COVID: Week 9(ish)

Time keeps moving even as life stands remarkably still. Last week, a non-blur of much of the same. Wake, coffee, read, eat, work, run, video chat, watch a show, repeat. Sleep when it works out; try not to yield to anxiety when it doesn’t. Go to therapy. Don’t go anywhere else. One day we hiked a trail with friends, distanced, of course, but still, being outdoors made the world brand new for an afternoon. They’re the friends who inspired me to fall in love with New England, and many years of friendship make everyday adventures simple to plan. We compared notes on our pandemic experiences while exploring a state park and promised to meet again in a few weeks. Having the time to meet up in the middle of the week made lemonade out of the furlough lemons for a few hours, at least.

We finally ordered food from a favorite restaurant stretched that dinner into lunch as well. Takeout Indian never tasted so good. I think the heightened awareness of ordinary pleasures during these endlessly similar days is an unexpected gift and gratitude. I try to note them, because they’re an antidote to the negativity that kicks in at times. It was a slow week, a pretty good week. The best of times. The worst of times. And here are a few snapshots illustrating that in my neck of the woods, at least, we did our best to be present to it all, alive.

We’re all in this together, even as we are, for a time, apart.

COVID-19: Week 7-ish

Spring’s slow roll, a New England phenomenon decidedly different from my Texas experience, continues to amaze me on the daily. The wearisome rain, persistently present throughout the pandemic so far, threatens joy in the way of the wizarding world’s dementors; like Harry Potter we find ourselves looking for chocolate frogs (in covid terms: sunny days) to relieve us. The rain, though, coaxes seedlings to sprout, to bloom, to flower. Our garage houses baby birds; our neighborhood continues to explode in color. Outdoors continues to be my best coping mechanism for these strange days.

Indoors, Facetime and phone calls and food prep and working at home build a routine. A friend texted me midweek last week (impossibly week SEVEN of this) “weekends feel like weekends again.” Indeed, they do. I suppose that speaks to adjusting to whatever this is, to letting whatever this is be what it is. Days hold enough space for tears and frustration and fears right alongside of laughter, hope, calm. Even as the world feels chaotic and broken, I’m learning that acceptance means recognizing that my life remains safe and relatively peaceful. I feel fortunate; I am privileged. I can be grateful for what I have even while I grieve that many have wholly different experiences.

No answers to the questions of how bad and how long and how many and who continue create tension. So much suffering. So much death. And still, there is evening; there is morning. New days dawn; their persistence reminds me to breathe out fear and breathe in hope. Last week that looked like deciding to go for walks to see the flowers. To watch the wind chimes my sister mailed me blow in the breeze, knowing in her backyard they’re twinned and chiming too. To sit across a blanket from friends and make the baby laugh. To watch my husband fall asleep on the couch, nightly, surrounded by at least two thirds of our menagerie. To bake and run and sleep and write and photograph. Some day we will have answers to the hard questions of this. We don’t yet. What we do have is the choice to acknowledge the uncertainty and decide to show up for our lives as best we can. I think anyways.

Hope you’re doing okay, friends. We’re all in this together, even as we are, for a time apart.

As Mother's Day Approaches

Last week I attended a workshop on storytelling, and the speaker said that it's often small nuances that happen in the midst of our big life-changing stories that pack the most punch. He said looking there helps us find the stories within a story that illustrate human connection on the deepest level, drawing listeners in. That resonated.

With Mother's Day approaching these photographs of my sister and my nephew on the eve of my niece's birth kept coming to mind. Meghan's attentiveness towards and concern for Jameson as she prepared for the arrival of her daughter clarified so much of what makes her an incredible mom to both her kids. She knew he was on the precipice of change and wanted his transition to be smooth. She wanted him to know he was loved, he was ready and his place was secure. And the conflicting emotions of anticipating a beautiful change in her little family alongside of letting go of the sweetness of a season ending so a new one could begin- they showed up. Is that not the never-ending stuff of motherhood?

Maggie's birth and newborn photos are a blog not yet written, but for the lead up to Mother's Day I wanted to share these few simple photos, because they move me, and I hope they do the same for you.

Welcoming Pearl

Connection creates the most compelling story a photograph might tell, every time. When a collection of photographs communicates the unique and yet universal beauty of a family, together, in the comfortable security of just being, I find my most prevalent response to their photos one of gratitude. They've allowed me to see and document something true and good about life, about the world.

Pearl's newborn session, just three days after her birth, stands out to me because the joy and energy in her family as they adjusted their lives to welcome this tiny person felt tangible from beginning to end. I saw so much love, from her confident, proud biggest sister and her finding-her-way little not-quite-as-big sister to her smiles-never-left-their-faces mom and dad. It felt like they'd all been waiting for her all their lives and like in 72 short hours her permanence in their hearts and home was long established. I saw so much connection that day.

Family Sessions Forever

While I've transitioned to full time work as the photographer for Connecticut Children's Medical Center, I still have the privilege of working with families, albeit on a more limited schedule, in Texas, Connecticut and throughout New England. This session reminded me of all the reasons why I'll shoot family sessions forever: nuances of beauty caught in passing moments... 

Anya taking her time to warm up. Bowen coaxing Anya to smile. The whole family pulling each other close, closer, "how close can you go?" Laughing. Laughing. Laughing. I want to see these moments, to allow families to live them in front of my lens, so they (and I) remember the truth of their story long after the photographs are taken.

I've been photographing the Song family for years, and every year seems that much sweeter than the last. This session moved me, and I'm grateful to get to share it. Here's to contagious grins and belly laughs and bear hugs and perfect-though-not days made permanent with the click of my shutter. If you are interested in seeing your family through my lens, please don't hesitate to reach out.