For the first time in her young life, my daughter will get on a plane unaccompanied today. Needless to say, she is excited beyond measure. She's so excited that she has had her backs packed for days now. I knew this was coming. Over the past year, she has begun to show me in many ways that she is ready to take on life more independently. She takes care of the business of school with no gripes, she takes on responsibilities at home that I used to have to ask her to do. I won’t go as far as to say she empties the dish washer without being told, but at that age, I don’t think I did either. The fact here is that she has spread her wings and not only has has learned to fly, but she is learning to do it with skill. In the past weeks for some reason, her future occupation has been at the forefront of her mind. She teeters on the thought of being a health teacher and a pediatrician. She has become more realistic in the idea that becoming a rock star, while lucrative may seem less viable. I won't put to rest the possibility of a punk rocker stage because the last time we went down to So Ho, I'll admit that she looked a little too comfortable in the city dwelling. While still years away, I can begin to envision the future adult that she may be. For once, I’ll sit back and wait for her to return from her trip in Florida. I won’t be able to capture the pictures of her having a fun adventure. But in reality, this will be something that I’ll have to get used to. My camera won’t capture everything and she’ll have to make her own memories....make her own future. While wishing Godspeed on this type of trip may be overdoing it, I’ll do it anyway :)
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Ahhh the road trip. It’s a time when the four of us have hours to reminisce and casually observe the world around us. We hadn’t left the driveway and Peter had already sent my Ipad into a tale-spin of lewd sounds. Fart sounds to the left of me, fart sounds to the right. Can someone out there tell why there is a fart app and why I have it on my Ipad? The tank is filled up and while we're only away for one night, the road trip may arguably be more important than the destination. Traffic ahead slows us down, but no worries. Chris looks to the left and sees a perfectly coiffed blond sun-glassed wearing babe driving a sparkly clean white BMW 325I. He hands his wedding band to me and says, “duck”. I laugh realizing how he must feel stuck in here with a wife of almost 15 years, a head-phone wearing preteen and a 9 year old boy obsessed with fart sounds. You can almost see the trail of dog hair coming from the well worn Subaru moving along in sharp contrast with the perfect specimen along side us. We are a motley crew. Dj Jazzy Kate is controlling the tunes now, sometimes leading the chorus to this summer’s “it” songs. “Bust a move” comes on and I realize that all I want for my 40th birthday is for my dear husband to serenade this song to me with Kate singing back-up vocals. We enter Rhode Island, and thanks to new gps technology, Chris informs us that we have only 22 minutes left of this little road trip. I feel relieved because now I can give Peter an exact answer to his perennial question, “How much longer”? It would be a miracle if we could ever go on a trip without Peter asking this question. We are lucky to have these little jaunts away from the norm, despite the three ring circus going on in my Subaru. I have no complaints except for the David Lee Roth song, “Jump” over synthesizing the radio waves. Pete wails, “This is torture, I’m car sick, hungry and I’m listening to stupid songs”. Yes, it is a great summer so far. As I may have said a few times before...enjoy the journey.
Nothing is more important to a photographer than light. There are so many ways to manipulate light these days. It can be done in the camera, flash on top of the camera, remotely triggered, through editing, and through extensive studio lighting just to name a few. It is exhausting trying to read up and put into practice the hundreds of ways to get the shot with just the right lighting. Not to mention, it can add up to a pretty penny. Good photographers seek out nice available light because everyone knows that the real deal adds natural beauty to the photo. So when the available light does just what you want it to, a photographer exhales a sigh of relief for fewer steps that need to be taken. Not being a mathematical photographer, I find myself trying to mask my technical weaknesses with finding good use of light. Even with little instant box cameras, it is fun to explore the light were given or not given to try to create artful photos. Remember the movie Poltergeis, when Carol Ann was told not to go into the light because of the inherent dangers? But sometimes the risk is worth it and really cool things happen. For me, Solar flares give the feeling that the subject has been hi-lighted or touched by something greater. It brings importance to the photograph. It makes the miracle come out in the everyday image. Point that Nikon into the light and see what happens. Maybe you’ll find today’s miracle? So during this season of much available light, capture something cool with the light that’s handed to you on a silver platter. You may be surprised by what you may see. All of these were taken while blinded by the light.The headless head shot. Getting a good headshot can define your look and give people the quick view into your personality. I have been practicing these shots on friends, kids, tractors, dogs and cows for a while now. Yesterday, I was given my first to opportunity to do a corporate shoot. I was nervous. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I hadn’t stepped into an office full of well kept suits since my Wall Street days. The night before, I laid out all of my gear on the living room floor. I felt like I was getting ready for the Ironman when missing one crucial piece of equipment could be a game changer. There were little piles of batteries, flash units, light bulbs, and spares of everything required to get the shot. I am not sure who I was kidding but myself as I sat and watched some tutorials to help me get the nuances of corporate photography right. I would have been better off just relaxing and doing some online shopping at Jcrew or even better, falling into the mindless Netflix abyss. I showed up in Farmington, my car, packed to the ceiling with gear. I had no assistant like in the video to put it all together for me...bummer. I walked into the beautiful office and it felt strangely familiar. It brought me back to the days on the trading desk as everyone was dressed beautifully milling about doing financial “stuff”. It’s a world how in some miraculous way, money seems to be made and accrued by somehow moving paper and talking on the phone. It also reminded me that I was once the only employee on the trading desk unable to do fractions in my head despite the suit I wore. That story is for another day. Making money in the traditional sense requires really nice ties. I had almost forgotten who the fancy ties at the mall were really for. With my husband in scrubs every day day, I hadn’t bought one in years. I met the folks one by one and the wall of financial seriousness soon came down. Throughout the shoot, I had flash issues...the remote wouldn’t trigger the flash to illuminate my backdrop. Proof that I should have watched Netflix soon came as the “how to” video didn’t really tell me how to deal with equipment failure as your model patiently waits. There would be no miracle for that, but the clients were so cool, and we just kept chugging along. I love how each model that walks in is distinctly different. It’s like sampling all the ice cream flavors at Baskin Robbins. It’s what makes this job fun for me. But for the client, I realize that for any adult to step into a light filled room with a white backdrop parallels walking into the Twilight Zone. It’s an experience like getting your class photo taken, where you are the deer in the headlight. To pull them away from that, I treat him or her like she is one of the many cows or tractors I have photographed. Tell them they are beautiful as they are and that they are welcome to moo or spew out diesel fumes if they would like to. It’s all relative. So, I hope this genre suits me, even if I rarely wear a suit. There is much to see in this great big world and yesterday it was good to go back to a style of workplace that I once dwelled in. It may not have qualified for an episode of Dirty Jobs, but I came home feeling like Mike Rowe having a newfound insight into the world that some of us rarely see. Now when I walk by the tie rack at Neiman Marcus, I have a renewed appreciation for the people they adorn. Where I started doing head shots. Nothing brings back of the memory my sweet dog Sandia, like the Forth of July. She would spend the entire first week of July cowering under my bed. As I sit here at 10 pm on the 4th, just a few stray bangs and booms linger throughout Connecticut. A wobbling whistle sound may call from a distance, but for canine’s sake, I hope it’s all said and done. Needless to say, dogs across this great nation have tails tucked as they cower in corners, under beds or wrapped around any human that will protect them. For a week now the skies have lit up, building to tonight’s crescendo. These explosions of sorts have deemed our four legged protectors futile in their everyday tasks. While dogs tremble, humans would ohh and ahhh in their approval of the lit sky. Today, the kids would do a rain dance of sorts around the spark spewing TNT. They would beg for more, as the dogs would just beg for it all to stop. But the one thing that would bring humans and dogs together on this great American holiday would be the never-ending stream of....hot dogs(you guessed it). Whether served on a red, white and blue plate or dropped on the patio, we could all relish in their salty deliciousness. In Coney Island today, one brave soul would even go so far as to ingest 62 of them in ten minutes. Perhaps today’s miracle? So… Happy Birthday America! Our forefathers would be proud of our hot dog eating talents. Thank goodness that from this great country has also come the invention of Pepto Bismo. I may not be the first to say this today and certainly wont be the last, but I'm proud to be American.
At the end of the summer, we will celebrate our seventh year in Middlefield. My 30 years of being a New Yorker are quickly becoming a distant memory. The combination of my Italian/Irish genes and New York origins has never really allowed me to slow down and feel relaxed. In this sleepy town, I still rush about. I expect things done quickly and done right. I’ll even confess to jaywalking if there is such thing around here. The memories of New York stay with you, even if they become more distant. Coming through the windows during my Bronx years, I often smelled the wonderful aroma coming from Arthur Avenue. While New York has some truly nasty smells emitting from it, nothing beats the aromatic pleasure of freshly baked semolina bread when the wind blew from the south. Since we have come to Middlefield, on warm summer nights an entirely different smell comes through my window. In our first few days as residents here, we discovered that we were neighbors to a cattle auction house…something you definitely didn’t see in the Bronx. We hadn’t realized this until our third night in the Old Miller House. We were adjusting to life on the prairie. Our 300 year old home came chock full of modern amenities like bee hive ovens and a 18th century loom up in the attic. Not very useful tools for making smoothies, but we would learn to rough it. Kate, my 1st grader had given “Pa” a kiss goodnight and walked through the living room to go upstairs. It was then that she saw a scary shadow through the old window. It wasn’t unheard of for a child to imagine frightful apparitions in a new place to live. When Kate screamed I told her to get a hold of herself and get to bed. She called again, “Mom there is something looking at me right outside the window”. I still didn’t believe her. Finally she grabbed me by the hand and we were both squinting through the dark window trying to see this ghost. Less than 2 feet away we saw the massive horns. Staring strait at us in the pitch black, was a massive bull looking though the window, wishing we would get out of the way so he could watch Sponge Bob on the TV behind us. Now I was the one calling to my husband in disbelief. Needless to say, we opted not to walk the dog that night. For three weeks the bull found his way into our yard, but only after dark. Apparently he was an escapee from the auction house and managed to stay elusive for weeks in the 90 acres across the way. My guess was that he liked watching Sponge Bob through the window. You would expect this in Oklahoma, but Middlefield? When he was finally spotted during daylight directly across the street, we watched the state policemen armed with cheap plastic rope trying to lasso him. This was obviously something they hadn’t been trained in at the police academy, so it was like watching Larry, Moe and Curley. The laugh was on them, but to this day I smile when I think about our first visitor to our home. Whether the view outside your window happens to be of an apartment building with a man that likes to dance in the buff, or of a TV watching bull, the miracle is in the unexpected. This just proves, life is a great show.
Last year as I took a joy ride through Vermont while Chris was out riding his bike, I came across this old car in front of this old garage. I hit the skids and couldn't help but stop. I looked in the back seat and received two sets of eye rolls from my beautiful kids. I armed myself with my camera half expecting a junk yard dog to come charging out to chase me onto the roof of my car. Rather, I was pleasantly surprised by this gentleman. After seeing way too many episodes of American pickers, I have learned that the best thing about these impromptu stops are the people you meet along the way. This man had spent his entire lifetime at Hartman's Wheel Alignment. His father had opened the place back in the 1940's. He welcomed me and the kids into his shop where we saw the miracle of how time has stood still in this place. He had original soda coolers and a cash register that had big numbers sticking out like typewriter keys. I smiled knowing that this little encounter was like finding gold for a sentimental fool like me. I left after 45 minutes with stories of yesteryear swirling in my head. As I pulled out of the driveway, I looked back at the kids and the eye-roll had disappeared. Somehow the kids got it and they too felt content for some reason. Moral of the story, if something catches your eye as your driving along, make the stop, you never know what treasures await.
Around 8 years have passed since we went to our first triathlon at Terramuggus in Marlborough. For those unfamiliar, we have ventured near and far to various races over the years. None though have represented the ceremonial passage of summer like this “little race that could”. We have watched our children grow there. Every summer that we bring them to the race, their shoes are one size larger. I already realize that when old age sets in, this will be one of our fondest family memories based on the fact that the experience has covered every stage of our kid’s growing up years. When the race first began years ago, there were less than 30 of us racing the small roads around Marlborough. Last night’s race swelled to over 250 people leaving little elbowroom on the tiny beach. For the first time last night, I perused the crowd and couldn’t locate my husband or kids in seconds. I think I have always liked the race because it was triathlon without the ego. That’s not so easy to find. The first three through the finish line get a token of appreciation for showing up and random others may have a t-shirt thrown out into the crowd just to entice them a bit. A beer is always pulled from the participant cooler at the end. In the same race, you’ll see Huffy’s placed on a rack next to some$12,000 racing bikes. Even with the fancy bikes, I have learned over time that it truly is the engine that creates the speed, not the machine. Marlborough has a kick-ass playground that anyone kid would envy. Kid’s play in the turrets of the massive structure and cheer on ole mom or dad, as the older counterparts huff and puff their way through the course. Our family tradition had grown to visiting “teenager” McDonalds for a burger on the journey home. When Kate was little, she always marveled at the teenagers loitering around this Micky D’s looking for something to do. We now joke with Kate that she soon will be of age to loiter with them. Kate has acquired various jobs like numbering athletes and watching little babies of various racers. Peter has played at this venue since he was a baby. For years he would tear around every inch of the park. So many knew him that there were always 50 sets of eyes keeping watch over his mischievous ways. Last night, Peter ran a leg of the race. It would be his first time racing there. He begged to race the bike leg, but with 250 aggressive cyclist out there, I thought it would be best that he should grow to reach his breaks levers first. We sent him out in the middle of the pack and thankfully we never had to send out a search party for him. He ran like a jack rabbit among logo clad spandexed triatletes double his size and sculpted with six packs. His smile lit up the finish line and he was a chatterbox on the way home, so excited about his racing future. I had to promise that I would get my sorry body back into spandex next week to do the swim and bike so that Peter could get an official split time. He picked up his shirt and asked if his two pack had any chance of becoming a 4 pack by next summer. I wondered the same for myself. On the ride home, we talked of people, splits and just how good the lake felt on this summer evening. Tonight’s miracle came in the realization of how fortunate we are to have this nostalgic event continue despite the fact that we are growing up and getting older. It’s hard to believe that my kids can cover the course now rather than just play on the beach with sand toys. Strangely enough, it feels just right.
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