[pieces]

home sweet home. living room.

2011-06-16T05:40:00.000-07:00

Design is defined by light and shade,

and appropriate lighting is enormously important.

Albert Hadley, The Story of America's Preeminent Interior Designer

our theme was "comfortable". the house has a lofty, light feel to it--high ceilings, old archways, original moulding. we didn't want to cram in furniture--but wanted to make efficient use of our space. thankfully, the furniture we already had worked fabulously.

first the wallpaper had to come down. OH MY GOSH was that a nightmare.

we even discovered a window behind the wallpaper. YES A WINDOW. they'd just screwed up plywood & glued over the top of it. my dad spent a weekend here & was kind enough to mud the entire wall for us.

come to find out, this little home was one of the first in the neighborhood. and that window gave the tenants a fabulous view of the neighbors living room when building picked up.

we chose a light gray for the living room--and the contrast between cool colors & warm wood was just what we wanted. i still change our couch pillow covers & shelf arrangements about every 4 months--so we decided to let the color rotate throughout the year in the form of new photos & accessories.

so we went from this:

to this:

and finally to this:

{ehem...i might have gone dumpster diving after a local college got out...OH MY GOSH i'm doing it every year. totally another post for a different time.}

we went from this:

to this:

and finally to this:

***

the entry way was another entity entirely. we wanted it to be a distinct space--but blend in well. as a matter of fact, in taking down the wallpaper, we discovered that the entry way used to be the front porch! the front door used to go straight into the dining room.

we chose a slightly darker grey for the walls...& it has since just evolved into a functional, perhaps even fashionable space that actually gets used.

you can see a little peek of it in this photo:

and another (ack!) peek in this one:

we already had these shelves...

this was the fall set-up:

and with a little picture hanging, here it is now:

home sweet home. part III.

2011-06-14T05:00:00.019-07:00

we'd found it: THE ONE. {well, the one for now, at least}. we were SO EXCITED. and i spent the rest of my unemployed-don't-have-a-car summer browsing blogs & reading about projects. i made a ridiculously long list of "to do's" that i'm too embarrassed to share with anyone. lets just say that it was longer than 6 pages.

and like all first-timers, we had lofty plans. lofty & large--which turned to humble & small after we found out how much home improvements cost.

it was a long wait to move in. paperwork, signatures, more paperwork, meetings...and then finally one day when our Realtor & official-signing-lady kindly came to the hospital with jon so i could sign the paperwork....

we were home owners.

the army delivered our stuff a couple of weeks later.

and then the projects began....after all, this is what we were dealing with:

{photos w/ little grandma's stuff in them....}

home sweet home. part deux.

2011-06-12T05:40:00.001-07:00

so after three agonizing days of searching through houses & coming up empty, i was beginning to lose steam. jon arrived on Wednesday & we didn't waste any time getting geared up for our house hunting safari, part deux.

poor jon didn't know what we'd been through--bullet holes, cat poop, completely dysfunctional layouts. we tried to warn him, but honestly. its kind of like warning myself i might gain a pound for every donut i eat. just doesn't work.

our realtor started off the morning with good news: he had a friend, an old acquaintence, who was planning on putting her house on the market. it was our second stop of the morning. i was excited.

after what seemed like a billion disgusting, poorly planned, poorly cleaned, poorly thought-out houses, we pulled up to a quaint (albeit overgrown) yellow house on a quiet, tree-lined street right near an elementary school.

i almost peed my pants.

and when a cute little grandma waved to us from her car (she was leaving so we could tour her home), i almost melted.

and then we walked in.

jon gagged.

i started crying. literally.

like a big goon in the middle of the dining room, i looked around, did the potty dance & starting crying.

mostly because i LOVED IT. and i finally believed those crazies who told me that i'd just know.

because i did.

things happened fast after that. i was in love with the house. it took jon a few more (okay, a lot more) houses to figure out that the cute yellow one--aptly named the "grandma house" wasn't so bad after all.

that night we made an offer.
that night that cute little grandma accepted.

it didn't take us long to celebrate.

it was well within our budget.
the location was perfect.
the house made sense.
it had character and history and needed a lot of work.
the coolest part? God's hand was totally in the middle of it. come to find out, christian couples have lived in this house since it was built. we'd discover later once we started demolition that God was literally built into the walls of the house.

He's still here.

striving to simple.

2011-06-11T21:12:00.003-07:00

I’ve been journeying toward simplicity.

And I’ve failed miserably at it.

I’ve been drawn to the dirt, the lonely, the ruins. I’ve been drawn to run fast, bend low, find a sailors sunset—and I haven’t made it there yet. It is such a stark irony—a juxtaposition of sorts, the love of pretty & the drive toward simple.

I sort through boxes, things I didn’t know we had & hadn’t used & really didn’t need in the first place. I package scrapbook paper & crafting supplies & notes & cards &hobby things. And I think of the waste, the reallocation, the reinvestment of means that could have grown something wonderful, saved a soul, even.

But it didn’t. And that was my fault, our fault.

I found myself outside today. My to do list sat waiting in the living room, neglected by the need for air. For more reasons than can be expressed with typeface, I’ve felt suffocated lately. By the rules, the work, the residency. By the death, the medicine, the missing practicality that seems to have escaped our health-centered lives. The air I’m breathing isn’t clean—and perhaps that is why I wandered outside into the sunbeams. For clarity. For pure.

And now, even four hours after the sun has tucked itself behind the visible horizon, there is dirt under my fingernails. I pick out the particulates, the common thread of presence through all the centuries, our beginning & our end.

I read her words.

The mixed bag of blessings & wondering & struggles & air is surfacing. And I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’ve seen a lot of death lately—more death than life. My days in the ICU have been long, hard, &disappointing. I've had a few good cries, probably not enough though. And my enchantment with medicine is weaning, I fear.

Perhaps, though, instead of it approaching it with discipline, the type of reprimand that I’d deserve had I swayed out of my lane, I’m going to look at it as growth. Growth, with a bit of sunbeam when I’m lucky.

And so I’m going to keep longing for simple. Holding on to what I know & trust & love.

To him.

To Him.

To my words & The Word.

To purging & giving & saving responsibly.

And to experiencing LIFE—it is fleeting, afterall.

more to come. promise.

home sweet home. part I.

2011-06-10T22:58:00.000-07:00

so we bought a house. like, months ago. and i've been promising pictures...but one thing has lead to another & i've been sleeping & working & working &; sleeping. and well, it is JUNE, if you didn't know. and you still haven't seen pictures of this little big project we've (ehem...jon's) been busy with.

first, the story:
jon was gone, playing in the giant sandbox across the sea. i was busy applying to residency. and when a little birdie told us that this city would probably most likely chances were good be our home for the next three years, my mind went-a-racin'. let's just face it, world, I LIKE DECORATING. i like crafting and picture taking and creating and re-creating and well, decorating. we'd been talking about a house--a home, really--for year-or-so prior. and not knowing if it was a good decision, economically financially & emotionally, we were hesitant to invest in a long-term home.

fast forward a few months & jon came home. the chatter about a place to live in the then-confirmed location of residency increased. we prayed. we listened to Dave. we reviewed our bank accounts & budget. jlyn freaked out. jon reassured the freaked-out-jlyn. and then, in a fury of boldness, we cashed in our air miles & bought plane tickets for a house hunting adventure.

and adventure it was.

we connected with a good friend, who happened to be a fabulous realtor. he was amazing. like, totally amazing. he found us a loan officer. and suddenly, like the world plopped off its axis, we were approved for a home loan. we spent late nights talking about the logistics, the budget, the reality of it all. we'd been intentional about saving when jon was deployed...& were hoping to find something to invest in.

and then we started looking.

actually *I* started looking. jon had to work, so i went to do some prelim work & narrow down the giant pool of structures to one that was more manageable.

and OH. MY. GOSH. there were some crapshoots. and other excrement, actually, from cats & dogs & bullet holes in the windows. our budget was teeny-tiny--& we were committed to not exceeding it. and the house we thought we'd get for our money wasn't looking like much house at all....

we looked at houses. a LOT of houses.

a WHOLE lot of houses.

some were super. except they had no parking.

or the entire inside was purple. like the entire inside people--trim & all.

bullet holes?
cat poo?
a house the size of a closet?
we pretty much saw it all.

secret upstairs, finished with bedrooms, accessed only via ladder in the master bedroom.

we named each of them--mostly so when jon saw them could keep better track of them.
the bachelor house.
the view house.
the bug house.
the bullet hole house.
the cat poo house.
the kitchen house.
the list went on.

people told me finding the right house was a bit like finding a spouse--you'll just know.

well i DIDN'T just know. i hated each of the houses we saw. and quite frankly, i finished the first three days of house-hunting with a soured attitude & a hopeless outlook that we might have to rent after-all.

worth it.

2011-05-31T15:19:00.002-07:00

They walk down-trodden, holding hands & passing Kleenex. They gather in small clusters in the hallway, like high school cliques of a different, isn’t-supposed-to-happen kind. They stare. And share. And stave off the sting of reality with gasp-filled laughter & light hearted recollection. Most of them do, anyway.

Some of them though, usually the older ones, sit dry faced & calm, muffling the occasional shocked sob in the sleeve of their worn canvas coats or the stained handkerchief ironed once by the limp hands they hold. And the wisdom of age, the naivety of youth, the innocence of good intended hope, usually manages to shine through.

When she came in with an ostrich-egg-sized bleed in her brain, her lovey wanted everything done. So we shoved a tube down her throat to oxygenate her dying lungs while he stood in the corner hoping those lungs would recover. And we put lines in her arms & legs & neck to give her the medicine to pump her dying heart while he sat in the rose-colored vinyl chair, hoping that heart had more beats than the day contained. The man came to take pictures of her brain, the one filled with blood, while he sat outside the curtain & hoped that it would still remember.

And finally, when the room was silent, & her medicated heart sounds were all that was beeping, he left to let her rest. Her lungs. Her brain. Her heart. Her blood.

When the sunrise bathed the city in light again, the glass-walled sterile penthouse watched the city greet the day with life. The canvas coat walked through the doorway & pulled aside the curtain to find that she hadn’t moved all night. Those lungs, the ones we were oxygenating through the tube; the ones that shrieked with joy in the frigid lake water, breathed in the fresh air misted with salt, powered the melodic hums that lulled their little ones to bed, & drove the whispers of I love you. Those lungs that overnight had turned into balloons of air, were functionally dead. The heart that drove her joy, that beat in endless synchrony with his, the heart she gave to him at the tender age of 22, had become a simple pump lifeless in its drumming. And the brain, the fragile precious brain--the real life broken jar of memories. It had spilled out the Christmas dinners, the photographs, & yellowed love letters, the wedding vows, & late night talks & camping trips; I like to think that perhaps in the midst of its running, it managed to spill a little bit of love.

He asked us to make her comfortable, the lungs & brain & heart & blood. And we did.

The nurses, swiftly & gracefully, pulled back the curtain guarding his sweet lovey. And soon enough he emerged, tear stained canvas sleeves & wrinkled handkerchief. The pink colors of the morning greeting the new life of day, stark irony as he said goodbye to the life he knew with her.

He left to make the announcement to the cliques, waiting patiently in the hallway. And like a cluster of chickens, the sighs & gasps & sobs echoed down the corridor.

She was gone, peacefully. The brain. The blood. The heart. The lungs. It was a new day, afterall. He walked out with his head hanging low & his heart dragging lower--but maybe with a skip in his step. Not because she was gone, not because the blood spilled out & the pump stopped beating--but because it was worth it. The wrinkled handkerchief was worth it. The wedding vows & trips to the lake & camping & kids & Christmas dinners. It was all worth it.

SHE was worth it.

surfacing.

2011-04-30T18:19:00.000-07:00

I’m alive.

And, I’m okay.

After my last post (& the one before that), I got lots of “are you okay?’s” from facebook & blogland. Which, by the way, I very much appreciate.

But I’m alive. And I’m okay. And actually, at this very moment, I’m doing quite well thankyouverymuch.

I feel like I just ran a marathon. All that real running would have been conveninent, mostly because I’ve gained 12 pounds this winter. Ehem.

Anyways, details aside, I’ve emerged from hibernation. And before I thank you for your support & concern & love & prayers, I think I should probably clarify where I’ve been.

In many ways, I feel like I’ve been in the trenches. Holding dying hands. Delivering dead babies. Diagnosing deadly diseases. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago at small group (bless those souls in our Bible Study) that yes, there is life, but ohmygosh there is also death. Suicide of a neighbor…& then another neighbor. Hospice. Cancer. Dementia. Delirium. Psychosis. Overdoses. ICU. Alcoholism. Cocaine. The list goes on. Seven months—straight of an almost-daily grind that quite literally drained the life out of me. That thing called burnout? I BELIEVE IT NOW. A couple of weeks left me with over 100 hours clocked, the others tipping the exhaustion scale at somewhere between 60 & 80.. I swear two months passed this winter where I didn’t step outside in the daylight. I lived in the cinched waistbands of faded blue scrubs, got yelled at by sub-specialists who think the world revolves around their bathroom habits, & told families to get things ready because their son or mother or cousin or friend wasn’t going to be joining them for the Holiday’s.

It was hard.

And you know, I’m a conservative depression-diagnoser. I think we’ve gotten too caught up in the DSM-V diagnoses—stretching to hang on to something that might justify how we are feeling—or how we aren’t feeling. But the truth is that LIFE IS TOUGH. Sometimes, despite what criteria are included, LIFE JUST SUCKS. Certainly, the real McCoy exists--& when it does, it hits hard. But there are plenty of characters, of long work hours & broken relationships & “feeling blue” & seasonal affective disorder’s & hard weeks & long days that dress up quite nicely as a depressed dysthymic stew. And when patients come begging for pills or easy fixes, I’m not one that buys into the “diagnosis means delivery” sort of cure-all. This battle, the one I’ve been fighting since residency started, is one that needs to be fought. I worked hard to get to this place. And although I certainly didn’t expect it to be this hard, I knew that it would be challenging. I knew that I’d have to lean on (& sometimes be carried by) Jon. I knew that I’d have to forego & give up & maybe even give in. And I knew that Vitamin D would be my friend, that sunlights & tanning beds were viable substitutions for the real deal, & that this too shall pass.

This month I’m on a no-call-nights-feel-like-a-human-being-regular-person schedule. One where, low-and-behold, I can actually workout in the morning without getting up before the roosters. One where I can come home & get things done like cleaning & cooking & gardening. One where I can find the time to write letters & redecorate, to spray paint & read. One where I am, for the first time in what feels like forever, surfacing to find that the tulips are blooming & the world is a happy place.

It’s, like, better than Disneyland.

I start five weeks in the ICU at the end of May. Where more sickness & death & tubes & beeps & procedures & bad news will be had. Right in the middle of summer sun & sprinklers & popcicles. I’ll miss out on Memorial Day (just like Thanksgiving & Christmas & Valentine’s Day & Easter—all of which had me working).

This is part of the process. Hard. Annoying. Draining. Challenging. Burnout-inducing. But nonetheless, part of the process. I’m dreaming about a someday-3-day-a-week work schedule & being able to just be home with my family. In the meantime, however, I’ll keep plugging along. Because aside from sewing the occasional throw-pillow & spray painting bright-colored frames, I need to learn to find joy in the corners & cracks, between the lines of my schedule, & within the heart that I know still exists.

forever.

2011-03-26T18:31:00.001-07:00

what would have been was wheeled by me today.

by a lady in black pants, ironed clean with pointy creases. she wore click-y shoes that tap tap tapped as she wheeled that little cart down the hallways.

that little cart carrying what would have been.

that little cart carrying
belly laughs
drools
diaper blow-outs
first crawls
first steps
first words
first day of school.

that little cart carrying
hugs.
and nighttime snuggles.
and will you read me a story.
fort building
cookie baking
dress up

that little cart carrying
slobbery kisses
childhood wishes
first big game
report cards
knowledge
excitement
potential.

that little cart carrying
a graduation day
a wedding day

that little cart carrying
seeds of future generations

the lady in black tap tap tapped down the hallway to the staff elevators. where she pushed the button & took what would have been downstairs.

to the place that no one talks about.

what would have been died.
yesterday, maybe the day before.
her heart just stopped beating.
no one knows why.
she was ready to be born.
her due date was tomorrow.

for all that encompasses those little people i've been spending so much time bringing into the world lately, potential was lost. and i've been chanting Psalm 139 in my head all day. because Someone, Somewhere has to make sense of all this. and has to explain, in His own time, the human disconnect between what is & little what would have been.

losing it.

2011-03-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

"what, you feel like you aren't happy?"

"no. no, that's not it. i just...i just feel like i've lost my JOY."

somewhere along the journey, i lost it. i must have ripped it off and thrown it in the hazardous materials can or washed it down the drain with tears or blood or aptly named hospital-goo that seems to peel off of me at the end of the day. regardless of the method, i'm feeling like i lost it.

i'm not good at losing things. i am most certainly good at getting lost. the losing part? notsomuch.

i delivered 4 babies today, 16 total on the Labor & Delivery ward--one of them was completely independent. my first one ever without an attending breathing down my shirt. sort of like a first kiss, i briefly tasted that sweet sensation & got red-in-the-face over what i was doing. i'll probably never forget it. but when it was done, it was done. i was all excited and used a superfulous number of exclamations in my text message shortly thereafter...but then it was done--the baby was out, the mama was clean & i moved on. i let the womb-miracle, first-breath, radiant-mama surround me & then swirl down the drain. i left that room-of-excitement, drudging in the fact that the Labor & Delivery floor was full--everyone around me basked in the miracles of new life &cute! new! babies!

yesterday, i came home from work to find jon graciously working in installing a new back door. the old ones let in a draft-something-horrible & it was time to invest in quality new boundaries to keep the outside outside. in my flurry of keys-on-the-table-dinner-wasn't-made-i-had-a-long-day-ness, i lost it. and somewhere in the midst of making 7 pans of shepherd's pie & welcoming our three overnight guests, the joy burned up in the oven.

and i've noticed, too, that over the course of the week, bitterness & unappreciation have welled up inside of me. i've avoided the phone. i've stayed off facebook. i quit smiling at strangers, they probably don't care anyway. i stopped enjoying the blogs that usually make me swell with inspiration. i pushed away my Bible. instead of listening to sermons or finding solice in silence or studying or staying put, i've ceased a method a restless wandering. i started taking longer showers and making bigger i'll get to it later piles and bins and boxes. most certainly, i lost it.

i'm not sure where. or why. or how, really. but all i know is that foosh! and its gone.

i chose to sit on my rump yesterday instead of working out. i chose to eat 9 (or 29) Whopper Easter Eggs instead of dusting. i chose to avoid deadlines & studying & looming to-do's.

and the laundry waits--jon feels like he's drowning in it. the dishes wait, feta & balsalmic dried like glue to the dinner plates from last night. the relational wells wait--dry, cracking, & abandoned because of my deliberate choosings. and then the sleeping waits--my eyes &brain & heart awake at the seemingly horrible choices i've made throughout the day.

should i have done something different? in that delivery? in that c-section? was it the right lab? the right medicine? the right evidence to treat--or not? did i say the right thing? at the right time? in the right way? to be politically correct? generally accepting? showing Christ's love & grace &humility? was i there at the right time? and am i the right person?

and the question marks swirl--tattooing my sleepy daydreams with canyons of unanswered questions.

those eight pounds?
that laundry?
the budget?
the garden. and canvas. and dust. and sheets. and gifts. and cards.
and.
and.
and.

and suddenly the joy in the morning, in the hot showers & warm tea, couch snuggles & sleeping in--suddenly that JOY slips through the cracks. invisibly through my open grasp. and i realize, six months into 30-hour-hospital-call, that it is just gone.

I think the reason that the process of medical training is so stressful for people is because those who go into medicine in the first place usually try their hardest to do their best, no matter how difficult the circumstances. And it can be difficult for us when we feel like our best, for whatever reason, is not enough. More than the fatigue or the workload or the ridiculous life-and-death stress of working in the hospital, far and away the hardest part for me was feeling like my best was not enough. Of course, my efforts for the most part were "enough" (at least by most quantifiable metrics and some intangible ones), and though it never felt like enough,

I tried my best, then as I do now.

As we all do.

- Michelle Au, The Underwear Drawer (blog)

someday, the sun will come out. (tomorrow, tomorrow). the garden will be planted. the laundry will be done. the canvas will be painted. and someday, i'll look back &realize that this is all in the plan. these long days and longer nights, these feelings of lost &guilt of stolen joys. and someday, i'll snuggle on the couch and enjoy the hot tea & rosemary shortbread & rain on the windows &charts in my inbox. and i'll embrace the wrinkles & gray hairs that stress has painted lately. and maybe then, maybe in that someday, i'll realize that every ounce of me was poured into my days. and it will be okay. and it will be enough.

in the meantime, we just keep trying.

seasons.

2011-03-12T17:20:00.000-08:00

It was Ash Wednesday last week. Did you know that? I forgot, conveniently, I think. I was, once again, at work. Which is where it seems I always am these days--& where I have been hanging my head, laying my head, & missing my bed for the past 7 months.

I stepped into our back yard a couple of days ago, mostly to check out the side yard & throw daydreams of a patio & new BBQ at the muddy weed patch & noticed that little sprouts had begun to emerge from their frozen cave of winter. Irises, I think. Its beginning to be spring. Did you know that?

And tonight, just a couple days after last fall when we wound the clock-hands backwards, we wind them forward again, signifying the glorious return of something past 4:30pm: daylight.

Most days this winter, I’ve been awake before the sunrise & home well after it’s tucked itself in for the night. A senior resident told me that I’d rejoice the first day I walked to my car after work & saw those last few rays of sun before the moon rocked the sky. REJOICE I did. It’s been a long winter. And a challenging one; one in which I’ve questioned why I started this journey (again), one of growth & discipline & reprimand & emotion (okay, there might have been tears) & exhaustion. And of all the things this winter has been, looking back & sweeping away the smog of bitterness that I’ve let settle in my personal bubble, I realize that it has also been good.

I read this last week.

And I wanted to shout AMEN! at the computer. Because I hope she is right. I hope it does get better. I hope the workdays get shorter & the sunlight stays longer. And I hope to spend more nights in my own bed, beside the man I love. I hope to keep liking what I’m doing, even when I’m not loving it.

I know this is a season. One where I seldom have time to write thank you notes. Or take pictures. This is a season where creativity is sacrificed for sleep, instead of the artist in me who thinks it should be the other way around. This is a season where the holidays fly, Ash Wednesday is slept away, & the thought of one more cafeteria meal makes me want to barf. A season where my jeans are tighter because of the eight pounds I’ve gained & the yoga mats downstairs aren’t showing as much wear as they should be. All in all, it’s a season of “hold on”, of “maybe next time”, & of the dreaming of the Light at the end of the tunnel.

She said I’ll look back on this time with fondness.

And you know what? I think she’s right.

For all the complaining about West Virginia I did, for all the hours I spent banging my head against the wall (literally), I really did enjoy it. It, too, was a season. Certainly not free of frustrations or disillusions, but also full of new memories, new joys, & newly discovered sustenance. I was ready to move on, as I should have been--& I did, gratefully.

And now, the tides have changed. I’m readying myself, once again, to dig in--& really, to keep digging. The long hours. The lone calls. The demanding insurance companies. The misunderstood patients. And the learning. One of these days, I’ll be ready to move on from here, too--& I will.

In the meantime, I’m taking small steps. In noticing—the new spring blooms, the cleaning Jon did while I was gone all day; in embracing—the employment challenges, the long duty hours, the hospital call nights; & in remembering—why I’m here, who I am, and Whom I belong to.

What sort of season are you facing?

wind.

2011-02-22T22:37:00.000-08:00

it's an odd wind lately. like an out of place Chinook blowing the autumn leaves...or an arctic breeze whisping through sweaty summer strands. and i'm not sure how i feel about it. because of all the things winds can blow away, this one has brought a plague of disappointment.

i was talking to a friend this week. no one ever told us our twenties would be like this, we commented.

not that "this" was ever that bad in the first place, but certainly the hope that college infused is slowly bleeding out--and this not-so-gentle breeze that came subtly in the night has suddenly found us bloodletting the hopes & dreams of the "this" that was supposed to be. and before i go on, i'll make it clear that we are blessed. us, personally, and us, as a whole in this country. we complain because of the excess--the excess cars to make pollution & food to make fat & groceries to make garbage. but all-in-all, we are blessed, indeed.

i think the mindset of "this" comes from something that we'd dreamed up that never came to be. our hearts wished, just like Cinderella said they should, but the dream never came true. and here we are, living in the perpetual world of real-life REM, frozen beyond Stage III of waking. Of course in sleep, our REM world renders us immobile--unable to run from the vivid bad guys or swim in the rising river. I guess the real life feels that way a little right now, too: frozen.

and its the disappointment that has invaded our hearts in the meantime, the bloodletting of our former hopes & dreams, the broken mirror & the drowning wish...

it's kind of hard, actually.

kind of hard to face the day when you didn't get chosen for the job or the school or role. kind of hard to face the moment when it seems just too big to handle; when the right decisions you made three months ago suddenly seem so wrong & when the prayers you prayed so hard were answered but seemingly in the wrong way alltogether. it sort of makes one wonder if the prayers we prayed so fervently at the beginning of it all were misdirected wantings.

much of the time on most of these days, it is hard to see beyond the "this"--hard to see above the expectations, through the veil of now, and into the future. the uncertainty prevails in these hours and we find ourselves clinging. clinging to ourselves. to each other. to peanut butter & warm baths & candles & each other.

oh, and jesus, too.

which is what i haven't been so good about lately, the clinging--to the right things, the right One, at least. I've clung to my schedule, the lack of consistency. i've clung to my comfort foods--lately it is caramel kettle corn & apples + peanut butter (not together, of course). i've clung to my sleep. and my To Do List that never seems to get checked. most mornings, after i've battled half asleep with the idea of waking two hours early to work out & then face a 12-hour-work-day, after i've fallen asleep in the shower, i leave my dust-ridden Bible in a flurry of rushed.

instead of clinging, i leave.

we're all in the midst of transitions. the beautiful souls in our small group are battering down the hatches right alongside us, suffering their own afflictions of the disappointed "this". its an honor to be part of it all--the centering, the supporting, the living. i guess you could say i'm getting used to it all, the unpredictability of this new wind. and just like any weather pattern, the beauty & mystery of storms is that they roll. the winds will surely change. when exactly, none can be sure.

in the meantime, we'll keep clinging. we'll keep facing the plagues of heartache, the winds of change, & the uncertain "this", certain that the "this" will soon become the "was".

holding hands.

2011-01-25T21:34:00.000-08:00

They held hands.

Not in the way they used to, of course.

Her hair was curled—a white a-line bob. Crows feet framed her eyes. “He’s an ornery man,” she said. I wasn’t sure if the wrinkles were from years of joy or months of pain.

He gurgled.

And coughed.

And then tried to spit.

But that strong, 6-foot-2-inch man was no longer coordinated enough to even expectorate his own sputum. In more ways than one, he’d become a child again. Cooing. Gurgling. Pointing. Pulling at his gown, then her jacket, then the tubes and lines and electrode’s.

The words I imagine she once used in adoration toward the father of her children, words like “strong”, “handsome”, “helpful”, “leader” had turned into something entirely different.

“Isn’t he cute?”, she giggled, “…just adorable.”

And if I didn’t know better, I might have guessed she was talking about her grandchildren—the ones who never knew their grandfather for the strong, handsome, helpful leader he was.

It hit him hard about five years ago. And to everyone’s surprise, he made his way into the Emergency Room because he “just wasn’t feeling right.” He left with a new diagnosis: Severe Progressive Dementia, Alzheimer’s-type. Low-and-behold, the atrophy had started. Amyloid plaques & neurofibrillary tangles set up house. Then ever-so-slowly and almost instantly, her big, strong husband regressed.

He forgot her birthday.

And then their anniversary.

Eventually, he forgot her.

And that’s when the words changed. The world’s changed, too.

But still, they held hands.

She said no treatments. And he couldn’t move his right side. Paralyzed, both of them—one by a stroke & the other by the stinging pain of love. She filled out the bright green form:

NO INTERVENTIONS.

We disconnected the fluids. Took off monitor stickers that were so bothersome in the first place. The medicines were stopped, Hospice was started. And we waited. She waited. And he kept on grunting.

All the while, they held hands.

I saw those crows-feet again. And I knew. I knew they weren’t from pain. Or joy. Or even age.

They were from LOVE.

And it was then that I realized: love really is choosing the highest good for the other.

Even if sometimes, it means calling them cute, holding their hand, & letting them go…

in the meantime...

2011-01-21T21:06:00.000-08:00

This might just be the year-that-the-blog-writer-got-sucked-into-the-hospital. Or not.

But gosh, these days it sure feels that way. Good thing? Sometimes.

So yes, in summary, I’ve been sucked into the hospital. Back in December, I was on OB catching babies & sewing up crotches (yes, I just wrote crotches on this G-rated space). And I realized about a week before Christmas when the cookies were coming in my the dozen & my scrubs were getting tighter that hey! Its Christmas next week! Which happened to be the exact same time I realized that hey! I haven’t bought any presents yet! Which, if you know my present-buying-one-year-in-advance-having-things-wrapped-by-November-obsession, it was so not me. But then again, I was nearing work hour 100 of that week…and barely remembered how to drive myself home after 26 hours on call…so all things considered, perhaps I wasn’t so out-of-it afterall.

And in the meantime, I do know that it is now January 21, 2011, today thankyouverymuch. I’ve only slightly re-entered humanity this month—don’t hold your breath, though, because I’ll be slipping away again into the venus fly trap called the hospital again for the next two months in just one short week.

Things at home? Well, ask Jon. He’s been totally amazing. Fixing up our house like Norm on This Old House. Doing laundry. Making dinner. Cleaning, even. Holy poop I’m a lucky girl. And to top it all off, he still listens to me complain about work and time and unchecked-to-do-lists. He’s been awesome.

And me? Well, I’m just hanging on.

I hear this year, this intern year, is rough. And for the residents with kids & families & like, other real people to take care of, KUDOS to you. because I can barely find time to clip my toenails.

The truth is that this has been a reality-laden transition for me. I—me, my own self—has always been the manager of my time, the control freak with the calendar, the weirdo with the day-planner tucked sweetly under my wing. But this year? ALL OF THAT CHANGED. And suddenly I was finding my schedule—my DAY LONG LIFE SCHEDULE—in my mailbox at work. And next to it, my lecture schedule. And next to that my night-call schedule. And next to those, my evaluations and articles to read and prescription requests to refill from patients. And it was around mid-November when I finally had that holy crap moment that I realized: life has changed.

Me? I’m no longer in charge of my own time. And jon? He’s still awesome. And while we try to hang on in the meantime; while I make more messes at home than I clean up, dirty more laundry than I clean, & eat more meals than I make, I’m learning slowly to accept the fact that I just have to get through it. no shortcuts. No easy-outs. Just holding hands. And wiping tears. And writing orders. And refilling prescriptions. And coming home to hugs from Jon. And falling asleep on the couch even before dinner is made. And just existing.

I have four months of call left for this year. Which means I have four more months to make it through long shifts. And erratic schedules. And long days and short nights and exhaustion and not seeing daylight. From now to then—then when I’m done & might be able to enjoy more than one afternoon off in the sunshine…I’m just holding on. I have a billion stories to share. A million things to pass along. Some hilarities in between.

We’ll get there…eventually.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I have deadlines to meet, patient charts to complete…and toenails to clip.

playdates & dinosaurs.

2010-11-30T05:05:00.000-08:00

we played dinosaurs for 20 minutes.
my leg fell asleep squatting on the hard tile floor.
his little red wagon had been wheeled out to the nurses station.
his room empty, dark, lonely.
his mom disappeared days ago.
she left him with a little dinosaur.

i made the dinosaur eat his toes.
and then he shared his socks with the plastic creature.

he asked for water.
i filled up a girly cup covered with silver sparkles.
this four-year-old boy didn't care.

he bounced balloons on my face.
we had a dinosaur fight.

the nurses wheeled his little red wagon back to room #253.
where he curled up, plastic dinosaur in hand.
and went to sleep, alone.

it was the best playdate i've had in months.

craziness.

2010-11-27T23:17:00.000-08:00

so since this whole residency-thing started, i've felt a little...overwhelmed.

ehem.

that might be an understatement.

i've been wandering around the hospital, as one of 'those interns' (you know, the one you certainly don't want to be) with patient discharge summaries STAPLED TO MY BACK. the janitor ran after me in the hallway and asked if i mean for a packet of papers to be dangling from my sweater. good thing the elevator FULL OF PEOPLE didn't mention anything. that would have been embarassing.

seriously.

and although i'm handling it day-by-day, inside i'm a mess most of the time. the emotional breakdown has not yet approached but boy-howdy has it been close...

no tears have been shed in the making of this intern.

i confessed to jon tonight that i feel like my life is, once again, on hold. you know, come to think of it, this medicine adventure actually does require a lot of sacrifice. i was excited to learn before & just okay spending my days & nights cooped up in a little cabin in the middle of West Virginia. But now. now that he is home. now that we have a house. now that we have friends and wow, feel sort of --do i dare say it?--SETTLED, now i'm feeling the annoying stabs of this sacrifice.

certainly, don't get me wrong...i actually like what i'm doing. at 2:30 this morning when i was wandering the halls of the hospital, rummy & tired & trying to round on my last patients & discipline rambunctious teenagers that happened to think it was party-time, i whispered to myself, hey...this is kind of fun.

and it was.

i braved the 12-inches of new-fallen snow, and came home. after working 31 hours straight. made soup. and slept. until it was time for dinner. which is when i threw in the towel (literally) & we ordered a pizza. i plopped myself on the couch & painted my toenails... we watched Harry Potter while i caught up on emails & blogs. and in short, the night couldn't have been more perfect. more normal. more this-is-just-what-i-needed.

come to think of it, life right now is just-what-i-need. everyday, really. it is exhausting. i'm getting gray hairs. my dark circles around my eyes have been accessorized with a generous dose of pink eye over the last two weeks (stupid asthma kid who coughed in my face!!!). the dirty laundry piled up to explosive levels...and then was left in the washer too long so it soured. the leftovers have gone bad in the fridge. and my cleaning list has been covered in dust-bunnies. but this, right now, is right where God wants me. wants us.

and we're okay with that. 31-hour-call included.

psalm 139.

2010-11-21T21:02:00.002-08:00

i volunteered to pick up a new patient. and, thinking it would be an easy add-on to my already bulging list, i picked her. or rather, she picked me.

i opened her chart to find a "doctor's orders" section already 1-inch thick. daunting. and while most patients are admitted for a miniature list of problems, hers spanned five pages & well-exceeded the longest five-paragraph essays i have in my repertoire.

crap.

while i likely should have welcomed such a learning opportunity, i did not. it wasn't for lack of interest, or rarity, or even compassion. mostly, it was because before i'd even met the patient, i already hated her problems. i might even surmise to say that i hated her.

i hated her rare genetic disorder--the one that could never be fixed & would make our efforts embarrasingly futile.
i decided i didn't like her parents, such selfishness they had keeping her alive all these years, trapped in a dying body.
i couldn't find the empathy for her delays, caused by genetic chromosomal abnormalities so severe that she would never walk, never talk, never communicate in an audible or interpretable way.
i was annoyed by all the "failures" listed next to her vital organs & processes: developmental failure, renal failure, liver failure. the first from her genes, the last from the 'food' we'd pumped into her veins, her PICC line, her stomach tube.
i was mad at God--wondering why he didn't just take her, quickly, painlessly; mad because we all had to watch her suffer.
and i was sickened by all this 'modern' medicine that we so proudly claimed was helping her.

...or was it?

and two hours later i walked into her room. mom attentive at her bedside, lovingly stroking her course black hair while the nurses cleaned the diarrhea that covered her lower half & was smeared about the sheets beneath her. the infection that raged in her colon was the culprit--another diagnosis to add to the list. she moaned. she moved. she breathed, occassionally. and all the while that loving, petite pretty mommy rested cheek to cheek with this emaciated, groaning patient--loving her the only way she knew how.

i'd only walked in to tell her we were shoving a catheter up her daughter's urethra to get the pee out of her atonic bladder--news delivered in the kindest way i could muster.

as luck would have it, i walked out 10 minutes later in tears, ashamed.

crap.

i'd missed the boat. overshot the target. fallen off the bandwagon. and i'd totally, misjudged.

praise songs to Jesus played in the background.
a Bible rested on the bedstand.
a prayer journal overturned on the meal tray.

they are a Psalm 139 believing family. a family who believes this little black haired, nonverbal, diarrhea covered little girl is a gift from Christ himself. who believes that He renews their strength every morning, every evening, and at every moment in between. they are a family who is learning the joy of suffering, finding His Will in sorrow, & navigating this difficult choice to let their daughter continue to live day-by-day. they are a family who believes that they weren't chosen because of what God knew they could give, but because of what they could receive through the fragile spirit of this little miracle.

and suddenly, somewhere between the bed and the hallway, i realized i've been right & wrong all along. i was right: modern medicine isn't helping her. in fact, in many ways, we're making her sick: aspiration pneumonia from the surgery, antibiotics from the pneumonia, colon infections from the antibiotics, diarrhea from the antibiotics, urine infection from the dirrhea...

but oh! how i was wrong in thinking that this is all about healing. i was wrong in thinking that i, we, medicine is the only one with something to offer.

afterall, the truth is that she's the one helping us. helping us learn. helping us grow. and somehow in the middle of the moans and the process of her problems, teaching us how to believe.

believe in miracles.
believe in hope.
believe in survival.
believe in Psalm 139.

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place,

when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were written in your book

before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!

How vast is the sum of them!

-Psalm 139: 13-17

fanny pack.

2010-11-13T05:36:00.002-08:00

the waistbands of my pants are all stretched out. and i didn't figure out why until tonight.

originally, i'd thought that poptarts & yogurt for dinner might be the culprit. but surely my body knows that when the hospital cafeteria is closed, calories don't count....

and when i tried to pee tonight & my pants nearly flopped in the toilet, i finally realized that perhaps it is the TEN POUNDS of technology attached to my waistband.

seriously?

left to right: name badge. pager. on-call cell phone. personal cell phone.
not pictured: 2 pens. clipboard. stack of reading material. water bottle.

****
as a HILARIOUS side note about my pager...i asked tayte (sister, 17 years old) what it was.

an insulin pump? i didn't know you were diabetic!

a gum case? seriously!?!?!?!? they make those?

a cell phone? wait...where are the buttons?

and no folks, she'd never seen one before. neither had the paint boy at Home Depot who asked me what the heck that black thing was i happened to be wearing on my belt.

which is either a sure-fire sign that i'm getting old. or that i need a fanny pack.

if this isn't just ridiculous...

2010-11-11T23:36:00.000-08:00

...then i'm not sure what is.

SERIOUSLY!?! JULY!?!?!?! where the heck has time gone? and who stole all the calendar months?

needless to say, i guess time has, indeed, passed. and in the meantime, a lot has changed for us. a lot for the good. a lot for the stressful and busy and work-filled and God-waiting and ....well, a lot has changed. and we are here, finally back at "home" in the Pacific Northwest. adjusting. settling. and enjoying.

it feels so so good to be back. to have full seasons. crispy fall leaves currently covering the ground. forecasted snow in the next couple of weeks. and the potential to skip through the mountains (real! mountains!) this winter just makes me giddy.

life has been too full to summarize. but like all our stories, they'll come out one way or another. and part of the beauty of life is that some stories are locked in little boxes that play music with dancing ballerina's when we open them. in the meantime, they'll rest safe inside our memories. and for us, that is okay right now. it has to be.

we've been busy. like really busy. but not any more busy than the rest of America, i'm sure. and right now, for us, busy is good. like, really good. we're soaking it in. and although i wish i had a few more hours in the day to read and blog and exercise and make wholesome, healthy meals, i'm taking it all with a grain of salt--knowing full well that life will change and a new season will be upon us shortly, waiting with its own musical ballerina box for us to open & enjoy.

shortly after our last blog post, we left north carolina. not without living in an apartment with only an air mattress, 2 spoons, 3 bowls & 4 plates for 16 days though. oh yes, and did i mention a broken air condition in 900-something percent humidity? (at least it felt that way...). the movers came, boxed up all our stuff and hauled it away. we were left with just us. a bottle of wine. a few bags of popcorn. a pantry to empty out. an airmattress. the aforementioned dishes. and a whole-lotta potential & excitement about what was coming 'round the bend next.

and you know, we had a reason to be excited. life, for the first time, was aligning for us. this was, of course, by choice. and brave, generous, ever-supportive jon make that sacrifice for me. which still boggles my mind each morning when i get up to trudge to the hospital once again. so he made that choice for us...which, for the first time in 3.5 years of marriage, is letting us be together.

jon stood in his last formation. and humbly accepted an award for working so so hard over the previous 12 months of deployment. he saluted for the last time as an active duty captain...and we walked away & into starbucks. where else would we have celebrated this crazy heart-breaking-breath-taking milestone?

we packed up the car. ehem...JAM packed the car and bid adieu to friends i hope cross our paths again (many, many times again!)...and we were off. i have a folder packed with photos. of landscapes. and red vines bags. and (disgusting, ate-for-the-first-time-in-a-decade) mcdonalds fries. and state signs.

for now, though, i'll just leave you with my feet. they've taken me a lot of places since i snapped this photo on our way in to new life.

we arrived in Washington and ransacked jon's parents house for about a month. before our own house was ready. i started work just 3 days after we pulled into the town we'd call home...and have been busy every since.

i guess they don't call it intern year for nothing.

but moral of the story is that i am LOVING my job. i'm loving my days. even the one like today, where the clock at this moment marks hour #18 that i've been in the hospital...with 12 more hours to go until i can finally roll down the windows of my car & hope i make it home in one piece.

so in summary, we are ALIVE. and we are loving life right now. loving being settled, close to incredible people, plugged in & involved at church, blindly making our way through the 24-hour-sequences God gives us to be salt & light...and fill up dancing ballerina boxes of memories.

more to come. more to read. more stories to share. more pictures to download. there is more certainly more.

and it will come. in time.

so don't give up on me. i'm still alive. out there.

and now if you'll excuse me, i have adorable sick babies to check on....

moving.

2010-07-27T05:52:00.002-07:00

I’ve found the only non-plastic-wrapped couch cushion & am sitting in a sea of boxes.

THE PACKERS CAME YESTERDAY…and the movers come to finish the job today.

The sky is threatening rain—which is totally ironic but no surprise as all, as we danced in the thunderstorms (more like monsoon’s actually) last year when we packed up the PODS after waving goodbye to Jon for a year.

A whole year. Was it really that long? It felt long. And short. And medium. All at the same time.

And today? This summer feels the same way. I want to know who stole July—because surely it can’t be the end of the month yet. I’m not ready; not ready to move or start over (again) or umm…care for people. I don’t feel ready, like, at all.

I didn’t feel ready for the single-man-packing-show to arrive on our doorstep yesterday & stay for 10 hours, boxing up our memories of this state, this place, this life into cardboard containers labeled “this end up” & “handle with care”. Yes, PLEASE!, handle with care I wanted to scream…THIS IS OUR LIFE!

But we are both making every effort to remember that we’ve got a new life waiting for us. It is scary & exciting & horrifying & thrilling & long-time-coming & stressful & well, new.

So here’s to newness. And moving. And “handle with care”. Here’s to bike rides & river rafting & actually skiing in the winter; to crisp autumn mornings & cool summer nights. Here’s to long hours working & short days together & date nights & mountain hikes & hopeful trips to the lake. Here’s to close-by family & oh-so-amazing-friends & new church’s & Jesus meeting us there. Here’s to scraping paint & stripping wallpaper & Jlyn learning how to paint once-and-for-all; to gardening & harvesting & canning & preserving in the “Grandma House’s” garden. Here’s to unpacking memories & to ripping the tape off fresh ones like a bandaid.

And most of all, here’s to growing up.

{pixels} the C family

2010-07-26T06:22:00.000-07:00

new post up @ the photo blog!

stories of summer: the summer of "we"

2010-07-21T19:07:00.003-07:00

I once thought braces were sexy. Not in the tousled hair, pouty lips kind of way, just…awesome, I guess. I was in the seventh grade. And aside from my then-unappreciated perfect vision, aligned teeth, & face-of-zits, I totally wanted braces. And glasses, too, but that is another story.

Everybody had them, those glowing metal railroad tracks that made their mouths beautiful. And I kind of thought it was magic—the foodstuffs once tucked between the rims & saliva that hung from the rubberbands was turned into a gleaming white smile when they finally got them taken off. And I was just left with straight teeth, sans crystal chicklets where my chompers were.

I’m sure there were other things before the braces: dolls & earrings & new snap bracelets from Claire’s in 1992 & sticky hands from the pizza parlor $0.25-prize machine. But the absurdity of me actually wanting them at age 13 is something laughable now as the first real, tangible thing that I’d considered saving my own pennies for. Dentists visits were never painful, only sourly disappointing when I heard the “welp, see you next time” & got a doggie bag of new flossers & a neon toothbrush without mention of referral to an orthodontist. I don’t remember laying awake at night or pining for the savory snacks stuck in those sweet colorful rims…but I do remember that them, the braces, the railroad tracks, the bleached chicklet teeth that came after, those were a big freaking deal.

And now, another 13 years later, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I have straight teeth (& no cavities thankyouverymuch). Which makes me wonder what I’ll look back on in another 13 years and laugh at the absurdity of my jealous tendencies toward something so…ridiculous.

I’m kind of like, growing up. Last week when I stepped on the scale, I realized (to my dismay) that the age of muscle-for-fat-exchange has come upon me. Those extra pounds don’t shed as easily. My ganglion cyst in my wrist joint has arthritic properties that make me feel like I’m 65 years old with arthritis-something-fierce. In case you were wondering, I still gets zits. And life? WOWZA. Nobody told us it would be this…this… challenging.

In many ways, with each passing birthday I feel like I return to that 13 year old straight-teeth-zitty-faced girl who looks at all the others with their shiny rims & newly-chicklet-ized teeth and wishes, if only it was me or mine or part of my life.

As a result, we are trying to be more intentional about our lives. I feel like I’ve gotten so caught up in wanting, in paying attention to things outside myself, that I’ve lost touch with who I really am. Kind of like stuffing yourself so full of corndogs & elephant ears at the state fair in August that you lose touch of what hunger feels like until October.

I was so proud of Jon when he agreed to get rid of cable. The TV sits silent in the evenings now & our dinner conversation is filled with well, conversation. I’ve committed to no more clothes-buying, which is difficult for me—although admittedly laughable that a twenty-something loves clothes this much. We’ve stopped buying pop & treats & sweets at the grocery store because we want them to be special again. Our dates, instead of dinners out, now consist of coffee & dessert outings—something our pant size & perfectly-full stomachs have thanked us for. And, though the process is long, we are both working on reducing our wants, paring down our yearnings, & focusing on what God wants us to have through what He’s given us right now.

The best part is that we’re on the same page, finally. In it together.

And so a couple of weeks ago when he came home from work and told me he had a surprise for me, I knew I’d like it.

The red car pulled into the parking lot with the red sign. We both got dipped cones, his chocolate & mine butterscotch. And we walked around the parking lot holding hands & eating our ice cream cones before they melted in the North Carolina heat.

Nothing fancy.

$3.78 later, I still had straight teeth. "You know, I really like this," I said to him.

"Good," he said, "we'll have dates like this again."

And with that, we both crunched on our cones, carefree of stored food specks during akward seventh-grade-dates.

It was perfect.

irreplaceable.

2010-07-07T19:20:00.003-07:00

I had trouble at my graduation. Showing excitement is not my area of expertise in the first place, and stacked on top of my God-given personality traits (Lord help me, sometimes) were the sometimes complicated-overly-excited-family that had come to shower me with well-wishes and well, love. But the truth of it is that yeah, big deal, medical school is over. Residency is starting. But all the “aren’t you so excited to move on”’s, truth-be-told, got a little annoying after awhile. Because yes I’m excited to move on; on into the HOLY CRAP I forgot everything, into the “don’t kill anyone at work today,” onward to the 80-hour-work-weeks & the life-is-not-my-own. And in a way, I felt, I’d be moving backwards. All assumptions I was making, you see, but still backwards. Back to the ‘do I study or shave my legs for the first time in two-weeks’ attitude that ohmygosh my to-do list will never end.

And so, I had trouble at my graduation. And the ohmygosh’s have just gotten worse. But despite the occasional (or not-so-occasional) freak-out’s, I’ve had time to do something I haven’t had the privledge of in, well….ever. I’ve had time to think.

The pace is slow here, for the time-being at least. When I roll over in bed at 7:30 & realize that it’s been two hours since Jon got up & left for work, I usually don’t see any reason in greeting the day with gusto. And so I lay there. Letting my back sink into the memory foam & letting the fan blow around my bed-head a bit longer. And its there that I think. And sometimes, on days I’m feeling particularly adventurous, I think about those eighty-hour-work-weeks and choosing to shave my legs and kissing homemade pedicures goodbye for the next three years. Most of the time I get carried away with the ohmygosh thoughts; women have babies & raise children & start cooking blogs during residency for gosh sakes. But then I remind myself that I’m not them, that I had trouble at my graduation, & that I always have to prepare myself for the worst as some weird coping mechanism I probably picked up at 32 months-old when I started Montessori.

I lay there for longer than I’d care to admit usually. Dreading my workout (thankyouverymuch p90x), wanting to workout, wanting a PopTart, hating PopTart’s, eventually turning eight again like it is 1992 & daydreaming about growing up. Wrapping my thoughts around things like eating chocolate for every meal (that ohmygosh has to do with my pant size) and little people that will hopefully someday inhabit our house (Mom, I said someday, not tomorrow) and work.

Yes, I said work. But they aren’t the “Jlyn saves the day!” daydreams. More like “JLYN YOUR PATIENT IS CODING, DO SOMETHING TO SAVE HIM!” daydreams. Or should I call them “daymares”—nightmares except in daylight? And in the midst of these thoughts, somewhere between the trouble-at-graduation and the daymares, I decide unofficially who I want be. Like, the toenails-always-painted girl who doesn’t use the name “doctor” because it feels too official & who keeps a clean desk, despite the crazy wordload, & eats oatmeal everyday for breakfast because, you know colon health. Or like the go-with-the-flow’er who downs coffee like its water & who has bundles of energy & rides her bike everyday to work & grows a garden just for fun girl. Or like something else entirely.

But this thinking time, it’s good for me. Some things are matter-of-facts, no compromises, nothing-gets-in-my-way for-sure’s; things like oh being nice, showing Jesus, giving grace. You know, the normal stuff. But then there’s those other things—the things that come out when you leave the patients room or they call their best friend Sally & tell her about their ‘rather young to be a doctor’ Doctor. And it’s those other things that I’ve decided my back-in-memory-foam-fan-blowing-hair thinking time is about the other things.

And since I’ve mostly devoured the literary candy of Kelly Corrigan since I picked up her book last weekend, this morning during my thinking time I thought of her.

"...Coming down the hall in a silk Banana Republic scarf that I thought made me look professional, I could hear the booming voices of my aunts & uncles & cousins & I was glowing with tribal pride. I was a Corrigan. When I turned the corner, Greenie said my name so loudly that the whole room started laughing & clapping & tearing up while Greenie & I hugged & rocked back & forth & laughed into each other & my dad called out my name again & again:

"'Love-E! Love-E!'

"Until I became a mother, it was the most irreplaceable I'd ever felt. I had "made the night". But then I watched him greet Rocky Shepard & Chris Burch & Betty Moran &

I realized that making people feel irreplaceable was his gift."

--Kelly Corrigan, The Middle Place, p. 145 (emphasis mine)

Now, I don’t own a silk Banana Republic scarf. And I am certainly not a Corrigan. But my morning times, those daymares and those ohmygosh’s have all come together in the perfect pinnacle of thoughts. I’ve decided, once and for all, who I want to be when I grow up.

And I feel like the trouble at graduation is now justified. Because it wasn’t about graduation at all, really. It was about celebration. Celebration of a milestone, an accomplishment. And mine happened to include a velvet unitard & mushroom hat. But not everyone’s does.

For some, like my pretend future patient in room #502 with a bowel obstruction, it will still be about celebration, accomplishment, passing a milestone. And the future momma in Room 8 on the obstetrics floor will need celebrating for her work in bringing new life into the world. And the kid with the respiratory infection and the grandma with the broken hip and the brief-case-carrying business guy with newly diagnosed prostate cancer; they’ll all have their own accomplishments, pass their own milestones, run their own races & win their own medals (metaphorically speaking for some broken hips, of course).

And I’ve decided. And I want to be there, present & in the mood for dancin’. I want to be that crazy Patch Adams-like-doctor who throws the chart into the air & dances with Mr.-Room #502 about his successful bowel movement, who hugs that momma with all I have in me because a new life breathing this Earth’s air & the physiological miracle of it all is too overwhelming. I want to be the ‘professional one’ who rips off those stupid yellow contact precaution gowns when the respiratory infected kid no longer needs isolation & who dances when the grandma with the broken hip takes her first step with her new Cadillac walker .

Because gosh dang it, somewhere along the line I got two new letters after my name. And with those letters come a lot of ohmygosh responsibility. But at some point this whole gig needs to stop being about medicine & start being about people. And celebrations. And yelling “Love-E! Love-E!” at the top of my lungs, just like George Corrigan.

And on top of all that, I’ve decided something else: I want that gift, too. I want to make people feel irreplaceable.

Simple as that.

freedom.

2010-07-04T14:12:00.000-07:00

Last year, he was gone; across the sea & around the world. And this year, he came home. Just over a month ago, he walked off that airplane & back onto American soil. Which means many things, like Jason’s Deli & Downy fabric softener & the occasional Snickers bar & kisses from his wife. But really, it means one thing in particular: freedom.

He hasn’t talked a lot about life over there. Sure, the meals & the sightings & the sirens & the packages have come out in conversation. And I haven’t asked many questions. I know the stories will come out someday. He’ll see a watermelon & remember this one time, because, did you know?, apparently there is a lot of watermelon over there. But in the meantime, as we are adjusting to life together once again & basking in the bliss that comes after such a long separation, we haven’t forgotten. The friends. The fathers. The mothers & sons & daughters & children that are still over there. Still fighting. Still waiting for their this one time story to be told. Because for them that will mean American soil & freedom, too.

And this July 4^th, as we tip our hats to Uncle Sam in the community parade; as we set up the slip-n-slide for the energetic little ones & feast on red velvet cake & freshly grilled hamburgers, as we eat our own watermelons, I’d like to remember them.

The ones that are still over there. The soldiers. The friends & fathers; mothers & sons & daughters & children that have left a spot empty at the picnic table, an extra shirt at the family reunion, and a rolled up sleeping bag at the yearly summer campout. The ones still risking, still sleepless, & still homesick.

And in the two souls that exist in this tiny little apartment, amidst the celebrating & ‘thank you’s’ & “WELCOME HOME!” signs, we haven’t ignored the presence of the chance that he wasn’t going to come home at all. I carried around a power of attorney, a contact list, & his burial wishes in my purse for an entire year, tucked lovingly right behind my monthly gift receipts.

And so I’d like to remember them, too. The ones who won’t ever come home. The ones who died yesterday, last month, last year, last century. The ones who fought brothers & crossed state lines; who sailed oceans & scaled beaches. Those ones. The friends. The fathers. The sons & daughters.

The ones who, instead of leaving an empty stop at the picnic table, left an empty hole in the family tree.

I forget about those ones.

And you know who else I forget about?

The people. The people in that place called ‘over there.’ The ones who grow the watermelon. The ones who are part of the this one time stories, who will never have faces or identities to me or you aside from the sporadic sightings on the nightly news, but who are very much ALIVE. Those are the others I forget about.

They don’t have community parades or slip-n-slides or Independence Day barbecue’s. They don’t know what it’s like, this freedom gig.

And so, this July Fourth, instead of just celebrating OUR Independence Day, we’ll be doing something a bit unconventional: we’ll be praying for theirs. That’s why they are fighting, after all. That’s why our fathers & friends & children leave, pack their bags, wipe their tears & trudge onward. That’s why we hold prayer vigils & light candles & wear yellow ribbons & post “Support Our Troops” on the billboards & posters & bumper stickers. It’s why Aunt June’s quilting ladies get together to organize toothpaste drives & Uncle Harold’s church sends boxes of used playing cards from 1965. It’s why first grade classes write letters asking if they’ve seen Santa and if their guns are real or if they just shoot marshmallows. And it’s why we, the ones they leave behind, stand & wave goodbye with tears & smiles & miles of prayer. They, the watermelon-growing-sporadic-appearing LIVES are why.

And that’s why,

over there is why,

watermelon is why,

WE are why some of them never come home.

FREEDOM.

date.

2010-07-03T19:35:00.004-07:00

July is not the time to be outside in these parts. Humidity is not my friend, although it does wonders for my skin & gives my sweat glands quite a work out. I stand my ground that I still don’t particularly like it. And so I said “yes” when he came home & asked if I wanted to take a trip to our favorite bookstore last night. To sit among the magazines or plop myself in the midst of that new-glue smell sounded perfectly delightful. Plus, it is air conditioned. And to make it even more enticing, he promised coffee would be involved.

Sold.

He settled fairly quickly beside a stack of magazines with white Apple headphones & Dave Ramsey in his ears. Me? I browsed. I walked among the self-help aisles, laughing at the titles & how easy they made life seem. I thumbed through the red-sticker-marked “Last Chance” tables in wonder at how many books are written each year & the overwhelming ideas contained in them. I stopped in the Children’s section & tried to remember when children’s stories were about virtue & character instead of pink shoes & new video games, back in the day.

And finally. Finally I settled in a wooden chair not far from his holding a graphic design book & a sale-priced memoir. As the smooth sound of “Summertime” played in the background, I breathed it in. Glue-smell and all.

I’ve been in the midst of a mental battle lately—fighting between what my selfish heart wants & where I feel God leading me. Not to mention the tough self-realizations that come with it the war. And so I wrestle, argue, talk to myself (& Jon, he listens so gracefully) in an effort to curb the self-serving attitude. Some days, usually the days when my pants are feeling tight & I spill half my breakfast & my hair won’t cooperate & I feel guilty for the Poptarts I snuck yesterday, my self-service wins. On the other days, though, I feel different.

Yesterday was a “different” day.

He is home. It is bliss. We’re in the same household & on the same page, finally, about finances, decisions, future, weekends, toothpaste, & toilet seats. We’re communicating. The TV is gone. The lets-dress-up-in-Sunday-best-for-ice-cream has taken over & the “just because” way of thinking has rolled in for the season.

It’s a good season, really, this summertime. Just like the song, actually—sweet & smooth, the kind you tap your foot to & think of the bygone days. We’re both settling in to our “new” life at different paces, sometimes it just depends on the day. I’m working on the serving part, I think he is too. And the truth is that in many ways, this summer feels like an escape. An air-conditioned retreat from life & all the complications that seem to run along beside it. I’m totally, completely, sold.

Amazing what dates at the bookstore will do for your soul…

{pixels} an orchard + friendship

2010-07-02T06:35:00.001-07:00

new post up @ the photo blog!

the other Pritchard's visit....

2010-07-01T06:43:00.000-07:00

The whirlwind continued the day I returned from out West in the form of minature Pritchard’s & their lovely parents. Our “storage” bedroom & tiny apartment prevented us from hosting them, but we still got to enjoy time with them and other fantastic friends.

We ate.

Celebrated my birthday (woohoo!...i think).

Went to the pool (Joelle was not a fan).

Took a day trip to the beach.

And fed little babies…and ourselves (again, way too much yummy food).

Our four days together flew by and soon enough, we were on an airplane to Boston….

{sorry Justin & Beth, we do have more photos that include your beautiful faces...they just aren't posted...yet}

she grew up...

2010-06-30T06:15:00.000-07:00

She.

Is beautiful, amazing, kind, lovely, hilarious.

She is graduated.

And I.

I can’t believe it.

I decided to surprise the girls—Tayte for her 17^th (gah!) birthday, Korryn for her high school graduation. As chance (& schedulers) would have it, Korryn’s graduation was the weekend after mine—as in, 5 days later. To say it was a whirlwind might have been an understatement. So we left West Virginia from my graduation, hosted (from a hotel since our “extra” bedroom turned into a storage room) Rusty & Gay for 3 days, and then the very next day I flew out to Washington.

If I would have known that Tayte’s adorable friends were planning on pulling her out of bed at 11:30pm & brining her blindfolded & screaming, bra-less & shoe-less into the airport, I would have had my camera ready. Alas, I did not have my camera ready & missed out on what might have been the best blackmail material ever.

Korryn, thinking she had the right to a social life or something, didn’t find out I was home until the following day. Jerk face. (just kidding).

And then the moment came: with borrowed clothes & accessories & shoes (I literally carried underwear & my purse on the trip), we walked into the giant arena & watch the little miss graduate.

There were tears: mine.

There was cheering: ours.

There were air horns: tayte’s.

There were snears: people around us.

And then there was the graduate: beautiful.

I can NOT wait to see what God does in her life. She’s grown into an incredibly stunning young woman. Plus, BONUS!!!!, we get to live in the same city for the next three years. DARN excited about that (little Taytie? Will you come live there too?).

the Pritchard's visit....

2010-06-29T06:29:00.001-07:00

We returned from West Virginia (after a short pit-stop at “Uncle Glen’s” house) fuller, fatter, & filled with all sorts of happy feelings. What a JOY that weekend was! (Despite my mushroom hat & polyester unitard—but how many people actually get to wear those pretties?).

Rusty & Gay, Jon’s adorable parents, joined us for another few days on the ranch. Well, okay, not a ranch at all. More like a zoo—the barking puppy next door (who woke us up at 4am this morning thankyouverymuch), the kids running upstairs, the loud music driving by, the giant planes flying overhead…yup, ZOO. Since it was Memorial Day, we took off to see the sights of Raleigh, avoiding the glorious beaches since we knew they’d be full-to-the-brim with sun bathers & ocean-pee’ers.

We visited Duke and WOWZA what a campus! I was in awe at how small the school attendance was and how huge the campus was!

And we followed the day with an Italian-style dinner at Maggiano’s. YUM and elastic pants is all I’ll say.

AND—this is so exciting!...we bought a new camera! We found a super-deal on Craigslist & pulled together the saved stashed special cash for the purchase J We couldn’t be happier with our new toy!

{pixels} the M family

2010-06-28T16:46:00.000-07:00

new shoot up @ the photo blog!

graduation: day 3

2010-06-28T06:54:00.004-07:00

The weekend, the one I didn’t want to attend & made up every excuse to avoid, came to a close much too quickly. Breakfast was had (my pants were getting tight by then), hugs were given, and goodbye’s said. It came & went faster than my memories could catch up, soak in, linger.

But that is why we have pictures, right?

Looking back on the whole weekend, it confirmed that people are willing to sacrifice for us. and how honored we are to have a family, to have parents & siblings & aunts & uncles, who model that sacrificial behavior. Who stand up & say yes we want to be there, despite my fit-throwing & avoidance-seeking; who love on us when we don’t want (or don’t think we need) to be loved on.

The pride that was expressed at this accomplishment pales in comparison to the lessons learned from the journey. Jon & I have been through a lot over the past four years (but who hasn't?). And this accomplishment--& the photos posted here—shouldn’t at all detract from his accomplishments, too. But those will come out—you’ll all be awed & amazed at his humility through it all.

One thing I must say, though, is that we got through this past year without complaining, for the most part. We made it a goal: him in Iraq, me who-knows-where on rotations that we would take each day as it came, embrace what we were given, & try to be the best person we could be despite the trials & frustrations & strains that life seemed to slip in to golden moments. And we did it. Together.

With time, the memories of this weekend will fade. The specifics will blur together...and I won’t remember that I drank a 16-oz chai everyday while I was there. I won’t remember that our room at The Greenbrier smelled like an old woman’s perfume (probably for good reason as lots of old people stay there). I won’t remember Jon standing on his chair in the middle of the circus tent doing fist-pumps & shouting my name. I won’t remember the humidity or the polyester unitard or the wine we sipped at dinner.

But this. This is what I will remember: that we were loved. That we were together. And that life, at the present moment, was good, wonderful, full, & sweet.

And those are the memories I choose to carry with me. Like sunshine in my pocket, an umbrella for when the rains come. No doubt, the storms will come someday…but for now, I’ll bask in warmth & leave the post-storm rainbow for someone else.

graduation: day 2

2010-06-27T06:19:00.001-07:00

The “BIG” day. Which in all reality, wasn’t really the end—more like the beginning. The odd feeling I had, the one that found its resting place at the bottom of my stomach, seemed to echo the sentiment that yes this is an accomplishment…but yes you’ve got a LOT of work to do. I guess if I was confident in what I didn’t know my future patients might run the other way. For good reason, too.

The humidity was bearable (certainly better than North Carolina), but still thick. And the polyester unitard (as I fondly took to calling it) was NO help at all. I had to pee. I kept drinking water because I was nervous. I was afraid my family would do something embarrassing.

But in the end, it didn’t really matter. I stepped up on stage, shook hands, got my GIANT diploma (I thought they’d at least try to save paper), & then walked down (I won’t tell you that it was followed by sprint [in my polyester unitard with my mushroom hat nonetheless] to the bathroom. I thought after those shenanigans I might be dubbed the “runaway graduate” since it was a professional ceremony and all. But my bladder told me otherwise.

Anyways…the ceremony was over…we snapped some photos…ate some snacks (good thing my hefty tuition paid for something!)…and then Jon & I left for more chai, a lunch alone, and a long walk (with my then-blistered feet from uncomfortable shoes).

The evening was the highlight of the day. We had dinner inside the mini-house my family rented at The Greenbrier. It was DELICIOUS. There was conversation, wine, laughter, memories, and encouragement.

It is an odd thing, these big “events” that come after the wedding. Perhaps it’s been my own selfishness, but the more we are surrounding my loving, encouraging people; the more we put ourselves in the middle of the legacy our immediate family provides, the closer our marriage becomes. It is in the recognition that we are something together instead of just two people wearing rings, in the recognition that we are supported by those more wise with more miles on their proverbial tires, and in the recognition that although I might not have chosen the people in my family that they were chosen for me by Someone who knows so much more.

I chomped on my oh-so-amazing chicken & sipped down the red wine in my glass until just smears of sauce & a red-wine drops were left & couldn’t help but think about how blessed we are.

We topped the night off with bowling. In the basement of the Greenbrier. Yup…the place IS that amazing. It was hilarious. And muscle-pulling. And squeal-provoking.

And it was perfect.

graduation: day 1

2010-06-26T06:15:00.003-07:00

It felt good to make the last five-hour journey to West by-God Virginia. It was home to me for 3 years…but never home at all. You know that feeling?

I really didn’t want to go in the first place. And with Jon’s recent homecoming, I had a good excuse. But I gave in to the requests of Jon & my mother. And they were right…again.

We had SO. MUCH. FUN.

Family flew & drove in from across the country. The ceremony with its pomp-and-circumstance was not my style. But the food? And the family? And the friends? And the celebration? THAT was totally my style. We ate. And laughed. And bowled. And laughed. And cried. And…

…recognized that we serve one AMAZING God.

We spend the first day puttering around Lewisburg. I had rehearsal in the morning (blah) & wasn’t surprised to find that the school set up a circus tent in which we were to graduate (which quickly became its own greenhouse under the hot summer sun). We had “encouraging” words from the Administration & then practiced walking. So fun.

I met up with Jon & family briefly for chai from the Wild Bean (my favorite!!!!!!) & we then joined my Dad & little brother Alec for lunch. The town didn’t have much to offer in the way of eating establishments, so we took what we could get—better than Bojangles or Walmart deli, I’d say!

We got caught in “rush hour” (which consisted of 100 cars on the one “through-street” in town. And we all enjoyed a dinner together at one of the oldest hotels in the region—with true “southern cooking” and smiley hospitality to match.

completion.

2010-06-25T06:52:00.002-07:00

Apparently I’m supposed to be smarter. Walk taller. Singer better. Work harder.

Not so much, actually.

I’ve got an ugly hat made of velvet, a polyester gown, & a large diploma to prove that I’ve got to new letters after my last name & a new “title”. Oh boy.

{why yes, that was my shining moment...i am so photogenic}

The journey has been a blur. Really & truly, it has. At times I thought they’d lock me in the anatomy lab forever. And I told my family that I’d literally hit my head against my little cottage wall after studying for 10 hours on Saturday—isn’t that what all then-23-year-olds do with their weekends?

But hindsight has a way of adding sugar & sweetness to all those bitter memories. And now, looking back, the journey although seemingly miserable, doesn’t seem quite that bad anymore. The swollen fingers, under-the-eye-bags, gray hairs (yes, its true!), & hours spent with my textbooks seems well, do-able. Not that I’d volunteer to repeat it, but now I can recognize that God & the people He surrounded me with were not only part of His divine plan to get me through it, it was His plan all along to carry me through it.

And before I show you pictures of the festivities, I need to thank someone.

Him.

He’s been amazing through this journey. Patient. Kind. Loving. Gentle. Understanding (oh SO understanding). I’m not sure many men would volunteer to marry a girl, volunteraily live apart for 3 years, and then send her off into the abyss of intern-year & 80-hour-work-weeks with a smile. But then again, it doesn’t surprise me. That is why I married him in the first place. You see, he’s got Jesus in Him. And the foundation of our marriage, we’d like to think, isn’t based on what the world sees.

Jon, I couldn’t have done this without you. Seriously. You’ve made me a better person through this journey. We know it isn’t over. And God’s greater plan & purpose is yet-to-be-revealed. But in the middle of my long nights studying alone, in the midst of stressful exams & overwhelming mountains of information, in the encounters with difficult patients & trying attendings, I remembered YOU.

And you made it all worth it. Thanks for that.

Love you, bunches.

the golden summer month.

2010-06-24T08:37:00.003-07:00

Oh where has the time gone? Really? Over a month since I visited this little space? I guess I’ve had a couple of excuses—and when I haven’t had an excuse, I just haven’t felt like writing.

I’m amazed (totally amazed) this summer at how busy I’ve kept myself sans job. And this confirms it: staying home is hard work! My schedule is leisurely (which I’m soaking up while I have the luxury) but more days than not, four o’clock rolls around & I’m still scratching my head at how time skipped so many hours in the middle of the twenty-four.

Its been quiet around here, for the most part. We’ve rid ourselves of the television, much to my elation. Jon’s job has kept him just busy enough to come home at a reasonable time in mid-afternoon, where he finds me waiting for him usually on my computer (except yesterday when he caught me nodding off to sleep while trying to catch up on studying). We’ve put some miles on our car (the one car here over the summer), added some airtime to our mileage programs, & shared more than our fair-share of wine & conversation with those we love. We've trudged through difficult conversations (he held my hand the whole time), had midnight talks under the covers like 12-year-olds at a sleepover, sipped coffee on saturday morning in our pj's, & caught more than one Carolina rainstorm (oh how i'll miss those!).

All in all, his first month back has been, well, lovely. We keep walking around waiting for one or the other of us to leave, to pack our bags and have to say goodbye yet again. But it isn’t happening. And as the reality of living together slowly sinks in, so does the joy that comes along with it. THIS is what we’ve missed out on?

In an odd way, the monotony & simplicity of our routine is where we find the most beauty in our marriage right now. The ‘knowing’ that we'll leave pajamas out on the bed, Jon’s workout clothes on the floor, the shower curtain left open instead of closed, the computer screen glowing at night…the list goes on. Its fun, really, to keep discovering. The 3-years & many, many miles we've put on our marriage offers a vague familiarity--and yet, it is all new again. And we’ve got so much growth ahead of us—to say we are excited about it is an understatement.

We are rounding the bend on June and, my gosh, what happened to this golden summer month?

A lot, actually.

Stay tuned.

home.

2010-05-17T17:18:00.002-07:00

well, breathe....he is HOME.

and what a sweet reunion it was. low-key. no pomp-&-circumstance. no screaming babies or oodling wives. just us. the airport. and a few other spouses. perfect. {not that i don't love babies or other wives, mind you...}

he is tired, but adjusting quite well to the crazy change in time-zone. i put him to work right away unloading our two PODS we stored all our household LIFE in over the past 12 months. we worked for almost 9 hours on Saturday unloading, carrying, packing, unpacking, lifting, arranging, settling. and ever-so-slowly, this tiny temporary apartment is beginning to see the signs of life, of home.

and we are adjusting, too. after i woke up with a strange man in my bed on saturday morning, i remember that he is home & that here starts the new life together. boy are we excited about it.

after 3 years of marriage spent 3 states apart, we are FINALLY together. a bit counter-cultural (albiet we-like-to-think Biblical), don't you think?

while he is adjusting to the wonders of American life again (ice cream! yummy food! attractive non-painted-in-pink cars! the english language!), i'm adjusting to having him around. and i'm finding little signs of his presence everywhere.

it is a good feeling. to have this deployment behind us. and the God-planned-life ahead.

"There will come a time when you think everything is finished. That will be the beginning."

- Louis L'Amour

Mr. L'Amour, my thoughts exactly.

summer.

2010-05-11T10:34:00.002-07:00

it's here. finally. and the deep breath i feel like i've been waiting to take hasn't yet come. but in the meantime, until i can breathe it all in deep, my mind has wandered. and while i've spent my quiet nights alone reading, listening, trying to find the pattern in the mash of words that constantly fill my thoughts, i've realized that i'm in a bit of an inspirational desert.

writing ebbs & flows. i like to call it the perpetual roller coaster--one i always seem to be riding but can never fully grasp a pattern in its motion. and so i've decided to take it as it comes, to embrace the desert. things might look different around here for while (oh who am i kidding....are they ever the same?)...but i'll come back eventually with more words, more sharing, more heart-feelings from the bodies & spirits of those i'm blessed to encounter. in the meantime, i've made it a goal to share more non-medicine-related stories. more about us. i feel like i've been so focused on documenting my thoughts that i've forgotten to document our lives.

so onto the summer. it is finally here. i'm back on the east coast (as of 3 weeks ago), soaking in the humidity & simply waiting for jon to come home (we are so SO close!). i finished rotations last thursday (i was privvy to 4-day work weeks during my [last & final] dermatology rotation--good planning on my part). i've gotten necessary appointments, grocery shopping, & what-can-i-make-from-nothing-crafts out of the way.

and now God teaches me patience.

{this might be the ugliest "welcome home" sign EVER. not even kidding.}

it isn't in my nature (thankyouverymuch mom) to sit & be still. i'm a busy-body (usually, unless it is 5am in which case i'm a sleepy crabby body). and although i cherish my quiet time in my own space, spending ALL DAY in the quiet of my own space is a challenge for me. my residency program has been an answer to prayer & is allowing me to start two months late & arrive with jon. their graciousness will allow jon & i to (for the first time!) be married, live together under the same roof, & get to know each other again after 12-months of living apart & before the craziness of residency begins. i still will have a (hopefully) busy schedule: my prayer is to fill my mornings with studying & projects (yup, i still have a secret that can't be shared yet!...no, i'm not preggo) & my afternoons with photoshoots. jon gets my evenings.

i'm getting little whispers from UpThere that this summer will be full of lessons--ones that God has been patiently waiting for the last four years of busy-ness to teach me. lessons about money management, grocery shopping (could it be?!), efficiency, blessings, sleep, morning-person-ness (ahh!), studying, family, marriage, & learning to love medicine all over again.

quite frankly, i'm worn out. my rotations over the past 2 years have been far from rigorous--& most of that was intentional. after two solid years of studying & an emotional rocket-coaster (much more intense than a roller coaster, i assure you). i'm slowly discovering the kind of medicine i want to practice, the type of patients i love to spend my days with, & the environment in which i feel that i can (& will) thrive as a physician. and as time goes on, God keeps whispering that my "ideal" world of wifely-hood, mother-hood, & physician-hood can in fact become a reality...with intention & the blessing of His plan.

so here i am. ready to take on the summer. ready to have jon home & settled. ready to have a couch (instead of one very loved recliner & a borrowed card table) & the rest of our stuff semi-unpacked. and ready to take a deep breath...

here's to you, summer. i think we'll make a good team.

yes.

2010-05-04T06:50:00.000-07:00

hair crow-black, a veil to the sights of the world.

cuticles picked, raw from nervous habit.

too-large sweatshirt. wringing hands. tapping foot.

he slumped on the oversized couch, shoulders hunched, waiting for questions; waiting to answer.

the yes’s came in droves.

yes. i feel guilty.

yes. i sleep all day.

yes. i’ve skipped school.

yes. i don’t feel like eating.

yes. food is disgusting to me right now.

yes. i have thoughts of hurting others.

yes. i tried to slit my wrists last week.

yes. i sliced my neck open with my pocket knife.

yes. i overdosed on pills.

yes. my father left.

yes. my mother can’t pay her bills.

yes. our cupboards are usually empty.

yes. i have thoughts of suicide.

yes. i’m tired.

yes.

yes. i’m only 16.

yes. you can help me.

and just when i think i’ve had enough of my long days, needy patients, demanding patrons, & angry mothers…

the yes’s come.

and when i throw out judgment like candy at a summer parade, blind to the grief that lies beneath…

the yes’s come.

and i smile with my eyes instead of my face, not wanting him to think i’m laughing at his tragedy. the windows to his soul empty, flicker bare his face smiles back instead. and i think that is good enough for now.

the yes comes. a resounding yes…

yes, i’ll help you.

{i’m thanking God today for the nonprofit & charity-sponsored crisis organizations that help patients like him…have you considered supporting your local psychiatric crisis center?}

who he once was.

2010-04-30T07:42:00.000-07:00

remember old mr. huldorn? his life stored in two hotel-style dresser drawers, days spent on the fifth floor of the concrete rectangle in the countryside. walks, privileged. and when i visited him, they’d just taken away his green card—which for mr. huldorn was like taking away his prized collection of special edition baseball cards: devastating.

and so he spent his days on his bed. eating snacks of chocolate Easter bunnies & orange-wrapped Skittles from last Halloween. his mom sent him boxes, usually weekly. but he’d ask at least twice a day to please check the mail for more treats—a request usually followed by more hollering about his bathroom habits.

mother-mrs. huldorn sent packages full of chocolate bunnies & orange wrappers because she couldn’t stand to visit anymore. she as getting older & it was just too hard to see her forty-something son holler about his bowels.

i kind of don’t blame her.

mr. huldorn taught me a lot about waiting, patience. and not surprisingly about his bowels. and he also taught me about his daily bathroom habits…

but what i didn’t tell you was that old mr. huldorn, before he hollered about the bathroom, was a valedictorian. a true 4.0-earning, graduation-class-speaking high school valedictorian. it was in another life, now irreconcilable to his own fragile memory. as the story was told, he was a up-and-coming computer genius. the second bill gates, some even said.

his parents were proud—or so the story goes. their prominent positions in the community, country-club lifestyle & ritzy vacation on the Carolina Coast seemed to be the perfect formula for a life of leisure & success.

the story of mr. huldorn’s young Hollywood life goes on as any other—full of drama, suspense, & a small dose of personal tragedy.

it was during college, his sophomore year that the senior mr. huldorn fell out of love with his family & in love with a much younger, thinner, perkier version of the original mrs. huldorn. i can only imagine the wildfire of gossip that spread through those streak-free windows & red-roofed houses, between the mouths of the Stepford Wives on Wisteria Lane.

and the then-young mr. huldorn was, i would imagine, nothing less than devastated.

i was told, the story sounding much like a ghostly tale from a far off century, that the voices started then, after the new mrs. huldorn moved in. the voices got louder & stronger & bothered him more frequently. they talked to him in class, in the library, & during dinners in the dining hall. they told him he was stupid, undeserving. they tried to convince him to jump off roofs & smash computer screens.

and soon enough, it was just too much. the senior mr. huldorn, horrified at what had become of his valedictorian, country-club son waived goodbye for good.

which just left mr. huldorn and his worn out mother. and while the voices taunted the mind of young mr. huldorn, the rumors taunted that red roofed house on the real wisteria lane.

it was his breaking point.

so young mr. huldorn was taken to the hospital. his mother soon discovered just how severe her son’s schizophrenia really was.

fast forward twenty years. and we arrive at the concrete rectangle in the countryside, the fifth floor, the boxes of Easter bunnies, and…the bathroom.

you see, the case of old mr. huldorn’s hollering wasn’t just about the bathroom. it wasn’t just about his rather odd fixation on his bowel movements. and it wasn’t about his green card, either. no, the tale of old mr. huldorn is really about his STORY. it is about second-chances & loving anyways & accepting the seemingly-devastating & rising to the occasion.

and maybe most of all, it is the poignant reminder that none of us should be who we once were.

we have a voice who speaks to us, too. jump, it says, let me catch you. dare, it warns, i will continue to provide. and while we go on in our daily trudge, hollering about the weather & the boss & the clogged toilet, that voice knows where we’ve come from.

and that Voice has big plans for us.

which may or may not include things like green cards & orange wrapped candies & weekly boxes full of chocolate Easter bunnies.

dropped.

2010-04-28T06:47:00.000-07:00

the words just fell out, dropped from my mouth onto the floor.

the floor.

where they bounced & broke.

where they bounced & broke…and remained.

remained.

until i swooped them up & tried to mend the pieces. and then hide those words, cracked but glued back together in my pocket—as if they’d never come to life.

life.

the one i was living. the ME. right here, right now. the me that sprang those words to life. now plagued with regret.

regret.

of my audacious openness with a stranger. so i hung my shoulders and walked out of the room, embarrased that i’d broken the rules.

the rules.

the ones that tell me i’m not supposed to share. that i’m supposed to listen. that i’m supposed to be transparent & empathetic, but never personal.

personal.

no. this is what it has to be.

be.

i never liked rules anyways.

back-and-forth.

2010-04-24T05:44:00.000-07:00

he waxes & wanes between the words, hopping over syllables, darting between the letters. an old Irishman one minute, an English gentleman the next. but his flannel shirt & black leather loafers point to who he really is: a small town American.

but the jumping, the hopping, the stumbling & stopping…an unintentional habit of seraching. his “th” sound rings as an “f”. The “r” translates a “w”. and the “c” hangs in the air, repeated as an echoing stutter until the words flow smooth again.

the journey had run long, & his searching for self continued. in words. in letters. in syllables.

but isn’t that what we all do? we set out on a great search for self. trying. testing. experimenting. we mix. we scramble. we spin the compass. and then, ultimately, return to comfort.

we change ourselves. our looks. our clothes. our voice. the title of our vocation, even, to sound more impressive to those who air a “higher status”. longer words flow, more syllables. nervous laughter. head temporarily taut in a burst of faux-confidence. the falsity matching the illusory mink fur shawl wrapped around our necks. and dripping in sparkles, the painted smiles cascade down to bounce from our cubic zirconium & finally meet the new-age girdles we don to hide our flaws.

it all seems to be an unintentional habit of searching. trying. testing. experimenting. our accent lived out in real time, true color.

that is, until our lives are mixed up; pocketbooks a scramble of red & black. we spin the compass, pack up boxes & lives, & move to new places, new faces, new opportunities. starting fresh. never airing our own flannel shirt & black leather loafers for fear we’ll be discovered.

and then, ultimately, we return again to comfort. holed up in plastered walls. illusory mink fur shawls hung & sparkling zirconium removed, we finally let out real laughter. maybe for the funny man, the light box. maybe for the friendly spider.

we wax & wane. between the lines, the expectations, the built-up illusion that we have to meet the Jones’. we dart between realities barely missing the freight train of truth only to find raw, cold exposure in the wind it leaves behind.

but someday. someday we’ll be discovered.

who are you going to be?

foregoing.

2010-04-21T07:31:00.001-07:00

i've chosen, deliberately, to forego all the 'pretty'. and focus on what really matters to ME.

remember this? a wild, unashamed confession that something i once truly loved was slowly leaving me for something else? scrapbooking is no longer my go-to...& photography is quickly taking its place....

and this is why:

see this photo book?

see this project?

i want to remember. i want to throw aside the inhibitions, expectations of perfection, self-made thoughts that pictures need to be pretty with sparkles. and just do it.

i'll toast to that...

she says, he says.

2010-04-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

she says, “give me some energy.”

he says, “my child, i’ve given you food to eat.”

she says, “help me lose weight.”

he says, “i’ve give you two feet to walk on.”

she says, “but i’m feeling so depressed."

he says, “look at all the people i’ve surrounded you with!”

… “i just don’t look right”

“beauty is determined by the soul.”

“fix my stomach problems…”

“i’m growing fresh foods for you to eat.”

“i’m just not getting better fast enough".

“i’m teaching you patience.”

“there seems to be so much wrong with me!”

“i want to hold you closer.”

“i don’t think i have enough…”

“for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

“i want to heal my body.”

“i want to heal your heart.”

“i don’t want to die…”

“i never said you had to…”

me & them.

2010-04-15T06:04:00.001-07:00

i look at them sometimes and wonder. wonder how they perceive life. do they know they are alive? can they see? hear like i do? can they taste food, enjoy chocolate, drink the sweet nectar that drips off the summers ripened tree? do they notice the wind in their hair, kisses of sunshine on their skin, drips of heaven on their face? is the smile real joy? the crying real emotion? the moaning real pain?

neurologists may say no.

preachers may say yes.

but what do i say?

i say love them. most of the time.

but sometimes the “love them” can’t find an anchor. it drifts into that raging sea of judgment. the sea, angry & gray, where my thoughts are tossed about in swells. the sea that convinces me that science rules: the smiles are random neurological firing, the moaning a sequence of reflexes. the sea, white capped & turbulent, convinces me that they are shells—defunct brains, malformed limbs, hopeless cases of life. i stay submerged in that sea. gasping. drowning. thrashing. until a Hand reach in & scoops me out of the abyss.

me.

the Hand rescues me.

the Hand carries me, pulls me, guides me, pushes me, & wheels me. me—a spiritual shell of a defunct heart & malformed grace. a hopeless case of life. and in that angry sea, the Hand becomes my life boat—pulling me back to the safety of the shoreline.

to finish the race.

victoriously.

that Hand hoped in me & knew that i was more than a sinister case of genetic misfortune.

their malady, physical.

mine, a sinful spirit.

neither fixed by medicine, only the Hand of HOPE.

and it is then that i realize, wet & cold, shamed with the salty drops still clinging to my skin, that me & them?

we’re not so different after all.

progress.

2010-04-12T06:18:00.000-07:00

i found this on my desk chair last week.

evidence of 2009. evidence of a planned life, a color-coded spreadsheet, a nervous heart.

evidence of the past. evidence that the present has come.

and evidence that God has, once again, pulled through.

it was accompanied by this yellow post-it, scribbled with my mom’s curly handwriting.

amen, mom. amen.

God has been so, so good.

i can’t wait to see what He has for us next…

broken.

2010-04-09T06:51:00.000-07:00

they come to be fixed.

they come to be patched.

stitched.

stapled.

drained.

cured.

helped.

touched.

taught.

loved.

acknowledged.

kept.

admitted.

reduced.

splinted.

casted.

braced.

fed.

warmed.

saved.

x-ray’d.

injected.

opened.

repaired.

but sometimes i show up to be broken.

i guess we all need a little mending sometimes, a little saving too. whom you choose to cry out to for help, however, makes a world of difference.

"hear my prayer oh Lord,

let my cry of help come to you."

- psalms 102:1

dumpster diving.

2010-04-07T21:22:00.002-07:00

yes, literally.

it all started when i was little. my mom & i were living in portland, she’d just severely injured her back, & we were moving. we needed boxes.

and those portland dumpsters had all the boxes we needed. so there i went…dumpster diving at the tender age of 6.

my skills have continued to develop. and despite a short break during the peak of my hormonal-i’m-too-cool-for-my-shorts teenaged years, i’m still pretty good at it.

so good at it, in fact, that during my run on monday afternoon i eagle-eye spotted a neighbors garbage can teeming with magazines. and i really happen to love magazines—just not when i have to buy them. i’ll take ‘em free from the airplane, leftover from the hospital, and yes, even old from my neighbors garbage.

i told jon what i was going to do:

he wasn’t very happy about it. mostly because he thinks i’m kind of weird anyways (doesn’t everybody?). and mostly because my parents live in a nice neighborhood—trash digging isn’t exactly kosher.

{and by the way, that is exactly how our conversations go: type one sentence –> disconnected –> type another sentence –> disconnected –> type to myself –> i am frozen on jon’s screen –> disconnected –> hang up.}

well. i did go. korryn & i went on a stealth mission. we even turned our car lights off. turns out, the garbage can belonged to her friend. and her friend’s mom was looking out the window the whole time. sweet.

but i got what i wanted.

little did i know that i’d be learning about rainbow quilts, avacado green, & wood paneling from 1975.

…i suppose i could say the same thing about dumpster diving as they did about smoking back in the day…

it’s only natural.

Dear Angry Mother, From Regret…

2010-04-06T23:20:00.002-07:00

View Full Album

Dear Angry Mother:

when I plotted your sons BMI on his growth chart today & the dot barely made the margin of the page, I knew we had something to talk about. and i also knew that it wasn’t going to be easy.

so i walked into your room to do a well-child exam & found your 161-pound 10-year-old son quite pleasant. nice kid, you have.

but what i didn’t know, Angry Mother, was that my mentioning your 161-pound son’s weight was going to offend you so. i didn’t know that my preceptor would be 30 minutes behind schedule because of the extra time she had to spend explaining to you why we needed to talk about your son.

i didn’t know, Angry Mother, that my recommendation to eat more fruits & vegetables, my telling you that the acanthosis nigricans rapidly spreading on your son’s neck was linked to childhood diabetes, or that my explaining that he should try his best to be more active was going to send you stomping out of the exam room to tell the nurses just how offensive i was.

and i know, i know i’m just a student. i’m still learning. and when i walked in your exam room today, i tried my best to use gentle words & approach this confrontation with empathy.

i heard later from my preceptor, who was gracefully able to diffuse your anger over my audacity, that your son cried because he apparently wasn’t aware he was overweight prior to our chat today.

really? really Angry Mother?

i guess he thought it was normal to have oozing hydadenitis suppurativa in his skin folds, normal to look down only to find his chin was in the way of full neck flexion, and normal to have a stomach covered in white striae from skin stretched too far by the bounty of adipose underneath.

i’m no exception from flaws, failures, and need-for-improvements, Angry Mother. but this is YOUR time—this is YOUR time to guide him, teach him, challenge him to eat right, better, purer foods. this is YOUR time, Angry Mother, to pass on good, healthy habits that he will carry with him to old age. and this is YOUR time to be a positive role-model for him with regular exercise & healthy eating. even still, our physical flaws, mine included, are no reason for condemnation.

i guess i was out-of-line today. and rude.

and i guess i’m sorry.

but Angry Mother, i want to tell you now…that less than 25% of childhood obesity is because of genetic predisposition. i want to tell you that just because your kid doesn’t eat protein, mac+cheese isn’t a healthy substitute. and i want to tell you that today when i tried to encourage you, you spit the forewarnings i had about the long-term complications of childhood obesity right back in my face.

so thanks for that, Angry Mother. and thanks, too, for the now-permanent hesitation i have with ever being honest with a patient again. you’ve changed my perspective—& i’m sorry to say that it isn’t for the better.

best of luck with your 10-year-old.

sincerely,

regret.

13 Ways to Better Photos...Day 13 {publish}

2010-04-03T06:03:00.001-07:00

As I’ve looked back through my scrapbook pages, I realize that my favorites are the ones that TELL A STORY. The photo’s are important, yes--& they tell a story of their own…but sometimes words are a much more powerful weapon! I know that I’d like to know how my great-grandmother wrote…& I have no documentations of her handwriting! I’d love to know what she loved about her husband, where her favorite spot in her house was, the neatest places she’d traveled to…

But not all of us are award-winning writers. Or even writers—at least we certainly don’t feel like professionals. And in turn, we back away from recording our memories. News flash: YOU DON’T HAVE TO WRITE WELL TO WRITE AT ALL…. (how is that for a grammatically correct sentence?)

Here are some ideas to help jump-start the process….

Make lists! (I, for one, do this VERY well…). If you don’t feel confident in using paragraphs, make a list of memories, emotions, or even places you went to on your last vacation. Sort of like a “Mastercard” commercial, paired with a photo, your simple list can become just the right amount of ‘spark’ to remember the details.

Take the photos LATER! Write about something first—a memory, a special item, a loved one—and then try to snap a photo that matches the sentiment expressed in your writing. No one says photos always have to be the first prompt…try making words a prompt for your pictures!

Take the photos FIRST! And then sit down to write, remembering just one or even a variety of things about what is happening in the photo. Little is more annoying to me than scrapbookers who put pre-formed words on lovingly-crafted photo pages. Words like “cute” paired with a photo of a baby. Or words like “play” paired with their children on the playground. Because DUH!!! The baby IS CUTE—we all know that. And the children ARE PLAYING—quite obvious, thank you. If my mother handed me a book of my childhood photos with only silly words on them like “grow” & “learn” & “play”, it would mean nothing more to me than if she would have handed me a stack of photos. We need words—simple, complex, in full sentences, or in little pieces. Show a piece of yourself. And when you take the time to document the memories through photos, take an extra 5 or 50 minutes to write something (anything!) MEANINGFUL about them as well.

So you might be thinking: But what if I can’t remember what is IN the photo? NO PROBLEM. Likely, you’ll remember something—even the smells—of the picture. Take this scrapbook page, for example.

I knew that I lived in this house during first & second grade. But this photo was snapped on any regular day after school—playing with the neighborhood kids. And because it was in my possession (& not my mother’s), I couldn’t remember the details. So I wrote about it anyways…

“I remember the tile landing right when you walked through the door. I remember the big blue bathtub I was proud to call my own. I remember the kitchen, the glass dining table, & the quarters that always sat by the washing machine. I remember the back porch where I’d clean my hamster’s cage each week with 409 Disinfectant Spray…”

See? A list of memories—in paragraph form…brought together to explain a picture having nothing to do with little 7-year-old me in the middle of the street at our old house. But it works. And suddenly, instead of a photo of a seemingly-cold little girl, we have a story…it comes to life.

Another method is to write a letter to the person in your photos. Even if that person is unknown or a distant ancestor, you DO have something to say to them. Questions, maybe; about who they were, about their daily lives, and about how you maybe aren’t so different from them afterall. You’d be surprised how powerful letters to pictures can be….

I’d encourage you to flip through your photos. And similar to my notecards in my {insane} organization system for already-printed photos still-to-be-scrapbooked, grab a notecard or pad of paper & jot down whatever comes to mind about one or two photos in particular.

Resources:

here is a great link about one way to approach it your photos

On Love & Photographs

Journaling Tutorial

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}
Day 6 {details}
Day 7 {focus}
Day 8 {camera talk}
Day 9 {documentation}

Day 10 {photograph-ese}

lies.

2010-03-29T22:43:00.002-07:00

In the sick room,

ten cents' worth of human understanding

equals ten dollars' worth of medical science

. ~Martin H. Fischer

we’ve lied to you. spoken through our teeth, nodded yes when we should have been honest, gestured “no’s” when you needed to hear the truth. we’ve lied to you.

we told you that we would fix it. cure it. heal it. mend it. stitch it. image it. detect it. prevent it.

and we’ve lied to you.

me? i’m sorry for the lies. the mistruths. the skewed beliefs that we’ve planted…and the rumor weeds that have grown from those seeds. i’m sorry for the smiles that should have been empathy and the attitudes that should have mirrored grace. i’m sorry for the “yes”’s that should have been “wait longer”’s & the “no’s” that should have been explained.

but none of us are perfect.

it keeps me up at night. i recount the day, wondering when the seeds were planted. wondering who bothered to water them. wondering why no one cared to notice weeds are clouding our perspectives. because those seeds we’ve planted have grown indeed. they’ve become redwoods of expectations. they’ve been tossed about in seas of worry. they’ve been thrown into the valley of mis-education, pulled through the pipes of uneducated requests, & regulated by the second-hands without adequate knowledge.

and here we are.

me: sorry.

you: lied to.

but here is the truth: medicine is not always the answer. pills are not always the fix. runny noses are not always pneumonia. fevers are not always raging bacterial infections. cuts don’t always needs stitches. menopause can’t always be cured with pharmaceuticals. muscle spasms won’t always be fixed with written prescriptions. snotty nosed-newborns don’t always have meningitis. muscles aches don’t always mean your medicine is toxic. that diet pill won’t always help your health. the CT scan won’t always show us everything. your blood tests don’t always have the diagnosis. we don’t always have all the answers.

those weeds are clouding our clarity. and we ask for Claritin to clear us up. the expectations we’ve swallowed haven’t broken because we haven’t taken the time to learn. so we ask for expectorants to help break up the excess. the seas of worry we swim in aren’t always full of sharks—sometimes just little goldfish, challenging our bodies to work as they were created; but we ask for a life ring for happy moods & less-hazy days.

i want to stop nodding yes. i want to stop saying no. i want to stop gardening weeds. and i want to stop being sorry.

i want to start investing in something bigger, greater, grander, better. i want to start with me. and then you.

we’ll start with your ten cents. and make an investment. together.

13 Ways to Better Photos...Day 12 {shoot. edit. ACTION}

2010-03-29T06:33:00.000-07:00

No, no. Not those kind of actions (although I’ve been dreaming of them for quite some time now!). I’m talking about doing something with all those photos. Since I waved goodbye (for the most part) to scrapbooking, I’ve had to entirely re-think WHY I’m taking pictures. And the truth is that my motivation behind the lens hasn’t changed much.

I take pictures to tell my story. I take pictures to capture moments, memories, & mishaps. And I take pictures to show that I was there, that I did that, that I experienced it. Because sometimes I’m the one that needs the most reminding.

The options are truly endless. I’m a paper-and-pen girl, a black-and-white girl, a girl who likes to tangibly hold things & hug things. So the idea of putting all my photos on a DVD just doesn’t appeal to me. Not right now…& probably never will (unless for some specific purpose). And perhaps that is the reason I’ve stuck with photos & haven’t yet ventured into the world of video—I want something to hold, to look at, to pick up & ponder. A DVD just doesn’t do the trick.

At the end of last summer, I made an executive decision: I would start making photo books. Digital photo books. We’d tried a few different websites before…& when those gems came happily packaged from Blurb, I knew that they weren’t joking around. THE BOOKS WERE AMAZING.

I ordered three photo books: yearly collections of our favorite photos from 2006, 2007, & 2008. They are full of smiling people, happy faces, birthday, autumn leaves, flowers, & travels. In the same way Project 365 showcases everyday of life for one year, these little “mini books” showcase the highlights of our lives. I purposely ordered them small—tiny enough to sit on a coffee table & be thumbed through by us, our guests, & the dust-mites I can never seem to stay on top of.

I’ve also picked sizes for our travels & yet another size for our “everyday-let’s-tell-our-story-this-way-instead-of-scrapbooks” photobooks. AND I AM SO EXCITED about making more of them! {hint! Christmas present idea! Mom…are you paying attention??}

We’ve got a LOT of catching up to do for BOTH of our 25 years of life captured by photographs, BUT having these books (especially the “Favorite Photos”) in a small, handle-able size makes them much more friendly to look at without flipping through those giant scrapbooks.

What will I do with all the memorabilia? The coasters & ticket stubs & programs & pins & other paraphernalia? Well…I haven’t quite figured that out yet. And it will be a work-in-progress. [suggestions are welcome!] Most likely, I’ll take photos of what I can—I don’t need to keep a ticket stub if I can take a photo of it & include it in my photo book. And all the artwork that our mom’s carefully preserved from our childhoods will also be photographed & made into little books just like these. But I’ll keep a few of my favorite scrapbooks around (along with my army of supplies) to save those things that can’t quite be captured in a photograph.

So…DO SOMETHING [like her!] with those photos you’ve already invested so much in! Whether it is in digital photo books, in framed (edited!) photos, or in photographs taped to your walls, the memories are meant to be seen, remembered. Give yourself the pleasure of re-experiencing your days.

Online Photobook Resources:
Blurb (my favorite offer from Blurb is their matte wrapped covers—no chance for ripped dustjackets here!)
MyPublisher
Photoworks
Shutterfly
Picaboo

Inspiration:
Ali Edwards
"Get Creative with Photos"
"A Family's Treasure"

In your home:

Polaroid display

Dreamy photo-filled kitchen

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}
Day 6 {details}
Day 7 {focus}
Day 8 {camera talk}
Day 9 {documentation}

Day 10 {photograph-ese}

13 Ways to Better Photos...Day 11 {editing}

2010-03-26T06:00:00.004-07:00

Aside from the rule of thirds, composition, & telling your story, my opinion boasts that photo touch-ups are the fourth “key” to better photos. No, not this kind of “touch-up”:

…just a little light enhancement, a little contrast, & a little cropping can make a HUGE difference in the finished product. And I promise…it’ll be a LOT better to look at.

Let’s look at some examples.

This is Katie & Shaun. Pretty decent picture, right? Composition is there. My angle was decent (they were seated, I was standing directly above them on my tippy-toes). The rule of thirds is in play (can you spot the landmarks?). And the lighting isn’t an eye-sore. But look what happens when I lighten the photo just a little bit, add a bit of contrast, & play with my RGB color curves…

See the difference? Pretty amazing, huh?

Now, before we go any further, I need to make an announcement: I DO NOT OWN PHOTOSHOP. Editing programs with full capacity (like full, professional capacity) are EX.PEN.SIVE. Like please-plant-a-money-tree-in-my-backyard expensive. Which is why Photoshop has not graced our desk (yet). Good news, though. LOTS of free resources are available that will give you almost-as-good results!

For ALL of my photos, I use a basic editing program that came with my camera. It allows me to lighten the photos, play with the contrast, & use RGB color curves to enhance the photos. The “curves” (as they are commonly called) are a great, easy way to edit pictures—although not all “basic” programs have that feature.

Here is a photo of Joelle, taken in less-than-ideal lighting. I edited it using my “free-came-with-my-camera” programs (including editing with “curves”).

And here is the same photo AFTER editing:

(tip: with less-than-ideal lighting, a trick-of-the-trade is to convert your photos to black & white. You won’t notice the yellow tint or extra glare…AND they take on a much more classic look!).

After taking pictures for only a couple of years with my semi-“fancy” camera, I learned that shooting photos in RAW format COMPLETELY changes what you can do with the pictures! IT IS AMAZING! Now, not all point-and-shoot’s have this feature…but if your camera does, bust out that manual & learn how to do it! You’ll never go back! Let’s take a look, shall we?

This is Karly. She was on a family shoot I did sometime back in the fall (which is still yet-to-be-blogged). I was taking individual photos of all the kids…& forgot to change my manual settings when I snapped this photo.

See the yellow tint? See how over-exposed it is? YUCK.

So…because the photo was shot in RAW (instead of plain ol’ jpg), I was able to literally change my manual settings AFTER THE FACT. And this is what we ended up with!....

Although the final-finish of this photo is a little “green” for my liking, it is a vast improvement from the first, yes?

Among the free photo resources available on the internet, Picnik remains one of my favorites. In fact, I use it to do my “final edits” for my clients (that is, until Photoshop comes to live with us). And it isn’t perfect. It takes a LONG time for such large photos. But for now, it works. I’m all about work-with-what-you-have….and this site does the trick!

This is Alyssa.

Decent photo, right? (beautiful girl, yes?)

This is Alyssa after my free came-with-my-camera basic editing.

This is Alyssa after playing with the same photo above in Picnik…

(“Orton” at about 75%)

(“Cross Process” at about 75%)

(“Sepia” at 100%)

See what a difference it makes? HUGE!

So take the time to edit your photos. I PROMISE you’ll love them more in the end. And take the EXTRA time to edit those make-my-heart-melt favorites—make them really frame-worthy with that extra 15 minutes spent on the computer. EVERY professional photography takes time post-processing (a fancy term for perfecting your already-shot-photos on the computer). You won’t regret it.

Other resources:

Picassa

FREE Photoshop Elements Online

To make photo collages (like this!): Big Huge Labs, (trial version) Microsoft Digital Image Suite

Other great editing resources & examples:

Photoshop Before + After

Another great example of one photo i'm totally jealous of...

Day 10 {photograph-ese}

i'm back!

2010-03-25T16:35:00.002-07:00

well THAT was an unexpected but much-needed break!

and i'm back y'all.

(if anyone even reads this anymore!).

we'll finish out our photography tips in the next week or so.

and i'll post some photos of crafty things i've squeezed into my life.

and if i'm feeling like it, i might start writing again too.

stay tuned.

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 10 {photograph-ese}

2010-02-11T06:00:00.000-08:00

Remember when I mentioned camera-ese? Yeah. With reading & learning & researching, I still don’t understand it.

And I’m okay with that.

I know just enough about my manual settings to get by. And half the time I have no idea what I’m doing—pretending I do works pretty well (shhh!! Don’t tell anyone, okay?!) There are LOTS of big words floating around: aperature, f-stop, ISO, shutter speed, tilt angle, blah blah blah.

DO NOT GET OVERWHELMED!

For the first little while, master those details. I look back on some of my first photos & wonder WHO in the world would have paid me to take them. I’m still growing. Still changing. Still learning.

I hope I always am, actually.

Resources: Pioneer Woman, Shutter Sisters, Photojojo, Jessica Kettle Q&A

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}
Day 6 {details}
Day 7 {focus}
Day 8 {camera talk}
Day 9 {documentation}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 9 {documentation}

2010-02-08T21:02:00.004-08:00

Not too long ago, I decided that scrapbooking was more likely-than-not a thing of the past for me. I love the pretty paper, I love the glue & scissors that go along with it. But after some serious soul-searching (did you even know you could do that in relation to scrapbooking?) I realized that I was doing it for the wrong reasons. My original intent was to create memory books for friends, family, & ourselves to enjoy. I didn’t want to be wasteful. I didn’t want to have to built on an addition to our home after 20 years of marriage to house all the Family Albums. And I didn’t want to be so paranoid about losing all that precious time. Our friends & family didn’t once pick up the scrapbooks. We rarely thumbed through them because of their bulk. And so I decided that my motives were wrong…& that digital photo books were taking the place of all that craftiness.

And you know what? I haven’t looked back.

Because I am still writing about those photos. I’m still scrapbooking some things. And if you take some time in blogland to find tidbits of amazing inspiration, you’ll quickly find that there are plenty of opportunities to document without fancy paper & expensive glue.

Photography plays a key part in recording the Days of Our Lives…well, YOUR life at least.

Last year I put together a Christmas Scrapbook that will be added to year-after-year. I’m excited for a few reasons:

**We will get this album out each year with our Christmas decorations—it won’t be something we look through all year.
**The album is small enough to sit on our coffee table.
**It is basic & easy to put together.
**It is a perfect way to hold our yearly Christmas card + record memories specific to each Christmas.

Around the same time, I also put together a photo-guest book. My parents originally started this concept at their rental house--& it is HILARIOUS to look back on years of Polaroids & accompanying notes. This format is a bit more streamlined…but as Jon & I continue to move, grow, & house our favorite people for short snippets of time, what better way to keep track of who we’ve been able to share our home with!!?

Using the same background (a tree, for example) & getting seasonal shots of your backyard, your family, your child is a great way to document time passing.

These parents got creative—I would LOVE to have similar photos of us when we were growing.

And here is a slightly more manageable version: plop your kid (or spouse if you’d like to see how they’ve aged) in the same chair for the first few years of their lives.

This is another detail-oriented photo-op. By not including the kids’ faces, this photographer captures a different kind of photo. Notice how, without the face, you tend to focus on the details?

Not so good with words? Try this photo book idea...how awesome to get one of these each year for a birthday from a collaboration of family members!!

So get creative. Your photos don’t have to be boring. Or repetitious.

The possibilities truly ARE endless.

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}
Day 6 {details}
Day 7 {focus}
Day 8 {camera talk}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 8 {camera talk}

2010-01-30T06:00:00.001-08:00

Gratitude makes the heart grow fonder: it’s NOT about your camera

Before you even read what I’m going to say today, take a moment & read this article. I promise you won’t regret it.

I’ve gotten quite a few emails & inquiries about camera recommendations from friends & family & blogland. And I’m honored that people would even ask in the first place. But I’ll be honest: I don’t research cameras. All that camera-ese that is thrown around between photographers is literally like Greek to me.

And it is all on purpose.

You see, at this point in our lives, photography is a hobby for us. And my hope is that our hobby will continue to evolve, our photography will continue to improve, & our resources will continue to grow. But for now? For now I avoid looking, drooling, & researching new, better gear.

Because the article has become my mantra: I don’t NEED a better camera because IT ISN’T ABOUT MY CAMERA. It is about me. It is about Jon. It is about capturing our lives as they happen, focusing on the details, creating fun & natural photos that others can treasure. And if we happen to have fun in the process, all-the-better!

I’ve seen far too many people spend thousands of dollars on top-of-the-line cameras without a clue how to use them. And the truth is that yes, the megapixels might be higher, the ISO might be greater, the abilities of the camera might have been beamed down from the future…but YOU are the photographer & YOU make the photos.

THAT is why all those basics we’ve been talking about are so important to grasp: they are literally the foundation of your photos. You can take amazing pictures with iphones, with old film cameras, even with polaroids. No one says you have to spend $2500 to get great photos.

Almost 5 years ago, my parents bought me my first dSLR. We spent $900 at the time. And guess what? It is my current dSLR. Someday we’ll have the extra pocket change to buy fancy equipment, external flashes, extra batteries, giant memory cards, & an array of other fancy gear. But more than once, I’ve reminded myself that for me, this is about the pictures.

Our very basic no-longer-in-production Canon Digital Rebel has served us well. We have one extra 50mm lens. And I learned through these tutorials how to use the manual settings. I am certainly ready for an upgrade. But our bank account isn’t. And you know what? THAT IS AWESOME. Because in the meantime, I get to continue mastering my basic skills. I get to shoot awesome families & get creative behind the lens. I get to treasure the photos that I am able to take just because I DO have a camera.

So my one piece of advice to you is to learn to use your camera, whatever it may be, before you purchase a new one. Having a new camera will NOT guarantee better photos…learning the basic foundation of photography will.

Let me know if you are interested in the {very basic} knowledge that I pass along to those who inquire.

Resources:
this amazing photographer's camera suggestions
TIPA awards
a Q&A with one of my favorites

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}
Day 6 {details}
Day 7 {focus}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 7 {focus}

2010-01-26T06:00:00.001-08:00

I think every “photographer” (hey! That includes you!!) has to decide where their niche lies. I had a Biology professor in college who loved birds. He cried tears of joy (not. even. kidding.) one day in class when a rare, presumed-extinct type of Woodpecker was found. Me? I could care less (no offense, bird lovers).

I know plenty of photographers who prefer to take photos of scenery—people just aren’t their thing. Others tend to snap photos of life in action, taking on a more ‘photojournalist’ approach to pictures. And then there are those who want the photos to be perfect & genuinely prefer posed pictures where necks are straight & chins are poised.

And honestly? I’m not sure what category I fall into. I tend to think of myself as an “all around” photographer. But the truth is that I just like to hear the snap of the shutter. If a pretty sunset falls into my viewfinder, I’ll gladly take a picture. I notice details--& don’t have a problem snapping away. People are my favorite, but I tend to be better at photo shoots instead of the hilarities of the everyday.

We ALL have a LOT of room to improve. And part of that improvement is finding where your niche lies. In a sense, we all need to write our own “Photography Mission Statement”. As ridiculous as it sounds, having a solid idea of where you need & want to improve will help you mentally hone your skills & improve in the areas that need it the most.

Here are some suggestions:

Do you really want a photo of that statue? Decide WHAT your focus is—WHAT do you want your pictures to say? When you look back on photos from past events, what common theme runs through those you call your favorites? This doesn’t have to be a conscious thought process…you know which photos catch your eye & which ones you’d rather turn away. Once you find your focus, you’ll just get used to telling a “story” that reflects that.

What do you want to remember? For most, the primary purpose of taking pictures is to capture memories. Case in point: the mom who finds herself drowning in 5000 pictures after a 4 day trip to Disney World. I’d be willing to bet that the majority of her photo folders contain photos from trips or birthdays or important events. We tend to overwhelm our families/friends with photos of trees or mountains or weird cars or good food from our vacations—but they are most interested in US! After all, they aren’t “friends” with our houses or our “stuff”—they are friends with PEOPLE! So focus on the PEOPLE, wherever you are!

What will you most likely forget? Remember those details…& get in on the angle! You’ll be able to get creative…here are some ideas:

Use reflective surfaces: this is a great way to get yourself in the photo while also capturing the hustle & bustle (or quiet solitude) of the city you are traveling to…it is also a great way for people to see what you do during the day!

Use the timer on your camera…want to be in the photo too?

Use the light to your advantage.
Capture life in action.

…stay tuned for more…

Resources: read this

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}

Day 6 {details}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 6 {details}

2010-01-23T06:00:00.002-08:00

So I’ve driven this point into the ground: let your photos tell a story.

What does this photo tell you?

It tells me enough that I can make up a story about it with the few details that I know. It tells me about the location, the era, the age of the person. But you know what else I’d love to see?

I’d love to see a close-up of this uniform. I’d love to see what shoes he was wearing—how dirty they were. I’d love to see what his hands looked like…what car brought him to this location…what the bricks on that building looked like up close. Maybe I’m a bit over-the-top when it comes to details…but I’ve noticed something…

I’ve noticed that when we take vacations, I DO tend to focus on the details. I take pictures that most people would think are quite weird. Like our shoes. And the sidewalk. And the food we eat. And the pillows on the hotel room bed. And even at home I take pictures of the toilet paper. And the dirt Jon tracks in the house on his boots.

WHY? Because all of these things MEAN SOMETHING. they mean more than a picture of a skyscraper. They mean more than a photo of faces, sometimes too. That old saying “The beauty is in the details” is really true for photography. And focusing on them highlights the little wonders of the World…Wonders of YOUR World—the ones important in your life. And the ones that we tend to pass over every day without a second glance.

For some reason, having that camera in hand makes all the difference.

On a trip? This is a PRIME opportunity to experiment taking photos of things you normally wouldn’t: the bed when you get up in the hotel each morning, the coffee you drank for breakfast, the fabulous cupcake you had for dessert, what you did in your spare time…

On a date? Use your self-timer! Find reflective surfaces to get both of you in the photo. Take pictures of you holding hands. Take pictures of your dinner, your shoes, of the restaurant.

On a walk? What a great opportunity to notice the little details within just blocks of your house! Take pictures of what you carried, the street you walked on, even the texture of the ground: dirt? Cement? Rocks?

At home? What little details of your house, corners of your home, or memory-provoking-items have you not photographed &/or written about?

At a BBQ? The possibilities are endless…

The concept of “Project 365” was not my idea. But I quickly jumped on the bandwagon when I knew that Jon & I would, literally, miss a YEAR of each other’s lives. I wanted him to see (via this blog) that I was okay. And I wanted to share in the somewhat mundane of my everyday with him—since he wouldn’t be here to experience it alongside me. Although the ‘work’ of remembering to take a photo everyday is much easier because I’m doing it for something (i.e., Jon!), it is the concept behind it that I fell in love with: documenting the everyday.

I would so treasure photos of what my great-Grandmother did everyday of her life. Did she quilt? Journal? What books did she read? What did her closet look like? Did she keep flowers in her house? And what did the inside of her home look like?

Long ago, I talked myself out of taking photos for future generations. I know many people do, but I don’t want to be so attached to the ‘responsibility’ of documenting my life for our future family members...not to mention the fact that I don't even know if they will care. So I promised myself that all this picture-taking would just be for US. that’s it! and I know that at the end of this year when I print a photobook of the 365 days that Jon & I were apart, I’ll rest well knowing that anytime he wants to, he can open the book & know what quirky things filled my days when he couldn’t share them with me.

Pictures have the incredible ability to evoke strong memories. Those “Kodak Moments” (& well, the Kodak commercials sometimes) have the ability to draw out emotion in a unique way. What better way to remember things than through photos. So don’t ignore the mundane. Don’t pass by the seemingly boring. Take the opportunity to look through that viewfinder…& soon enough you’ll be seeing life in a series of pictures. And when you decide to snap the shutter, remember that you are doing more than taking a photo—you are (as cliché as it sounds) freezing memories in time.

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}
Day 5 {perspective}

blast from the past.

2010-01-21T06:00:00.000-08:00

one of my new years resolutions this year is to go through photos. my photos. jon's photos. family photos. and although i fully realize this will likely be a lifelong project, i'm intrigued more than ever before about how life used to be. for me. for jon. for our parents & grandparents & great-grandparents.

which is why i had to chuckle when i found this photo of myself.

my grandparents bred & raised yorkie puppies. these were BRAND NEW puppies...that apparently i was quite confused about.

{jlyn with mom. around 9 months.}

new camera strap!

2010-01-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

inspired by this.

i decided to make this:

it slips off so i can wash it, should jon sweat on it when using the camera. ;)

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 5 {perspective}

2010-01-16T06:00:00.001-08:00

I’ll warn you that today is mostly a repeat of Day 1: ANGLE. BUT…the difference is that I want you to focus on telling a story through your photos. One thing that always amazes me about watching people take photos (especially those fanny-pack toting tourists) is that they just stand there and snap the pictures. Usually their hands are at the same level, their face is at the same angle…& their pictures are…well…BORING. What people tend to forget is that YOU HAVE ARMS. Arms that move! So MOVE THE CAMERA. This goes back to Day 1…YOU have the ability to move, but SO DOES THE CAMERA. Your eyeballs also have the ability to notice things…and those “things” can be translated through the viewfinder into VERY INTERESTING pictures! What a concept!

Don’t restrict yourself to one plane of view…try to look at things differently & TELL YOUR STORY. By “story” I don’t mean a chronological documentation of the goings-on of your day or trip or drive to the Coast; rather, I mean “story” to be what is left when you take away the “events”.

Emotion. Scenery. Detail. Love. Grace. Adoration. Beauty. Magnitude. Enormity.

I bet you’ll be surprised just how well you can capture emotion through the photos. Take a look at these pictures. They all follow the Rule of Thirds. They are all taken at different Angles. As you look at them (& trust me…I know they aren’t all fantastic…), try to answer the following questions…

Do they have a beginning, middle, & end?
Is the frame cropped appropriately?
What mood do you think best describes these pictures? Serene? Tranquil? Chaotic?
Was the sun out when these were taken? How can you tell?
What “story” do they tell when you look at them? Knowing nothing else about the subjects, the location, the events…what can you glean purely from the pixels?

I’d challenge you to go through a folder of photos on your computer. Look at a handful of your favorite photos & try to figure out WHY they are your favorites. What stands out to you? If someone else was to look at those same photos, what would they notice?

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}
Day 4 {lighting}

thrifty: headbands

2010-01-15T06:00:00.001-08:00

so i discovered during my month in portland that Goodwill has a "contract" with target. and that, my friends, was fabulous news. because, well, target is cool. and Goodwill is cool. and the combination? DOUBLE COOL.

i found some headbands for $0.99 per 2-pack--you know, the ones that look like Hannah Montana should be wearing them.

i also found some headbands at jcrew {& of course can't find a picture now} that were wrapped in frayed fabric. and i thought, HEY! I COULD DO THAT!

so i did.

...and you can do it too! you'll need a hot glue gun, some extra batting (really only a short 1cm wide strip), some torn cotton fabric, & a scissors.

start by gluing on the batting. word to the wise: don't stick your finger in the glue when it is hot. it will hurt.

you are adding the batting for greater thickness on your Hannah Montana headband.

next, take your torn strips of cotton & start wrapping. those frayed threads are welcome, leave 'em be!!

and once you glue the strip of cotton to the inside of the headband, you are done.

i might or might not have washed my hair 2 days before this photo was taken. that was probably too much information for you...sorry.

and i also got my crafty on & made some alternatives...

...which, unfortunately for me, were all Christmas presents for the sisters.

bummer.

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 4 {lighting}

2010-01-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

This is a tricky subject. ESPECIALLY if you are just a normal everyday-Joe taking pictures of your dog or kids or Great-Grandmother Ruth. Because it seems quite ridiculous to me to manipulate your subjects while they are playing with Polly Pockets or plan your birthday parties around the sunset or reinstall light fixtures in your home JUST FOR PHOTOGRAPHS. So for all of us practical folk who enjoy the simplicity of snapping photos at ease, these few tips should help.

I hope…

What is the best time of day to shoot? If you answered morning or evening you’d be right! And overcast skies are MUCH BETTER than sunshine for photos. Sunshine tends to accentuate shadows…which always happen to land on the black bags under my eyes or my unsightly jaw line. Both of which I would prefer to not have documented for my grandchildren to gawk at…err…admire.

{do you see that fabulous accentuation of the shadows? yeah...}

Anyways…if you have the opportunity (if!), try to remember to time your photos around the sun. And if you are taking your chances in a planned photo shoot, avoid the sun like the plague…take the peeps you are shooting out early in the morning or right before sunset—the lower the sun is to the horizon, the better the photos will be. Or better yet, check out the forecast & choose days that are “overcast” over those that Mr. Sun is supposed to show his face.

What if I HAVE to shoot in mid-day? Try to find a place of non-spotty shade. In other words, look for the shade of a building instead of the shade of a tree. Those little holes where the leaves don’t cover make shadows…which make your subjects look like they’ve contracted a rare strain of chicken pox or Brazilian Mole Virus (I totally just made that up…). Not pretty.

{this photo was taken under a tree...but because i waited until the clouds covered up the sun (we only had a few seconds to snap the shot!), no Brazilian Mole Virus showed up...}

Remember to place your subjects toward the edge of the shade & have them look UP. Remember what this will do?

{answer: make their eyes look ALIVE!...among other things…}

That little “pocket” of light that shows up in your subjects’ iris (i.e., the colored part of their eye) is called “Catch-Light”. And it is the treasure of photographing people. Without catch-light, your subjects look much less alive—their eyes take on a bland, almost lifeless appearance.

What if there is no shade AT ALL? Shoot into the sun. Yup. That is right! INTO THE SUN. you may not see faces as well…but you’d be surprised at just how much a silhouette can tell you. If you own a fancy schmancy camera, you can play with your manual settings to get a bit of sunflare. Also, turn your flash OFF for close-ups of people & things—you can steady your camera on the surface nearby…& turn ON your flash on for those fast-moving photos (especially with kids!)

What if I HAVE to shoot inside? The best lighting is found from windows, not electricity. More specifically, north or south facing windows tend to provide the best “filtered” light—you’ll avoid that direct bake-your-face sunlight that you get from east-west windows. Have your subject face the window…& put yourself between the subject & the window. (And DO NOT use a flash!). What you should end up with are photos with a sweet, “milky” light that is consistent enough to not create shadows.

If you don’t have the luxury of north-south windows, then close your blinds if the sun is out (as long as they aren’t black-out shades). This should provide ample light…should being the key word.

{i miss this house of ours!...}

What if…? Well then make-do. You are a smart cookie (yumm…cookies…). Not all your photos will be award-winners. But using these & the other basic rules will get you decent photos—even some that are meaningful.

{this photo is a great example of using the light you have. it was taken at the dinner table on a cruise boat--i couldn't manipulate the lighting & didn't have enough light (or space) to move toward the window. so instead of putting my mom under the "spotlight" (where it would have accentuated those "bad" shadows), i chose to put her in the background & the plate in the foreground. also an example of focusing on the details, we can still see her in the background...& nothing is washed-out because i shut off my flash.}

{holiday bokeh}

Other resources: Finding the Light, Put the Light Behind You

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}
Day 3 {composition}

thrifty: the embellished sweater {IV}

2010-01-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

sweater #4!!

this black one was just sitting in my drawer, unworn because it was so matronly--at least i thought it was.

so i saw this sweater ($178!!!)...

{image: www.jcrew.com}

and had some extra black knit that would be washer friendly...

and i pinned...

and sewed...

and ended up with this little treasure. {horrible photo, i know...did you know black is hard to photograph??}

a little treasure that was stolen by sister #1 promptly after the threads were cut.

apparently it isn't matronly anymore.

to be rich.

2010-01-11T06:00:00.000-08:00

We run from the silence. Trodden hearts heavy with responsibility, our refuge becomes the noise, the watching, the disconnect between the living & the color. The pictures come in clear, audience laughs with contentment, ads boast of better lives, and the must-haves jump out to meet our simple existence.

And suddenly, contentment swirls downward, lost in translation.

The flashing lightbox is seen through the windows. Entertainment for the evening. Laughter comes from the funny man on the screen, squeals of satisfaction when the imagined good guy wins.

But who is winning among the living? And furthermore, what is winning among the breath, the real lives that sit in front of those motion pictures? The ones drinking in the ads, the sales, the colors, the must-haves, the funny man; the ones believing that mystical kool-aid will makes their lives better, fuller, happier.

We sit for hours. At least two, just talking over gradually emptying plates. Reminiscing about the day, the past, the present; gratitude that hangs in the air. I breathe it in.

And after the table is cleared, smiles exchanged, “sleep well”’s wished upon one another, I retreat to my quiet abode. And just like the thankfulness that hung about the dinner table, I breathe in the silence—a welcomed retreat.

Without the distractions, absent the clamor, I finally think.

Think about the fact that my Bible, my life-blood, has been lying unopened for the past two weeks. The internet has claimed my attentions…now leaving me parched of The Water of Life.

Think about my patients, wishing they could know the love, breathe in the sweet sounds of nostalgia shared around the dinner table.

Think about my siblings, hoping they fully grasp the meaning of together someday—the together that breeds purity & contentment without the disturbance of the common-world.

Think about my marriage, praying that we, too, will be fully content living on the air of gratitude. Praying that we might come to realize that flashing pictures don’t serve as entertainment, praying that we might run against the grain of this world’s draught & come to the Fountain of Life together each day, and praying that our lives will be better, fuller, happier just because we have each other.

Think about my habits: the ones that keep me glued to my mobile technology & away from the joys of the living; the ones that keep me awake with the owls tying loose ends that were left behind during the daylight; the ones that make me void of deliberation—deliberate relationships, deliberate acts of kindness, deliberate giving; and perhaps most of all, the habits that stifle my growth—that permeate the air I breathe & taint the purity of my gratitude.

Think about my latitude—how lucky I am to:
- live here, in this country;
- to have a husband that realizes its distinction & sacrifices to serve it
- be fed each day & sleep each night with a belly full of sustenance & Bread
- live safely, securely, & sleep soundly
- have my health--& that of my family
- be stained in the red of Jesus

And so I wish. For me. For you. For children & parents & families everywhere…I wish for new air—full of gratitude, of conversation, sharing, & happiness. I wish for lives that recognize the living & turn to it, to one another; lives that shut off the colored pictures & stare at God’s crafted palate outside. I wish for time invested in memories, laughter, less-serious circumstances; time away from the plug-in’s, away from the “me’s”, & toward the “us’s”.

Most of all, though, I wish for simplicity.

“To know when you have enough is to be rich” –Lao-Tzu

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 3 {composition}

2010-01-09T06:00:00.003-08:00

We talked on Day 1 about the angle that YOU, as the photographer, took from behind the viewfinder. Today we’ll look at what you SEE through the viewfinder. To me, composition of photos really MAKES the story behind the photos come alive.

Before I even explain what “Composition” means to me, I’m going to encourage you to take a walk around your house while looking through the viewfinder. Because the truth is that looking through that tiny hole or looking at your subjects/objects via a screen on your camera is NOT the same as looking through your eyeballs. THE CAMERA MUST BECOME YOUR EYEBALLS. And naturally, just like new glasses, things are going to look a little different for awhile. So go…walk around…& promise you won’t run into anything…

You back? Okay good.

Composition is made up of 4 parts, depending on WHAT you are shooting. 1 of the parts we’ve already talked about (go you!)

1) angle & rule of thirds should be present in EVERY photo, regardless of what or where or who or why the picture is taken.

2) The second part of composition is to learn to crop your frame. Meaning, get rid of all that “white space” (even though it isn’t usually white) on the boarder around your subject. Look back at Day 1 where we learned about angle. See how each of the photos is cropped tight? And see what a difference it makes cutting out all the excess & FOCUSING on what you are photographing? The muffin’s in the kitchen is the perfect example…Some basic rules to follow in cropping your frame through the viewfinder:

If you are taking a picture of a person: crop it TIGHT.

If you are taking a picture of an object: give it just a tad more room

If you are taking a picture of a place or scenery: give it a LOT of room—we want to see the scenery!

3) Give each picture of an object or scene a beginning, a middle, and an end. {more on this later...}

4) Remember to tell stories (through your photos) about the PEOPLE. This last rule mostly applies to trips where we tend to see (with our eyeballs) new places, beautiful architecture, & amazing scenes. What we forget, however, is that the camera can’t capture things exactly as well see them. So…we need to alter our mindset & realize that as amateur photographers (I fit under this category also), the PEOPLE should be our focus. In a few days we’ll be reminded to focus on the details, too, but I won’t open that bag of worms. …

speaking of worms, these photos of our Alaskan fishing adventure are a perfect example. I captured the details (to be shown later), but also focused on the PEOPLE. Sure, the scenes were amazing & I didn’t forget to take photos of them; BUT I was so pleased when I got back home & realized that I had chosen NOT to fill my camera with buildings I wouldn’t remember or mountains that weren’t entirely meaningful. I guarantee it…focus on the people & your photographs will (almost) automatically become meaningful.

other looks:
this is a great example of composition (& well, the woman is an incredible photographer as well).

here is a fantastic series of photos about details taken on vacation.

This post is part of a photography series...
Day 1 {angle}
Day 2 {the golden rule}

thrifty: the embellished sweater {III}

2010-01-08T06:00:00.002-08:00

can you tell i've been inspired lately to make more of these? probably because about 1/2 my wardrobe is cardigans. and when i find them for less than $5, it makes it much more exciting.

jcrew has been teasing me lately. and with blogs like this one, this one, & this one, i can't even tell you how tempting it has been to just win the lottery & shop all day. but alas, i've chosen not to win the lottery (generous, aren't i?) and instead stick to the wealth of Goodwill & Value Village sweater sections.

which is where i found a plain black sweater. black is always a good color to look for because it is obvious when it is old & faded...& minor flaws are hidden well. i scooped it up (for $3), thinking i'd use it as material & cut it up. but when i got home, i found it actually fit pretty well.

and then i found this photo & ripped 'er out of the jcrew catalog (sorry for the poor picture quality):

and then i decided i could replicate it...

which got me this:

and if i wear it 3 times, it was worth the $1/wear i think. :)

[pieces]

home sweet home. living room.

home sweet home. part III.

home sweet home. part deux.

striving to simple.

home sweet home. part I.

worth it.

surfacing.

forever.

losing it.

seasons.

wind.

holding hands.

in the meantime...

playdates & dinosaurs.

craziness.

psalm 139.

fanny pack.

if this isn't just ridiculous...

moving.

{pixels} the C family

stories of summer: the summer of "we"

irreplaceable.

freedom.

date.

{pixels} an orchard + friendship

the *other* Pritchard's visit....

she grew up...

the Pritchard's visit....

{pixels} the M family

graduation: day 3

graduation: day 2

graduation: day 1

completion.

the golden summer month.

home.

summer.

yes.

who he once was.

dropped.

back-and-forth.

foregoing.

she says, he says.

me & them.

progress.

broken.

dumpster diving.

Dear Angry Mother, From Regret…

13 Ways to Better Photos...Day 13 {publish}

lies.

13 Ways to Better Photos...Day 12 {shoot. edit. ACTION}

13 Ways to Better Photos...Day 11 {editing}

i'm back!

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 10 {photograph-ese}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 9 {documentation}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 8 {camera talk}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 7 {focus}

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 6 {details}

blast from the past.

new camera strap!

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 5 {perspective}

thrifty: headbands

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 4 {lighting}

thrifty: the embellished sweater {IV}

to be rich.

13 Ways to Better Photos...DAY 3 {composition}

thrifty: the embellished sweater {III}

the other Pritchard's visit....