009-07-08T09:08:00.000-07:00

How to get mediocre work from an artist via Sparky Firepants
It’s actually pretty easy to get awesome artwork from a professional graphic designer, animator, or illustrator. In fact, it’s so easy that I can sum it up in just two steps:

Tell the pro what you want.
Accept the result.
If you hired a pro, then they’ll probably work with you to tweak a few things and correct any errors. Otherwise, accept it.

Oddly enough it takes more steps to get mediocre design. It’s much more complicated. Are you with me? Here’s how to get your crappy art:

Make sure the artist follows all those rules you read about in your Graphic Design for Dummies book. Don’t let them get away with bending any rules.
You loved the artist’s portfolio. That style, it just spoke to you. You can just see your project in that style. Now… change it. Why shouldn’t you have your say?
Change your mind. A lot. Better if it’s in the final phases. If you change your mind early it still might wind up awesome. Don’t risk it!
Ask your sister what she thinks about your branding, identity, and layout. She just took that scrapbooking class. She’s practically an expert.
Assemble a team of non-design experts to comment on design elements. Stick rigidly to their suggestions, even if they don’t make sense.
If you need it in August, ask for it by Monday morning. Then drag out the approval phase three months. You’ve got plenty of time, but why share that knowledge? You need to control artists, they just don’t have those time management skills like the rest of us.
Make sure everything jibes with your focus groups. Especially that orange text. It might have to be a shade darker to keep the teen crowd. Not too dark!
Ignore the advice of the artist. I mean, who has time for that shit? Just fucking make our changes and stop thinking already, right? Jeez.
Suggest some changes. Make sure they’re ambiguous enough so you can tell your boss it’s not your fault. Stupid artists.
That’s it, you’re done! By now your design, illustration, or animation should be flat, homogenous, and pretty okay.

If it’s awesome, edgy, different than anything else out there, and completely original, then you must have skipped a step. Go back and review everything.

Paris says goodbye

2009-07-07T19:20:00.000-07:00

For those of you who somehow, inexplicably missed it, today was Michael Jackson's public memorial at Staples Center in LA. The last piece before the closing prayer was his daughter Paris, telling people how much she loved her dad.

How incredibly heartbreaking is that?

Where the Wild Things are

2009-07-07T14:32:00.000-07:00

Out October 16, 2009. Can't wait.

English drinking games

2009-07-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

Near our house there is a "pub" called Beveridge Place Pub (I say "pub" because they don't serve food, and I think that violates the English definition). They have 200 kinds of beer, a bevy of local wines, and offer a binder full of take out and delivery menus from nearby restaurants. When Charis and Pete were here a couple of weekends ago we ended up there, after an afternoon of "tennis" (a poor imitation of Tim's elegant game on Charis' and my part) at the Lowman Beach court.

We ordered some Thai pizza from a parlor a few doors down and played Skittles while we waited, sipping dark, savory, Belgium Trappist beers. When I explained to mom what the game of Skittles is – sort of a cross between miniature tether ball and bowling – she said, "Oh, I know what Skittles is. We had a game board in my house as a kid." Yes, my mom played English drinking games as a child.

We finished the pizza, ordered a second beer, and moved over to the shuffleboard. Charis rocks at this game and soundly kicked my butt. We still had fun. A pleasant side effect of never being good at games is that you really aren't too surprised or disappointed when you lose.

All in all, it was an easy, comfortable weekend with those two, and maybe the best visit we've ever had with Charis!

A lazy Independence day

2009-07-05T10:52:00.000-07:00

We gave ourselves a choice between staying home with Sparrow, who was stoned on sedatives to help him cope with the fireworks, and heading to Bainbridge Island to hang out with Karl and Rachael on their boat.

We chose the boat option, and took Sparrow, stoned, to hang out with us.

He still jumped every time there was a firecracker, but he didn't try to run away and he didn't get the shakes, so I think the drugs worked.

It was lazy to the point of being boring, but I think that may have been just what we needed.

We sat in the sun, slathering on the SPF 60, and drank Sangria with Karl and Rachael. When we ran out of ice and the marina store had none, we wandered up to the brew-pub and talked them into filling our bucket.

The breeze picked up around 4, as it does on the sound in the summer, and the flags on the boat snapped and cracked, tapping out a Morse code of "Happy 4th!"

I have no pictures of the fireworks, although we were surrounded by magical blooms in the sky as we rode the ferry home at 10pm. Instead of shooting them, I held Sparrow's head in my lap and stroked his face, trying to soothe his fear. It was dulled by the drugs, but not taken away, and he snuggled up close, and I tried to impart confidence and calm by willing it into him.

We arrived home to a coterie of teenagers shooting roman candles off our bulkhead, across the street. Sparrow cowered behind my legs as Tim unlocked the door, and he hid in our bedroom closet the moment I took his leash off. I was debating the benefits of telling the hoodlums I was calling the cops versus the cost of the sure-to-ensue vandalism to our house, when an officer in an unmarked car showed up.

"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do'" he began, over his loud speaker. "I'm not going to confiscate all of your fireworks and give you a $500 fine each, as long as you stop what you are doing right now. This is because you are going to make the right choice and leave, and because I am a nice guy. Please do not mistake this niceness for weakness."

The homies packed up and moved out, but we did hear the occasional firecracker throughout the night. Sparrow stayed in the closet the rest of the night, and I think he slept, as he was pretty bouncy this morning.

I thought about our 4th of July celebrations as kids, shooting bottle rockets off at each other over the dirt road, blowing up ant hills, spending all of our saved dollars on Black Cats and Jumping Jacks, only to run out by noon on the 4th. We'd lay back in the evening after a day of cake and ice cream and swimming and playing, to watch our own private, family fireworks display at Aunt Vicki's.

And now I'm the cranky lady with the scared dog, glad when the cops bust up the fun. When did I go from Wonder Years to Cloris Leachman?

Hope you all had a happy safe 4th, full of ice cream.

Summer in the city

2009-07-03T11:31:00.001-07:00

I picked up my computer yesterday. Apple has a flat rate fee if you send your laptop in to the "depot," whatever that is, and so they replaced my screen, the outside housing, the housing around the keyboard, and the keyboard. It cost a couple hundred, but it's like having a new computer!

I've finally started to edit my stack of images, and I picked up some year-old Holga film (forgot what a pain it is to deal with film - expensive, too), and I have a few new shots. Love that Holga look.

WAMU (Chase?) tower

Alki in the summer

Super hugger freaks at the Solstice parade

Many Glacier

Many Glacier lodge boat concessions

My French Cocktail Hour

2009-06-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

I love going out to our local little Italian place, sitting in the grotto before dinner or, lately, on the patio in the sunset, and sipping some prosecco while waiting for a table. It mellows me out from the day and lets me enjoy the process before diving into the flavors of dinner. This is, as it turns out, a very French tradition. I found a site (via the Paris Traveler blog) that lets you click on a map of France and tells you which cocktails are unique to that region, and gives you an idea of what you might enjoy there as an aperitif. It is called My French Cocktail Hour.

Also, crazy cheap airfare to Paris from Seattle on IcelandAir right now!