Gatsby Spring | Monday Inspiration

“and so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees,
 just as things grow in fast movies,
i had that familiar conviction that life 
was beginning over again with the spring.” 
f. scott fitzgerald

American Literature, in 11th grade, was my favorite.   My Antonia took me off-guard - I didn't expect to love it so much.  To Kill A Mockingbird was a heart-warming and real as ever.  Cheaper By The Dozen is probably the first chapter book I want to read aloud to my son.  I laugh at the same jokes - out loud - every time.  Our Town was eerie and kind of weird - the perfect way to playwright "normal" American life.  But The Great Gatsby.  My favorite book of the year. 

“In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths  among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.”

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”
"Then she laughed, an absurd, charming, little laugh.  'I'm p-paralyzed with happiness.'  She laughed again, as if she had said something very witty.
She held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face,  promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. 
That was a way she had."

"They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—
they smashed up things and creatures
and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness,
or whatever it was that kept them together,
and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”


“Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry,
I turned away.”

"Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty,
told only of her unexpected joy."

“Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

“It makes me sad because I've never seen such--such beautiful shirts before.”

Gatsby, the story of hideous, beautiful, miserable, rich, real people.  The sparkles, the pool parties, the vacation homes, the expensive clothes, the Eggs, the accomplishment and legacy, the art deco, the romance.  The part of me that loves old glamour, high heels, white spaces, anything regarding summer in The Hamptons, the hotel in Somewhere In Time, earrings, and all parts of pre-and-post World War I history felt quite understood and known and maybe a little jealous when reading.  To this day I dream about a tall room with ocean-like white curtains, "like pale flags," blowing in and out of the windows in summer breeze, twisting up to a "frosted wedding-cake of a ceiling."  I'd obviously be wearing white, too, perched on my anchor of an "enormous couch."
The time in the century, the lifestyle they led, the names they were known by:  all of it seems perfect, and dreamy.  Far more "me" than a Depression-town or the wild wild west or a nothing-to-do-po-dunk-village.  No, this THIS part of America was what thrilled me!

And part of why I love Gatsby is because the characters have terrible lives.
Twisted, selfish, shallow, high-class lives.  The juxtaposition makes me warm and type-y.  "They weren't happy... but they weren't unhappy, either."  Dill and Mr. Gilbreth and Miss Shimerda were happy - in their hard-knock sort of ways.  But not the Buchanans.  Or Jay.  Or Myrtle. 

Maybe I just love that you really can't judge a book by it's cover, and that, to quote a dying king in The Swan Princess "It's not what it seems! It's NOT WHAT IT SEEMS!"  There's more to the story, and like a spelunker in the caves, I love to chip away and find out who someone really is, not who they seem to be.

Needless to say, I am greatly looking forward to the May 10, 2013 Warner Brothers theater release of this story.   Leonardo, Tobey, Carey? Don't let me down.

In the meantime, can someone let me know if they find this version of the book, well, anywhere?  It's divine.  Yellow - the perfect color theme for the story.  Daisy, summer, gold, sunshine or... sickly, vile, puke.  It's one of those colors that can be so perfect and happy when it's right, and staunchly ugly when it's a few shades off.

I think these $12 art deco (yellow) earrings are the grandest little pop of "East Egg" to an outfit.

modcloth

Maybe with this ponte knit, rich raspberry, 20's inspired day dress?  Not to mention it's on sale for $19.99...

gap maternity

If money were no bother, I'd easily grab up two or three of Behida Dolic handmade creations.  Look through her whole etsy.  EVERY single one is chilling and sensational.

behida dolic

behida dolic

For a more casual, budget-friendly me, I think adding brooches to a top knot is ultra classy.   I'm over "brooches" in general, but I do think this is a clever and spiffy way to use them... subtle and sassy!

the glitter guide

This lot of seven pins is only $28, too!  Not bad!

etsy

I need a friend to need a birthday/shower/spring party to be thrown.  Maybe I'll just throw one myself (yeah right.)  But this $22 (on sale!) Global Amici cake stand is harassing me.  It won't leave me alone. It keeps telling me I need it. "Especially because my stem is exaggerated - how fetching would I be on a food table?" he says.  I have no come-backs.  Yet.

fab.com

The party will also need these paper placemats.  The good news is that I currently own them.  Happy joy bubbles finger dance!  You can buy them, too, at Layla Grace (trick: they are $25, but if you sign up for their e-mail subscription, you get a $25 off a purchase coupon! Woop!) I was stopped dead in my... blankets... when I came upon this Gatsby-Inspired-Garden Wedding on The Lane (photography by Lara Hotz).  THIS is how it's done, ladies and gentleman.  Yellow bow-tie and all.  This is now the inspiration for my someday-giant-cake-stand-confetti-place-mat party.




My favorite pin of the week happens to be these imagined "business cards" of the guests at Gatsby's party.  The bunch at The Heads of State created them.  And I'll never be the same.
Happy Monday, everyone.  And if you're surrounded by snow - go read these two pages.   And pretend you're drinking cucumber-lime water.

Red Dirt Life | Personal

"and drivin' down the road
i get a feeling that i should have
been home yesterday, yesterday"
country roads - john denver

On the border of Logan and Lincoln County, forming the third point of a triangle with Meridian and Shiloh, is the forgettable "town" of Merrick.  The roads here are all numbered, not named.  780.  3300. 800.  105.  As orderly as geometry graph paper, the lines of the red dirt go straight, in both directions, for more miles than you could drive in a day.  Likewise for the cross roads.   God help the soul who gets lost out here (and don't worry, God does, through His friendly and blessed people who call these paths "home.")   The only memorable town trophy is the old school house.  It's been closed for decades, but the former students who live nearby (all grannies and granddads now) have a monthly town dance in the empty, square building.   If you happened upon the right lumpy lane, and knew where to stop, you'd see these trees:

These trees look like the rest of the trees lining sunburned roads in Merrick (and Meridian and Shiloh and Frost and...).  But these trees our our trees.   Almost three years ago, long before he met me, my husband bought 25 acres of trees.  At one point the path through them had been cleared out, but spending almost two years in Maryland gave the grass and reeds ample time to reclaim their territory.  Behind these trees, about a quarter mile straight in, is the beginning of our house.   There is a concrete footing and foundation, as well as concrete exterior walls (I was there for that stage), with cut-outs for the windows and doors.  In a couple weeks, we're headed to Meridian, and we'll be passing the old school, and we'll pull up to these trees.  During our month long stay, we'll trample down most of that helpless but persistent greenery on the ground.   We've been saving for over a year - counting pennies, not taking trips we could have taken, waiting - and now it's time to put a roof on the house.   Caleb will spend 10-16 hours a day, nearly everyday, making this roof become real and not a drawing.  Early mornings, late nights, sweet rest, unexpected costs and satisfying progress are sure to be our story.

This was never how I imagined my first year of marriage.

No, I wasn't exactly a Red Dirt Bride in my mind.  Before I met Caleb, I imagined staying in my outskirts-of-DC-location for a few years, and then maybe moving somewhere quaint down south.  South Carolina was the location of choice.  Beach, class, lower cost, East Coast (near route 95 and all the beloved cities who live up and down it - from Boston, New York, Philadelphia, DC, Charlotte, Charleston and on).  Close enough to not drastically change my photography clientele, but far enough away to change my world.  Close enough to spend long weekends with my family, but far enough to miss my birth city.  I also dreamed of quick California fixes.  The California coast is my favorite and best place in the whole world (well, that I've had the honor of experiencing so far.)  My mother and her family is from and still near and around California.  I have friends - so many friends - out there.  When I was still younger than 10, we moved out to San Diego for a year and a half.  It was the longest vacation I've ever taken.  I'm a summer girl, who craves a beach and tacos and fashion and a dry heat world.  I imagined that.



But I met a red dirt man.

"... somebody with arms strong enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to cradle his own grandchild... somebody to call hogs, tame cantankerous machinery, come home hungry, have to wait lunch until his wife’s done feeding visiting ladies and tell the ladies to 'be sure and come back real soon' — and mean it... Somebody who’d bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend his life ‘doing what dad does.'"

He dreams of carrying on the family business he and his father and brothers began years ago.  He bounces in his seat, and gets flushed when he explains to me the plans for his, er, our, home.  We often nestle into bed and begin using our hands to "draw" a new idea we have.  Usually this turns into lights popping back on, and someone googling or doodling to "see" the idea better.  I made a few changes to his original plans - a woman's touch.  The kitchen has been moved and there are far more bedrooms now.  He's talked me into some ideas I didn't love initially (*ahem* stone, turrets *ahem*) and I've gotten him quite excited about acrylic chairs, glass and crystal, and bright and white over dark and "cabin-y."  Dark wood floors, wood-beamed ceiling and a white-exterior with black accents have been our chocolate fondue melting pot. 

So we begin.  Living this life as "one," a Hollywood half-blood crossed with country wind and grit.  There is more preppy in him than he was aware of, and I've discovered there is more small-town in my heart than I had ever understood.  Our neighbor across the way, for example, plants two gardens every year: one inside his fence for he and his family, one on the outside of his fence, by the side of the road, for anyone nearby or passing-by who needs an onion or potato.   Every year.  Just to be kind.  Yes, there is room - much room - my heart for living life with people like him.  Caleb's favorite shoes are either his Cantor Low Ralph Lauren canvas sneakers, or his classic brown Sperry Top-Siders.

I love being changed, and watching someone else change, and yet somehow still retaining ourselves in the process.  I love being a Red Dirt Bride.  It's better than I imagined.

---

Our road-trip to build the roof starts the first weekend in March.  We'll be cruising through country in my little white Corolla, and we'll live in Guthrie (the latest stop for the Mumford&Sons tour! What what!  "The biggest thing to happen to Guthrie since The Land Run.")

I'd love to meet new friends in the surrounding area.  E-mail or get in touch somehow if you're available to chat and hang-out during the month of March.   We can mingle at Hoboken!  Or if you'd like a photoshoot of some sort - I'm available for a few sessions :)  

Enjoy Being The Bride | My Photographer

nonsense, child. if you'd lost all your faith, i couldn't be here. 
and here i am. 
fairy godmother to cinderella

The morning after I got engaged, I was in a wedding-mode.  It was truly a dream come true to actually be able to make real plans for a wedding.  My dad always joked with me that I have the wedding ready to go, I just need to insert man and I could get married.  I am one of those girls who dreamed about my wedding day since I was a child, so it was almost confusing and weird to get to really make plans!  I've "pretend" made plans for years! ;)

The hardest decision, by far, was who we were going to have photograph the happy day.  I have so many wonderful, incredible, talented and generous photography friends all over the world who I considered.  My list went anywhere from my bestie Lydia Jane, to my Canadian bestie Jamie Delaine, to the kind and brilliant Peter Bang, to the lovely Elizabeth Baxter, to goddess o' photography Sarah Barlow, to the spunky bride to be Ica Images, to the loveable and strong Brienne Michelle, to the dreamin' Ellie Be.  And anywhere in between.  

But after "wedding" started to sink in a little more, I realized that I didn't want one of my friends to be our photographer.  I wanted my friends to be, well, my friends.  I want them to receive an invitation, get dressed up in fun wedding clothes, arrive when the wedding starts (not three hours before), take in the little details, to sit during the ceremony and not run around, to eat as much as they want, to be released to dance and to be a guest.  I love shooting weddings, but I also love being a guest.

So world, meet Shannon Lee, our wedding photographer and NOT our friend ;)  Just kidding... she's going to be my new best friend for life (I hope she's prepared for that.) 

Shannon herself (that's her ^) is unnaturally beautiful.  Stunning.  Head-turning. Wow.  And her self-portraits are among the best I've ever seen.  But when I happened to stumble across her Facebook page one day, what drew me into her undeniably gorgeous pictures were two things: 1) use use of lighting and 2) her movement.   Check out some of my favorites of hers (ALL pictures are from Shannon Lee Miller Photography):

Shannon, I hope you know how much you are making my dreams come true - with your photography and by allowing my friends to come as friends.  You're professional, and lovely.  Skilled, and humble.  Fun, and brilliant.  I can't wait to meet you in person and to have you as a part of our oh-so-important day.  You rock, friend :D

Everyone else, go love on her! Go like and comment and rave and swoon!  Make her a big deal, because she is!

Enjoy Weddings | The Ivy at Dewey Beach | Claire + Brad

and i heard you say
let's lose ourselves out here always
lost in this haze

here in this place - goyte  

The east coast beach was ideal.  75 degrees, sunny with a slight breeze - happy weather.   Claire watched the wedding day unfold.  "What do I do now?  Do I need to do anything?" Her friends ran in and out of bedrooms and bathrooms and stairwells promising her that everything was taken care of and that she only needed to relax.  "I am relaxed!  I don't have anything to do!" Her friends and family truly had taken care of everything.  

I gave Claire little projects to do for me.  "Let's get your dress out... do you know where your shoes are?... Do you have any special items you'd like photographed?" 

You may or may not believe this, but within a few minutes of walking into the adorable beach home, I felt connected with all these strangers.  I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but I had warm, bubbly feelings in my heart and a calm, lovely feeling in my head.   I soon found out that all the bridesmaids were long time best-friends.  I'm talking childhood friends.  Toddlers, even.  And their weren't three bridesmaids.  The eight girls were like Loralie and Rory, or The Bennett Sisters.  Their chemistry and roles were highly entertaining, comfortable and moving.

Little flower girl Veida wasn't just a cute addition to the day; she was a constant reminder of how quickly life moves.   Someday she'll be the bride, and hopefully stand with her childhood friends.  And not too long ago Claire was the little girl, playing dolls with her tiny pals.

"My veil is my something borrowed.  OH!  And I need to show you the handkerchief my aunt gave me when I was born.  It came with a poem.  Oh my.  I can't.  You can read it. I can't read it.  I'll.... cry."  Claire turned away with glassy eyes and fluttery hands.  I went outside to give all the ladies a little space and to snoop out a location for portraits.

When I returned inside, I came into a heart-warming scene.   All the emotions on edge, the life of friendships, the hum of a family beach house turned bridal suite, the little feet and dresses and dolls, the bigger feet, dresses and bride, laughter and teasing - everything settled around a TV in the living room. The bride's sister, Mary, had made a video for Claire.  This video went all the way back to the beginning, and for ten minutes showed each and every girl in that room move from toddlerhood to kid-hood, to teenage years ("GAH! I took that picture!  That's the first picture of you and Brad! You BABIES!"), to the present.   "Not a single eye was dry."

"Remember when I was young, and so were you?"

Daddy and daughter reviewed their speeches while the very-loved bride went upstairs to touch up her make-up.

When it was time to help Claire get ready, everybody had to help.  How else would it be done with these girls?!

Claire, well, Claire is a gem; a precious and rare spirit.  In all her rowdy, sarcastic, quick-spoken, loud, colorful friends, she's the rock.  She's quietly funny, she's happily supportive, she's as sweet as her eyes would indicate.   She's much more beautiful than she knows she is, and her heart goes deep.  One of her friends told me, quivering, that this day is so important for them all because Claire is really the best friend and she's the first one to get married.

Veida always joined in on cue.  Life moves quickly.  Little girls grow up.

And if little girls all grew up to be like Claire, this world would be a sweeter place. 

Oh kids.  I love you all.

You're a rare and stunning gorgeous, Claire.  Seriously. Whoa.

I had to pull myself away from Claire to go meet the boys at The Ivy.  I wasn't disappointed ;)

One of my friends and I love to remark on "nice eyes."  We'll see people walking around and say "Ohhh.  She had nice eyes.  You can tell she's so lovely."  Brad has nice eyes.  

I don't know how as well, but this is his grooms cake, so he must have some sort of sense of humor and athletic-heart.   Sounds like the perfect combination to me!

(How cool was the inside of The Ivy?!  I'm dying to recreate a version of the dark-stained shelves with ALL white objects in my new house...)

When ceremony time arrived, everyone was in their place waiting for Claire to pull-up and exit the limo.  Mom was ready to attach the veil.

The boys were all together and patient.

Veida was getting nervous, but certainly ready.

The guests were seated and looking fine.

The time had come.

One of my favorite ring-putting-on shots ever!

Congratulations you charming couple!

While the guests enjoyed cocktail hour, the wedding party hid out on the side of the building and rejoiced.

All the Visitation ("Go Visi!") girls!

Oh little one.

Brad and Claire have been friends for years.  Their friends have been friends for years.  They've loved each other for years.  Their wedding was pure celebration, beauty and joy.

The guests were fascinating: a whole crew of beautiful, well-dressed, personality-FULL, funny people. I loved it.

Ah, I love a good set of toasts :D

Still the best cake ever...

I'll take my dinners like this every night, please.

Congratulations, sweethearts.  Go have so much fun together!

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 8

we cut through the lowlands

all hands through the salt lands

change of time - josh ritter

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

Yes.  Caleb was in the air, flying from Tennessee to Tampa, to spend Christmas with me.  I'll tell you what I didn't know then: how did that happen?!

It had been about ten days since I called and told him that we couldn't talk anymore.  He had found a mustard yellow scarf that I accidentally left behind on my trip and he carried it around with him.  He missed me.  He was flattened.  Deflated.  And decided.  He didn't fully understand why I couldn't (or wouldn't) talk with him anymore.   Caleb chose to continue talking with my dad - a couple phone calls and texts throughout the week.   My dad was excessively impressed with this boy, but he also understood my conflicted heart.  

As the days went on, and Caleb's favorite holiday in history, Christmas, approached, he felt less than holly jolly.  With plans to spend time with friends in Kentucky for Christmas, the Morris family packed up and headed out on December 23.  Caleb spend most of the 15-hour drive scrolling through Facebook looking at pictures of a girl he couldn't talk to, sleeping and texting a dad in Florida.

Caleb thought about how badly he wanted to be in Tampa, not in Kentucky.  He thought about how great it would be to see that "city girl" and meet her family.  The thing about Caleb is that when he sets his mind to something, he can't be derailed.  And all of a sudden these hopes and "I wish"s were turning into "This might work…"s and "I might try!"s.  After arriving to Kentucky in the wee hours of the morning, Caleb helped the family unpack and unload, and fell asleep after his restless night.  When he woke up a few hours later, he was jazzed.   All it took to push him off the edge was a half-joke half-dare from my dad over text: "We have an extra seat at the dinner table…" Caleb called him.   "Can I come? I want to come."  

My dad loves the chase, the story, the good guy and the suspense more than Nicholas Sparks.  He welcomed Caleb.  The Kentucky house turned into a scene from The Amazing Race.  Everyone was searching for flights on Christmas Eve.  The flights were astronomically expensive.  It flurried inside, instead of outside.  The Morris family and their friends searched any and all websites they could think of, on any and all devices that could get signal.  Someone finally came up with the idea of driving the 2.5 hours to Nashville, because the Nashville flights were radically less expensive.  Done.  They found a flight that had Caleb landing in Florida around 10:00 pm.  

A car full of family and friends escorted the Excited Desperado to his twilight flight where he'd be whisked away to surprise the girl on his mind and heart.  He'd never flown on a plane before.  He'd never traveled anywhere alone before.  He'd certainly never pursued a girl like this before! And he didn't really think much about what would happen when he arrived.  He just went.

His mom snapped a picture of lackluster Caleb at home with his little sister, yellow scarf in hand.

So there I was, standing next to a pot of beans, tomatoes and meat, with all eyes on me.  Caleb was in the sky with Santa Claus.  When I read the text I felt extremely, completely and overwhelmingly… nothing.  I went blank.  "I need to take a shower.  Wait, right now? He's coming right now? I need to take a shower.  But now? He… this is now?"  My poor mom wasn't sure what to think - mom's have always been more sensitive to emotions.  In slow motion I walked to the bathroom and turned on the hot water.  I had the wherewithal to text my best friends back home. "So, Caleb is coming for Christmas?"  My phone exploded.  I didn't have the brain or the words to answer their questions.  

While I showered, fears started to wiggle back in.  I started to "feel" and I felt afraid.  "I don't want to hurt anybody.  I'm not sure quite how I feel about him.  I'm nervous.  He's coming to meet my family and I've only talked to him three times on the phone!"  God truly interrupted my thought process in one of those unforgettable moments.  "Just pray."  I prayed and prayed and prayed.  Like the water running down my head, peace ran down my heart.  I left the bathroom with a calmed and even delighted heart.  A complete transformation from when I entered.  "This just might be a little bit fun!"  Peace and courage, peace and courage, peace and courage.  They cycled over again and again.

My dad and I talked as we drove to the airport.  The drive was only about 20 minutes.  I don't remember what exactly we talked about, but I know we joked and that I felt carefree.  Years ago my dad made me a promise: "Kristen, I will never ruin anything that is good for you."  My dad reminded me that this guy was a good guy, and that I needed to have fun and not over think the situation.  We pulled up to the "Arrivals" lane and my dad let me out so I could greet Caleb alone.  As part of my Christmas surprise, Caleb had my yellow scarf sent back to me, so I decided to wear it to the airport.  I sat at the bottom of the staircase, watching the TV screens.  I went to the bathroom to re-fluff my hairs.  I went back to the screens.  I un-tucked my shirt. I un-zipped my jacket.  I re-tucked my shirt.  Re-zipped my jacket.  I tried to tie my scarf a couple of different ways.  I put chapstick on.  Cherry! Mmm.  I went back to the stairs and screens.  Oh my feet.  His plane has landed.  Oh my.  Cue butterflies.  I truly remember for the first time in my life wishing I had a paper bag to breathe into.  It was a hands on the seat, arms straight, deep breaths, close your eyes, hold very very still few minutes.  

Passengers filled the staircase.  I watched behind a pillar for a skinny blonde.  The first wave of folks died down.  Another wave erupted and I waited some more.  No sign of the Caleb Dude.  After a third go-round I spotted him, but he didn't see me.  My did he look precious.  He had a small, in my opinion feminine, tote bag.  He seemed a little frantic.  He was just as long and lanky as I remembered.  I snuck to the bottom of the escalator he was riding down and just stood there.  He looked at me a couple of times but completely didn't "see" me.  When he made it to the end we finally made eye contact and he almost fell over he was so shocked!  I guess my dad thought it would be a fun surprise to not tell Caleb I was coming to the airport!

And there we were.  In person.  In Florida.  For Christmas.  With a yellow scarf.  Many emotions. And no clue.  

Our "hello!" was as strange as you might imagine, but also deeply sincere and memorable.  You'll remember that we hadn't said a single word to each other since "I can't talk to you anymore" and now we were standing beside each other on Christmas Eve.   The obvious and only first questions were asked "How was your flight?" "Not too bad!  Not bad at all. How is your family?" "They're great! Yeah, great.  Yours?" "Oh, good.  Just… recovering from the long drive." "For sure." "Yeah."

We also quickly side-hugged.  Side-patted?  It was something I would tweet about if I saw it happen.  Just…awfully silly and stiff.  We made our way, with pleather lady bag in tow, to my dad's car.  Caleb was wide-eyed.  He seemed exhausted.  As excited and eager as he was to come, I think it was starting to hit him "Now what?"  

We chit-chatted and got updates as we drove back home.  Caleb very formally and professionally introduced himself to my family.  He looked everyone straight in the eye and used his full-name.  "Hello, I'm Caleb Morris.  It's nice to meet you." *shake shake.*  He sat on the couch like he was sitting on a cactus - upright and light.  It was late and the children had important sugar plum dreams to worry about, so they all jumbled to their beds.  

Little did I know that he'd be in my house just a few days later!

Caleb watched and helped me wrap my last presents.  He was appalled at my scattered wrapping technique.  "I'm a perfectionist.  I would never wrap anything like that."  I laughed.  "Well, I just might drive you off a cliff.  I'm far from a perfectionist.  I'm… a free spirit! Like a modern day Pocahontas."  He didn't exactly laugh.  

I can't remember what else we talked about that night, but we soon went to sleep.  The next morning was a happy buzz of sausage smells, children, colors and enthusiasm.  Bless his heart, Caleb sat on the couch next to me and didn't say much.  He watched, stared and responded politely when spoken to.  In the meantime, my brothers and sisters were jumping on each other.  My dad was making jokes about sports and Seinfeld.  Grandma told him he was fat.  Someone was talking about "passing gas."  We ganged up on Kevin.  Shannon screamed.  Dad yelled "NUEMAN!" Mom apologized to Caleb.  Dude ran off to play his new video games.  I was wearing shorts.  Timmy laughed about how skinny Caleb was.  "I walked into the room and didn't even see him on the couch!" We joined in.  Then we made fun of Timmy for stealing Dad's clothes.  Katie took pictures of everything.  Lauren stepped on someone's foot.  Someone spilled water.  Someone else's stocking was missing.  Aunt Pam and Mom gave Caleb a stocking they had filled for him so he would have something to open on Christmas.  Caleb gave me a brand new, bright white, beautiful North Face jacket.  I patted him.  Dad started cleaning up all the wrapping paper.  Mom called from the kitchen to make sure he didn't throw away an instruction manuals.  Dad called the kids to get all their stuff or else it might get thrown away.  Grandma disappeared with her gifts before the kids could break them.  

Our first "real" picture together. Yikes.

My eyes were eNORmous. WHAT did he just say?!?! Not that I'm a prude or easily offended, but I'm he had NEVER said ANYthing like that before, and this was certainly not an appropriate time to be asking such a question.  Besides, I didn't even know what he meant?! "I'm sorry… What did you say?"  Caleb repeated "Do y'all use safe sex?"  I looked over at my mom.  Was I hearing this right? Is he about to go into this right here, right now, in the middle of family Christmas, with children all around? My mom was BRIGHT red, rolling in her wooden chair, with her hand over her mouth.  "I know what you think he said! AAAh! HAhahah!"  Well, yes, I know what I think he said, too.  And I'm fantastically confused.  Caleb had no idea what I thought he said.  And I had no idea what he really said!  And mom was laughing too hard to be of any help to either of us!  "Sacks! Do we save sacks! Ah! HAhahahaha!"  Caleb turned back to me "Yes, do y'alls save sacks?"

Then I let loose with my giggling.  Caleb still didn't know what was so funny. His ears were turning redder by the moment.  When we calmed down enough to explain it to him, he become sickly white.  I thought he was going to faint.  Poor little Christian boy.  Just trying to help.  He couldn't stop repeating over and over and over that that is not what he said.  "Sacks! Like bags!  I said 'sacks!' I promise! Sacks!"  I know, Caleb, I know.  Don't worry.  It's perfectly fine.  Just not what we were expecting.  

I loved how innocent he was.  I wondered if he knew how rare that quality was in a 20-something man.  The rest of the trip was lovely.  We took the little kids to the playground one afternoon.  It was the first moment on the entire trip where I felt like I saw the real Caleb.  We split up into teams and played tag.  A few kids wandered up and watched us play.  You know how little children are when they are shy?  We asked them if they wanted to play and they said no, but clearly they were dying to join in the fun.  Caleb finally stopped and told them "You can be on my team."  He ran them through the rules.  "Base is on the slide, you can't touch the mulch, jail is on the picnic bench." He was bent over with his hands on his knees and the little boys still had to look up to meet his eyes.  They nodded their little buzzed heads and scampered off.  Caleb counted really, really loud to let everyone know that time-out was over.  And the playground was released to be crazy once again.  Kids ran, Caleb jumped and chased, I played but mostly watched Caleb.  It was a wonderful hour or so.  We also went to Busch Gardens together (last time I had gone my dad interrupted his lunch to talk to Caleb on the phone!).  The little kids loved competing over who would get to sit next to Caleb on the roller-coasters.  He so easily, patiently and happily payed attention to them.  He didn't make snide remarks about them behind their backs, he didn't try to shuttle ourselves away from them to get a break, he didn't ever snap or respond harshly to them.  Instead, he joined in their theme-park pleasure and bet one of my brothers "a big chicken basket" if he could ride a huge coaster with his hands up the whole time.  

I've always always always always loved this moment.  I'm so glad I took a picture of it.  But even if I hadn't, I would have never forgotten it.

For every abnormally impressive quality of Caleb's, I had a somewhat odd concern.  He really struggled to have long conversations in person.  He also sounded like a script.  I'd tease him and tell him that I knew there was more he was thinking than what he was saying.  If I'd ask him a question he would sit quietly and think for a long time (sometimes minutes) before he would answer.  He truly looked like a deer in headlights, or like a toddler caught red-handed, but he wasn't in danger! Or in trouble!  I kept wanting him to relax and "open up" (to use a term from The Bachelorette.)  Despite his trepidation and strangeness, we still spent our nights talking late into the night… just at a much, much slower pace than I was used to.  

What I didn't know was that he was hounded internally with questions.  Questions about me - the way I acted, what I listened to, what I joked about, the loud-crazy-ness of my family.  Questions about his own convictions, questions about facts versus feelings, questions about what he was supposed to, questions about God's will and how he was supposed to know it.  Questions about Taylor Swift.  Questions about social skills, sense of humor and personality.  Questions about different beliefs, opinions and what is "right."  My family was so different from his own, yet welcomed him like a brother.  I was so bold and forthright, and he felt so trapped and unsure (when it came to worldview and conviction.  Because he felt bold and forthright about his interest in me, while I felt quite unsure.)  

I remember sitting in our living room on the last night of his trip watching him work through a thought he was trying to explain to me and I thought "There are things about this man that no human has ever known.  He doesn't even know.  He isn't hiding anything. He's figuring out everything. And nothing would go against his safe, nervous, calculated decision making process than abruptly jumping on a plane to chase after a girl that he isn't *sure* he's supposed to marry.  This is huge for him.  And he's trying. He's trying so hard.  I want to know what is going on in there. I want to know what he's feeling and thinking.  I wish I could understand. I want to know him."

This picture describes our relationship at the time very well: cute, stiff and a little blurry ;)

We were drawn to each other, despite what would seem like weird "chemistry" or "connection."  It wasn't effortless and lingering and flawless witty banter followed by deep, heart-pouring.  We had to be very patient with each other.  We both really weren't sure what was going on.  But we both had that "something," "whatever it is" (Zac Brown Band anyone?) that kept us fascinated.  And we also were fiercely committed to family being central, critical and blissful in our current and future lives.  We loved to talk to each other about our families, our dreams for our future families, our best memories with our families, our lessons we've learned from families, and so on.  It was our strongest point of compatibility ;)

That final night we talked until I fell asleep.  He snapped a picture, tucked me in and went to his bed for a couple hours.  We woke up at about 4:30 am to make my 6:50 am flight.   He smelled like cream cheese and hair gel.  I  looked like cream cheese and hair gel (white and pasty?).  We both smashed our possessions into luggage.  While it was still dark we silently and sleepily rode to the airport.  I said good-bye to my parents.  He shook hands.  

As we checked in for our different flights (me back to Maryland, he back to Oklahoma) I bragged to him about my many, many travels.  "Oh yeah, I was first on an airplane when I was six months old.  I've been flying ever since. I fly allllll the time.  I know all about airports.  Here, let me help you."  He tried to make fun of me and my pride, but I bulldozed right over him.  "You'll pick it up pretty quick as you start to travel more.  It's super easy."  He just smiled quietly and nodded his head.  He hadn't learned to fight back with me yet ;)  

We took our boarding passes and idly walked to security.  Once there I knew just what to do.  Shoes off, laptop out, jacket off, in the boxes, carry on up! Boom!  Caleb fiddled and looked around and asked questions and had too many grey boxes.  "What do I need to take out? Do I have to take my belt off?"  I zipped around like an arrogant bumble bee showing him how it was done.  

As his bag went through the conveyer belt I noticed the officer call for a bag check.  Oh dear.  They took Caleb over into the corner and waved a wand up and down him, then patted him down.  His dear eyes looked worried, and he was genuinely confused, but so genuinely wanted to be helpful and honest.  Oh dear dear man.  The officer pulled out a pocket-knife (one of Caleb's stocking stuffers.)  Caleb sadly had to have it thrown away ("But Mikey gave it to me!  I love it!").  Once we were free to go, and re-assembled we charged to my gate.  I was the first flight of the day and there was no plane at Gate C21 yet.  We settled into two side-by-side chairs and reflected on the weekend.  We measured our hands to each others (obviously without touching them even slightly!!!) I asked him if he had more pocket knives in his sack.  He glared at me and said he'd dump a bucket of chicken on my head.  I occasionally would check back to see if my plane had pulled up yet (it hadn't) so we continued on, lost in conversation (for the first time on the whole trip.)  I was starting to dread this whole good-bye thing.  We were getting into a groove!  This was wonderful!  He's wonderful! I like what's happening! How are we going to leave each other?  He doesn't hug me… or touch me… or anything.  He doesn't even say 'I like you.'  This will be special.

"Hey, did you just hear your name?"  I stopped talking.  "That sounded like 'Kristen Snyder.'" I listened but didn't hear anything at all.  "No? I don't think so?"  We decided Caleb had been hearing things.  I decided to use the restroom.  I walked down the terminal while Caleb waited with my things.  I felt airy and lovely and light.  Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.  Wow.  I looked like spinach with mold on it.  Ragged and bumpy?  I easily found an empty stall, entered it and locked the latch.  

Waiting for that plane to come up on the left ;) Just a waiting and a waiting.... ;)

"Well, young lady, you got here with seconds to spare."  A droplet of sweat slid behind my ear as I handed her my boarding pass.  I looked back and saw Caleb still running.  She scanned the paper and opened the door for me to enter the plane. "Hurry, hurry… everyone is waiting on you, Miss Snyder!" I walked into the walkway and looked back one last time.  Caleb had finally caught up.  I waved good-bye.  He stood there and stared.  "Hurry, Miss Snyder!"  The door closed.  And our trip was officially over.  Without so much as a word.

(to be continued...)

Enjoy Project | Wedding Photography Revelations

creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.
albert einstein   

My new favorite tumblr is What Shall We Call Wedding Photography.  It's dead on.  I laughed out loud at every page.  Wow. Special thanks to Rachel Clarke for sending it my way! The site has brought about a new little idea.  Wedding Photography Revelations - not an original or brilliant concept, but possibly fun to share.

--


What's In My Camera Bag
Every photographer has their preferred "lens bag" to use while shooting.  Shoot Sac (that's me!). Boda. Ona. Kelly Moore. Some bag from Target (that's me, too!).  We blog about what we have in these bags during weddings.  Two lenses, a battery, memory cards, business cards, some chapstick, keys and an iPhone. Um.  I have a food pocket.  I'm a first class snack thief.  It all starts with the bridesmaids early in the wedding day.  Panera bagels sliced in half?  Cheese and crackers and grapes? Cherry tomatoes?  Stashed.  Like a fat-faced little squirrel.  Watch for it - my bag has weird bulges.  Then cocktail hour happens and I snipe bacon quiches and chicken quesadillas like a 15-year-old boy snipes looks at his crush.  Quickly and constantly.

There are limits to my Food Sac abilities, however.  Nothing with dressing (eh, who needs the calories!) and nothing too mushy (like cake.)  Obviously nothing liquid.  I've never sniped pasta or meat - but give me time.  If it can fit inside a napkin and keep it's shape, it goes in the Food Pocket (and quickly to my mouth.)  It's like a an adventure within an adventure.  The goal is to acquire, store and consume the food without anybody seeing.  The key is to keep busy - you can't become very still and then move fast.  You have to walk and shoot and ope! there's a cucumber! and walk and bend down and shooting shoes now! and I need to move to better light with the shoes and walk and eat and shoot and walk.  It's thrilling.

"Oh, well, I just bring my own granola bars and trail mix to weddings." Cool.  Then you're more of a squirrel than I am.  With your nuts and berries.  I'm sorry, even if I have a Cliff Bar with me, the mini-corn dog always wins.  Besides, when I whip out my bars while everyone else is eating real food, I feel like the baby in a highchair gnawing on Gerber Puffs while everyone else feasts on homemade ravioli and bruschetta.  I want real food, too!

So I snatch it for myself in my camera bag.  Now you know.  And I feel free!

--

This post was inspired by the following "What Shall We Call Wedding Photography" posts.
-Because after I hoard food all day? I feel terrible.  Just like this.
-Oh, and this little fellow has the proper technique.  Avoid eye contact, grab fast, eat furious.

Enjoy Engagements | Chet + Devon | Lakeside

hold on, to me as we go
because i'm going to make this place
your home
philip phillips

It's not an exaggeration to say that I was a bizarre mid-school-er.  At the risk of worrying you, I awkwardly admit that I had an imaginary world I played in (yes. In middle school. I know. I knooow. Yes! I know!).  I played sports year-round, but when a friend would come over I'd either force them to do a dance with my for my neighborhood or trap them in my bedroom with all my wedding books (probably while listening to Adventures in Odyssey).  

This was the, um, era?, Devon met me.  I was 11 years old and kooky.  She was 12 (almost 13!) and really, really cool.  She's was and is the kind of (unfair) cool where you don't try.  You just are.  Devon is just cool.  She isn't awkward, she isn't stuffy, she isn't blatant, she isn't showy.  She's just Devon.  We had the "I dye my hair blonde and wear eye-liner" cool in our class, and we had, well, kids like me.  But Devon stood out.  Even as a sixth grader she was sharp, witty, intelligent, sneaky, fun, happy and adorable.  And for some reason she liked me.

I'll never, ever forget one Friday during art class when she gave up a seat at the cool blonde table (which was next to the cool boys table!) to seat with me.  She wanted to play a game.  She made a list of five questions I had to answer about myself and then she would answer about herself.  As our art teacher, Connie, taught we quietly wrote our responses and traded with each other.  That was a fun game! Devon is so fun!

The following Monday I had a lunch bag waiting for me in my locker.  Question #4: What is your favorite lunch to have at school?  My answer?  Chicken Cup-O-Noodles, big pretzels, mandarin oranges, fruit-by-the-foot, Cooler Ranch Doritos and crackers with peanut butter.  I opened the lunch bag and every single item was there.  She concocted a whole plan to figure out my favorite lunch, took time to do it, and spent her Sunday afternoon at the grocery store buying me my favorite lunch so she could surprise me on Monday.  And every single thing I listed was in the bag.  I could have cried right there in class.  I think that was the kindest thing anyone outside of family had ever done for me.  

That's just who Devon is.  As highschool, life and work have taken us our different ways over the years, I've always thought of her like I did the moment I sorted through my surprise lunch in Miss Gallagher's homeroom in 2000.  

A number of years ago I saw a big-smiled dude popping up on Devon's Facebook.  Chet.  Very nice, Devon, very nice!  

I later heard the story of how they met.  Devon was a secretary for a year at a local hospital.  EMT's and other employees dropped by daily as part of their job.  One particular EMT, named Damien, was really cute.  When he'd stop by to fill out paperwork, Damien and Devon enjoyed playful flirting.  But all of Devon's co-workers were trying to set her up with another guy, Chet.

"Well, you can tell this 'Chet' that I'm not interested! And I don't even know who he is!"  Her co-workers pressed.  "But he definitely has a thing for you... give him a chance!"  Devon wasn't buying it. Especially since she had her eye on Damien.  Damien Chester Ripley, also known as "Chet."

Though his first name is Damien (and his work papers and uniform tag all use his official first name), he never corrected Devon and told her what he goes by.  Apparently Devon had a little spazz moment when all the pieces fell into place.  They quickly become friends - "talking" and getting to know each other, mostly at work.  By fall they were dating, and by winter they were inseparable.  

Being the Facebook lover that I am, I started noticing some difference in Devon.  She was running?! And fishing?! And she looked radiant... even in silly little camera phone pictures.  As much as you can read into a Facebook picture, I could tell she was really, really happy.

After finally meeting Chet last night, I can fully confirm her joy: they are crazy about each other.  Whipped? Smitten? On Cloud Nine?  They've been together almost four years and they shine.

In two hours I saw so much.  I saw that Chet is a man's man.  Dude to the core.  He teases Devon nearly constantly.  My favorite was when he'd call her a "dunce."  She would fake smack him and he'd shield himself with his shoulder and "run away."  He's affirming of her.  In just a small window of time,  he spoke easily and unprompted to me about Devon and to Devon about herself in a very kind manner. He's romantic.  He's playful.  He's well-spoken.  He's cool without trying.  He laughs at Devon and with Devon.  

Now that I'm in a relationship, I realize how "empty" words that go with an engagement shoot can be.  "He's so sweet to her!" "She lights up when she's with him!" "They're the cutest couple I've ever seen!"  Blah blah blah.  So that leaves me stuck when I really do want to communicate about a man who acts like his girl is his treasure, and does so in a happy-go-lucky way.  It is sweet.  He is sweet with her.  Dunce.  I'm also left in a debacle when I want to explain that Devon's cheeks and eyes didn't use to look like that.  She sparkles and flits - but that isn't to say that she's an airhead.  She's the same devoted friend, considerate giver and creative companion as she was a decade ago.  

I don't know.  It's just not coming out right.  They're real, guys.  They're successful, talkative, easy-going, real people.  And they love each other enormously.  

During the shoot I said a nearly-rude statement: "Devon, who would have thought that you'd be getting married before me?"  As soon as I said it I wanted to be carried away by ticks.  It didn't come out right. But I actually meant it in such a good way.  I was always the crazy-getting-married-at-17-having-20-kids-weird-homeschool-wedding-notebook-girl.  And Devon insisted she would never marry until she was at least 30.  At least. She was full of ideas and freedom.

And now her ideas, freedom and happiness are linked unswervingly to being with Damien Chester.

As much as she's "grown up" (and hallelujah, I think I have a little bit too!) she's still Devon.  Two other "cheesy/cliche' romance lines" that came to mind are: "He makes me the best version of myself" and "I can't imagine my life without him."

As much as I wish I could come up with something more unique or insightful, I cannot imagine Devon without Chet.  I almost feel like he's been a part of her for as long as I've known her.  And I can't picture what a happier Devon would look like.

They are very much a family, a love and a home.

“Are you learning me by heart, little Sara."

"No, I know you by heart."

Frances Hodgson Burnett - A Little Princess

Enjoy Weddings | Ryan + Christina | Jasmine Plantation Bed & Breakfast

you're a part time lover and a full time friend

the monkey on you're back is the latest trendi don't see what anyone can seein anyone else but you

the moldy peaches

Generosso Santucci, an Italian born twin who wears wrinkles and simplicity, has a chromatic, cherub-faced daughter named Christina Marie Santucci.

Generosso's daughter would not be the sort of girl you could sum up in a paragraph or two.  To say she was "mysterious" would subconsciously give the impression that she is a hushed woman, who watches from the corner knowingly.  Christina is precious.  She is catching.  Yes, mysterious.  She isn't hushed, but she isn't noisy either.  She's loud, but she isn't the center of attention. 

Christina Marie is innocent, adorable and kind.  Kindness was a theme on her wedding day.  Every single person working the wedding was exceptionally kind.  The family and friends?  Oh, dear people. They were wonderful.

Father-of-the-bride Santucci reviewed plans on the bottom floor of the historic and detailed bed-and breakfast while the women prepared themselves.

It take a daring and understanding couple to truly pull off a "unique wedding."  As one who spent ten hours at this wedding, I can promise you: what you see is them.  The real, loveable, quirky "them."

The plans had been reviewed.  And the bride, the daughter, was ready.  

The wedding, in keeping with all Mediterranean-native celebration, started late... and started BIG.  (Pay attention to this little fellow.  I'm telling you, the personalities gathered together? Simply outrageous and hilarious.)

Ryan Maybush, the crying groom.  His name describes him better than I ever could.  If I were to write a  fiction tale, with a character possessing all the qualities and oddities that our groom today has, I would name that character "Ryan Maybush." He's a good man, with much to say and even more to give.

The following ten seconds tell the story of Christina Marie and Mr. Maybush exactly.  


1.  They are announced husband and wife, and the music begins to play!  They started recessing with joy when Hailey, the flower girl, ran from her pew and family and joined them. She almost seemed startled like she missed her cue (I mean, hey, if you were supposed to walk ahead of the bride down the aisle, why not up the aisle, too?)

2.  The church erupted into amusement and pleasure at her action.

3.  Hailey thought it was quite hilarious, too.  Meanwhile, Mr. Maybush had something to retrieve.  

4. Ah!  His top hat and cane! Obviously!  The ring bearer, following the lead, joined the bride, groom and flower girl for the recessional.  

5. Now the church was in a roar over Ryan's ensemble... but look at the end of his cane.  The delighted friend had no idea his cane was so near!

6. And she got quite a poke!  She shrieked and jumped back, laughing.  The crowd now gasped, the children were slightly worried.  

7.  The new husband instantly stopped the recessional to check on his stab-victim.

8. The guest was perfectly fine, and now The Maybushes could crack up.  It was pretty funny!

9. Finally they were able to finish their recessional - in merriment!

So far you might have noticed fun and different elements to this wedding:  the powder blue petticoat, the sister of the bride with hot-pink hair, the white gloves, top hat and cane, the colors.  But I have yet to tell you about the single most distinctive part of this entire wedding.  The next two pictures are a clue.

But for now, enjoy the Personality Display that was this wedding reception:

Sunshine!

Lego table numbers!

Laughing, happy friends!

"Ice-Cream Sundae" Centerpieces! (made from hydrangeas and carnations!)

Greek statues!

Mashed Potatoes in Martini Glasses! 

Cartoon Drawings!

Quaint, Home-y and Comfortable Venue!

Trees!

Pipes!

Hats!

Children!

Fresh Food!

I just wish there had been a little bit more color ;)

Animals!

Fist Pump!

Aaaand Monocles!

Blog readers, amidst all the fun, the interesting, the bright, please know this about Christina and Ryan: they are kind.  Until shooting their portraits, I didn't think I could convey to you - you who weren't at this wedding, you who don't know the Maybushes - how patient, genuine and kind these two are.  I could try to tell you.  But I get to show you.

The truly beautiful and happy newlyweds walked and talked with me.  So far it's pretty normal for a wedding, but nonetheless lovely!

Here is where Ryan and Christina inspire me.  The children followed us around the entire time.  The kids love The Maybushes.  Their mothers would come over and ask "Do you want them to leave you alone?" or "Are they in the way? We'll take them somewhere else!"  The newest husband and wife wouldn't have any of it.  "No! They're having fun!  Let them stay!"  Many of my shots of a little brown head popping in the corner, or a little pink skirt blurred in the background.  The kids darted around, touching and teasing and talking.  And Christina and Ryan joined right in!

Watch out for the The Great Cane Thief!

I can honestly say this without exaggeration:  Not many couples would tolerate noisy kids literally hanging off them on a hot summer day, let alone their wedding day. The children who adore Christina and Ryan were not just tolerated, they were absolutely engaged and welcomed.  I was completely impressed.

The wedding coordinator was perfect for this event - like I said! Personalities everywhere! It was magical!

I'll give you one guess on the age of the "single lady" who caught the bouquet ;)

The award-winning de Rochonnet Delights crew arrived after dinner to serve up extraordinary gelatto! I ADORE CHRISTINA AND RYAN!

To side-kick the cold sweet, homemade savory bacon donuts were served (similar flavor to pancakes with bacon.) Addicting.

My last shot of the night was the Mr. and Mrs. loving on the friendly house kitty.  

I have never met any couple quite as playful, enthusiastic, caring and kind as you two.  You've made a lasting impression and stand-out in my mind as a highlight of all the couples I've ever met.  Thank you for being so bold in personality, so happy in love, so generous in giving and so wonderfully "you."  Your dream was to have a fun wedding - no matter what, you wanted it to be fun.  It was fantastically fun - the kind of fun where you lose track of time and don't want it to end.  Congratulations!

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 7

rough seas, 

they carry me wherever i go

josh ritter - change of time

a view from my christmas eve run in florida

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

After I coached a basketball game, my dad asked me about my trip.  As I sipped Wendy's chili from a spoon,  I raved.  He re-stated his prediction.  "Caleb will be in touch tonight." I cowered.  "If you had such a great time, why are you so upset that he'd want to talk to you?"  BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE A GREAT TIME WITH HIM DAD!  I had a great time with his family!  And friends!  And property! He was actually a little weird.  Dad laughed.  I wanted to smack him.  Or myself. Bzzzzt.  Bzzzzt. 

driving the team bus home after an away game.  i left oklahoma monday morning and went straight to school to coach.  that is the same sweatshirt i wore while i held a goat ;)

And there it was.  A Facebook message from Caleb on my iPhone notifications.  My dad shook his head at me and leaned back in his seat.  My starting forwards and point guard were going back for another frosty. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.  He's gone on and e-mailed me. Oh dear. I herded my little matching team to the bus.  I needed to get home. While we drove, my mind quivered. I hated that Caleb had Facebook messaged me.  Don't get me wrong, I was flattered.  Honored, even.  I knew how seriously "pursuing a girl" was for Caleb.  And, as silly as it might seem, I knew a Facebook message was indeed "pursuing" me.  Hitting on me.  Whatever.  He liked me.  And he was finished with warm-ups and ready to get moving.  

my team at wendy's - with no clue how emotional their coach was ;)

Monday and Tuesday were very strange, emotional days. "He's a great guy, it's okay to give him a chance.  Good Ness, Kristen, he's a great guy… and you could break his heart!  You don't even like him. You're a complete, utter, flabby-stomached jerk.  You're going to hurt everyone.  Probably even him.   But, that's between him and God.  God doesn't promise to keep us from broken hearts.  He promises to always be good to us.  Caleb is a really, really good guy.  There is NO way I can do this.  But why am I so torn?  If I don't want to talk to a guy, I just… don't talk to him.  Do I want to talk to Caleb?  Oh my gosh.  I think I do.  I can't.  Oh my gosh." 

Though many people would argue that having different guys romantically or emotionally involved in your life is "giving away pieces of your heart," my experience was that it built my heart into the joy of God like nothing else has ever done.  Obviously it would seem be ideal to never be hurt by a relationship and to have the first guy work out the first time (and for some people, that is exactly what God has planned!), but I'm so very grateful for my "boy history."  By that day in December 2010 I had only had a grand total of two boyfriends for 22 days, combined.  Yeah.  Impressive.  But those two relationships (and the other boys who came into my life but I didn't date) taught me some life-changing lessons.  Namely:  to find an genuine-not-game-playing, happy, family-oriented, fun, single, attractive man who was not only eager to be a husband, but also a father; who loved family and wanted his entire life, ministry, career and walk with the Lord to be walked out in and for family, for his wife and children.  I lost much sleep over "finding a man" who didn't see children as a hindrance to our married joy, but as something he wanted to pursue happily!  I lost much sleep over wondering how a girl can know when a guy who likes her isn't charming her with lies, one-liners and fake religion.  And all of a sudden, there was a Caleb Morris in my inbox. Hm.
By Wednesday he had gotten in touch with my dad (the obvious and only next step in "pursuing" a girl) to ask permission to talk with me.  My dad said something to the effect of "If you'd like to talk to my daughter, you'll have to ask her!"  It was almost 11:00 pm that night.  I could hear the siding of my apartment "crack" in the wind.  My Christmas tree lived in the windows, housing a city of lights.  Cars occasionally rolled by.  I lay my phone on the other side of the room and watched it. My neighbor turned off her light. My cell phone illuminated and shook.  There was a man, sitting on a bottom bunk-bed on a farm, with a pounding heart, calling a girl for his first time ever.  And there was a girl who was about to answer.

"Hello!"  "Um, Hi.  This is Caleb Morris." "Mmm, yes.  I know. Haha.  My dad told me you'd be calling."  "Well, yes… I just spoke with him and wanted to know if it'd be alright with him and mostly you but him too! Alright if I got to know you a little bit more.  And it's not official or like we're dating or anything like that.  Well, if that's what God has it might eventually be that… Just now we're talking.  If you want to.  Your dad said I should ask you.  And we'll pray and see what the Lord has for us.  But just build a friendship now.  If you want. It's okay if not.  But, I hope you do. Want. To talk."

I squeezed my eyes and bit my entire lip.  I thought he was the most adorable, nervous little beaver I'd ever heard.  Typically when a guy makes "this" call, I'd be a little reserved and wait for them (or rather, give them a chance) to start the conversation.  I'm a talker and have no trouble filling in the silences, so I'd really try to not bulldoze the guy by jumping right in.  But with Caleb I thought it was necessary.  I told him we could talk.  And get to know each other.  And I started right into a little re-cap of the weekend.  What fun it was!  He affirmed the sentiment, very politely and very accent-y.  Cute phone voice.  I like.  I hadn't noticed that voice this way in Oklahoma.  Then Caleb had a perfectly normal "get to know you" question. Not. "So, when you have children, you want to homeschool them, right?"  Ha! Oh boy.  This could get ugly real quick, I thought.  He's looking to get married in eight weeks and I ain't what he's looking for, honey pie.  I don't think he has any idea what he's getting into by crushing on me. 

I was sure that my scandalous answer about being willing and eager to consider many schooling options would send him running away.  But the truth was, I feel that the Bible leaves freedom for a parent to decide how to school his child, from homeschool, to private school, to christian school to public school!  I could never make a blanket statement that I would or would not do any of those four options, because I just don't know what life and God might hold.  He seemed a little taken aback, but he listened and asked questions.  He said "Yeah. Yeah. Hm. Yeah." a lot. We ended up talking for over an hour and a half.  Not bad! Not bad at all for a first phone call ever!  I wouldn't say the conversation was marvelous, or even particularly fun.  Caleb was jumping right into the serious questions, and we barely knew

the lovely view i had while i waited for caleb to call :D

The next night he asked if he could call again.  He'd ask before he'd call.  I decided that even if nothing happened with Caleb, I was going to have to find myself one of these gentlemanly country boys.  We talked on Thursday night for nearly three hours.  These conversations were fairly thick.  He talked the experience of watching his brother die.  I talked about my mother's cancer.  He asked me about my convictions regarding debt.  I asked him pointed questions about leadership and "male and female roles."  We were very different people, I came to find out.  At the same time, we actually got along well!  Our disagreements were notably fun to talk through and "debate."  I felt free to speak my mind, and I think he was a little overwhelmed but intrigued.  But I was skeptical.  And extremely fearful. 

Friday was the day that changed everything.  I couldn't talk to him anymore.  It was too much.  Too much was on the line.  He's so serious.  I don't want to hurt him, or anyone else.  We're not in too far, yet.  No one is attached.  Two phone calls?  That's nothing.  To be clear, I also really thought I felt a conviction that I needed to stop talking with him.  This might cause you to go "huh?"  But it's true.  And maybe silly.  But I was a mess.  I cried all day.  I talked with my parents.  I wasn't at peace.  I felt terrible.  I spent the entire day in fetal position going from bed to floor to couch to bed again.  My body felt like I had eaten cotton-batting (the fluff used to stuff pillows.) 

I called him that night to tell him I didn't want to talk anymore.  He was floored.  He was not expecting to hear those words.  Clearly.  Who would be?  If a guy did that to me I would have considered him quite the jerk.  I knew I was a jerk.  Caleb fought my decision.  He pressed in at every angle he could.  The more he pressed, the more sure of my decision I was, and the more it broke my heart.  Every sigh.  Every "Kristen.  Oh Kristen."  Every long silence.  Every "Well. I guess." followed by more silence.  It was like a hippopotamus doing jumping rope inside.  I pounded.  I'm so sorry.  I really am.  I tried to tell you that I was crazy.  We eventually hung up.  The good-bye rung in my ears.  How could this possibly feel so much like a break-up!  This is nothing, woman!  Get yourself together!  This was the right decision, right?  I felt terrible.  Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do.    

a heart-breaking text... when he texted to ask if we could talk that night, i answered "yes, we need to actually.  and it might not be the most fun conversation ever."  i screen-capped his response :(

 I listened to Taylor Swift.  A lot.  "So here I am in my new apartment, in a big city.  They just dropped me off.  It's so much colder than I thought it would be, so I tuck myself in and turn the nightlight off.  Oh, I don't wanna grow up. Wish I'd never grown up and could still be little.  Oh, darling, just stay little.  Don't you ever grow up, it could stay so simple."

I kept my word and didn't communicate with Caleb.  Not a single Facebook "like" or break-down text.  Shortly I flew to Florida to spend the holidays with my family.  I needed my mommy.  And my kiddos.  And some food that would make me fat and happy.  The first night home I constructed a gingerbread house, played games with the not-so-Littles and watched TV. 

The next day was Christmas Eve, so to give mom some time to finish her wrapping and prepare the holiday festivities, my dad and I took four of the kids out to Busch Gardens for the day.  They told me all kinds of stories, jokes and most-likely made up roller coaster statistics.  I was struggling to engage with them.  I had to work hard to not zone them out, wondering about Caleb.  I knew he was heading out of state for Christmas.  They are probably on the road now, I thought.  But! Yes! I'm here! And with them! Okay! Who wants to ride SheikRa?!  We spent the day collecting germs, riding machines, looking at tropical animals and eating trash.  It was bliss.  During our late lunch, my dad took a call.  The kids went to the bathroom to wash their hands.  I scrolled through pictures of Caleb. Ouch. 

my view from our lunch table in "the middle east" ;)

We left Busch Gardens "early" (we are "that" family that opens and closes theme parks) to get to Christmas Eve Service.  I decided to take a quick run through the neighborhood before church.  The night was cool and breezy, and the run really was quick, so I wash-cloth washed in the bathroom and got dressed for church.  The chili was simmering away (apparently this part of the story was brought to you by: Chili, the food of the crazed).  The darkness of night hid Florida's obvious un-Christmas scenery.  We all put on coats and scarves (it's CHRISTMAS, after all!) and went to the candlelight service.

most of our faces at busch gardens

these guys make my skin crawl

In the meantime, Caleb had completed his miserable 17-hour drive.  He wanted to call me and wish me a Merry Christmas!  He wanted to hear how it was to be with my family.  He just wanted to say hi.  He could barely sleep in the car.  He struggled to join in with the holiday merriment.  He was sad.  Plain and simple.  He was confused.  He was tired.  And he felt sparks. 

When we arrived home, mom scooped chili and bowls clanged while hungry hungry kiddos lined up for their serving.  "Dad! Dad! Can we pleaaaaase open a present tonight? Just ONE? Pleeeease dad?"  "Ask your mother."  "Mooom! Pleeaaase? Please?  Just ONE, one little tiny present? Please?"  "I already told you no.  You have to wait just ooooone more night, and then you can open everything."  Dad interjected.  "Okay, I've made a decision.  One kid can open one present.  Who do you think should open one?"  They kids all clamored and jumped up and down and nominated themselves.  Dad smirked.  I filled my chili bowl.  Oh dad.  He's always up to something.  I looked up and mom was staring at me.  Then dad started to walk towards me, smiling. Um. Yes?

Dad handed me his cell-phone.  "Merry Christmas."  I was confused.  "You're giving my your Blackberry?"  The kids were disappointed.  "Read it." 

I looked at his screen, which was opened to a string of texts. 

Caleb Morris: Great Mr. Snyder. Thank you so much.  My flight lands at 10:35 pm and is coming from Nashville to Tampa.  Hopefully you can track it if there are any delays.  Thank you again! I can't wait to meet you, and to see Kristen.

Alan Snyder: Yup.  See you later tonight. Fly safe.

To be continued...   

Enjoy Project | Children's Books + Front Royal

"Good night, little girls!Thank the Lord you are well!And now go to sleep!"Said Miss Clavel.  Ludwig Bemelmans - Madeline

"We'll end up hand in hand, somewhere down on the sand, just me and you."  

"We'll drive until the city lights, dissolve into a country sky, just me and you."

For Memorial Saturday we drove over to the Blue Ridge Mountains.  The Skyline Drive starts in Front Royal, Virginia at the Shenandoah National Park.  Caleb smelled good.  He wore his new H&M shirt.

The roads were winding.  The trees were green.  Me and you.

Oh, it was "almost Heaven." We love "West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains,  Shenandoah River." "Life is old there, older than the trees!" Older than you and me. 

We have many nicknames.  I call him Slim Jim, Cowboy, Corn Cob, Short Stack, Mister Mister, Cockatoo, Morrison, Lone Ranger, Stallion (and sometimes Mare... but I'm just teasing.)  He calls me Little, Silly Woman, Rose of Sharon (also teasing),  Red Robin, Sweet Elizabeth Jane, Baby Doll, You. 

Sometimes I call him Country Roads.  Sometimes he calls me Mountain Mama.  We don't have a lot of money.  And I'm afraid of mice.

(free - zac brown band // country roads - john denver)

Enjoy Pinterest | Prints + Images

I don't think my favorite blog posts on other people's blogs are the "Here are some of my Pinterest pins!" posts.  I'm kind of like "Well, if I wanted to know what is on your Pinterest, I'd look there."  So I don't know why I'm posting this Pinterest post?  I'M A HYPOCRITE? Okay?  ;)

kris atomic

I actually feel bloody attractive in my giant-to-my-knees-hoodie and giant-past-my-knees-basketball-shorts.  Especially if I haven't shaved in a bit!

busy bee lauren

felt & wire shop

marta writes

penguin delight

Not to go all rambly about money and careers, but gracious is this true.  I'm learning to love those things in life that cost nearly nothing.  We recently took the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace course.  Our biggest "change" in lifestyle is the way we spend, especially on food.  Caleb and I don't live together, but practically every night after work, a shower and a change of clothes, he comes over to my house for dinner.  Our goal is about $1.75 per meal per person, making the monthly food budget $150 (each).  It's so much fun to try to meet this goal.  I think the process is even more fun than the results!  It makes eating out a huge treat; one that we feel like we've really earned and are ever-so-blessed by.  It's not for everyone, but it's helped to enjoy simplicity and not be as fearful about "will we be able to afford next month?"

kitschy living

Last exciting randomness of the day? I'm Kristen the Facebook Page has 1,000 likes!  That was a nice little milestone to realize yesterday :D  Ah, the simple things. Hannah Kurtz, you made my day!
Now to the rest of you? No Pinterest posts, okay? ;)  Juuuust kidding.

Enjoy Project | Making Things | Memories + Food + Books

"we ate well and cheaply, 
and drank well and cheaply,
... and loved each other."
ernest hemingway | a moveable feast    
(I think I need this for our new "married" house, come August.  It's exactly what I hope our marriage will be.)

For our one year anniversary last month I finally became an official girlfriend/fiance'.  I made a memory book. Everyone knows that the sign of true love is a memory book.  And homemade gift certificates (for things like back rubs, long hugs, homemade meals and "one-watch-whatever-movie-you-want!")  But we did gift certificates aaaaaages ago.  One Year of Together seemed liked the perfect time for this book!

The cover was all cool and trendy and modern and "whoa" with our first yellow-pink plastic spoon combo.  The first time we got frozen yogurt we used these spoons.  It's tradition now! 

Then I had to do a collage.  Because.  Doing 213 of them in middle school just wasn't enough.  

This page is from December 2010! How has it gone so quickly?

I can't wait to tell this part of the story...

And this part of the story!

I can't wait to use this idea again!  Wrapping presents in pages from travel magazines? Uuuh, so fun.

CalebCaleb loved it.  Now we can really get married ;)

The next three pictures are just for the joy of food.  Go make Smitten Kitchen's Roasted Buttermilk Chicken.  And then eat it on your deck.  Or sidewalk.  Or roof.  Or at least near a window.  It's the good life.

Last month I made mini-cheesecakes.  I asked Caleb to put the berries on top.  I was expecting maybe a strawberry on one, three black berries on another, something like that?  Or art.  My little Cheescake Angel.  Bless his heart.

Lastly, a sweet lady named Lori e-mailed a picture of her gorgeous daughter with the cinnamon pull-apart bread I made in March.  (Remember how neat and orderly I was?)  Lori's e-mail made my day!  And I couldn't help but show you all, too!

So I guess this post can really be all tied together with the above pin: "We ate well and cheaply, and drank well and cheaply... and loved each other." Such a good life.  

Enjoy People | Personal Thank You + Catch-Up

i'll be eighty-seven; you'll be eighty-nine

i'll still look at you like the stars that shine

taylor swift - mary's song  

My friends.  Thank you.  The six posts of "our story" come with the most supportive as well as scathing words from those reading along.  These Oh My My My posts are easily my most read and viewed posts this year (side from our phenomenal engagement story.)  Turns out y'all like Caleb too! Thank you for reading, thank you for saying something when you read, thank you for encouraging me on in writing.

It might seem silly, but this story is by far the hardest thing I've ever blogged.  It's hard because I couldn't possibly put in words what is in my heart.  It's hard because this is my life - I can feel vulnerable.  It's fairly easy to repeat to you a story I heard about someone else at an engagement shoot, but putting my life "out there" is an entirely different animal.  It's hard because it's Caleb's life.  It's hard because I regret decisions I made during this story.  It's hard because I can't even tell the whole story.  It's hard because you, the readers, will never understand how much God did in us and with us.  Though I am quite looking forward to telling you about our happiest and hardest and then happiest days together, you'll never know exactly what happened.  It's hard because some readers will only think of us as a cutesy-coo little couple and nothing deeper, while others will continue to make assumptions and despise us.  It's hard because I've been somewhat-secretly dreaming of writing a book someday.  Telling this story is a little bit of a trial run to see if my writing is as welcomed as my photography.  It's hard because I make lots of typos.  And each post takes me hours to write.  It's hard because when I push "publish" and let my heart and self out to be seen and scrutinized, I might be misunderstood.  It's hard because I am critical of my writing abilities. It's hard because, as Charlie Brown says,  "You not only can't explain love, actually, you can't even talk about it." I love him so.  I really do.

And truthfully, if the first few posts had had a "blah" response - maybe no one hated the story, but maybe it was "eh, whatever" - I don't think I would have kept blogging it. (I'd like to think I would have kept on writing just for myself and my man, though!) Please know, more than any other time in my entire career, your support and kindness (and occasional mean-ness!) has kept this writing going.  

I was looking for a reaction - good or bad! I don't think our story is boring, but if you all did?  Well, no body likes a boring story!  So thank you: please keep telling me what you think... and you really can be honest.  You don't have to like it!  But if you do, feel free steal or pin that above picture and link back to the Oh My My My series.  I absolutely love when I come across new love stories online - and if any of you are inspired to right yours out, please tell me!  The Enjoy Project is really a desire deep in me to share and connect with people. I want you to know the real me.  I want to know the real you's.  And the real you's have blessed and encouraged me tremendously.  Thank you!

,

In other news!  Life has been rich.  If you follow along on instagram, twitter or Facebook, you saw that I was able to be a little bridesmaiden last week!  I'm in awe of how different it is to be in a wedding rather than to shoot a wedding.  Congratulations Stephen and Abbie!

The wedding was near the Philadelphia area and Caleb had a job starting Monday in New York.  The plan was for me to drive back to Maryland on Sunday, and he'd depart at the same time for Syracuse.  But when the time came, I just couldn't leave him.  So I went with him!  The work was going to take at least 10 days and the little corn-cob was awfully sick.  I only had one pair of pajama's and a few skirts (rehearsal dinner options, of course) and a bridesmaids dress!  But it was pure bliss to scrape wallpaper and just be near my favorite person.  And be called "shmoopy" (from Seinfeld? Anyone?) by the rest of the crew ;)

I couldn't stay long though.  I left Wednesday morning to make it home in time for a bachelorette weekend starting Thursday!  The second wedding I'll be in this year is for my little Julie and her smart yet daffy James. The bridesmaids whisked Jules away for a weekend of eating, dressing-up, the boardwalk, dancing, movies, sleeping-in and mockery.  It was the best.

Now I'm home.  Mr. McMuffin gets home from New York today.  We might go to a baseball game.  We might die from happiness.  We might do both.  Oh my my my.

;)

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 6

the black clouds i'm hanging
this anchor i'm dragging
the white caps of memory
confusing and violent
josh ritter - change of time

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 

After shouting for and whistling at all the fourteen Morris family members, we finally ventured outside to begin the shoot.  I had a brilliant plan to take all the pictures, and then release the oldest boys to carry on with their oh-so-important Saturday plans.  After they left I'd conduct my "interview" with the rest of the children and specifically the Mr. and Mrs.  I wanted to ask questions and pick their brains and hear their story in their owns words.  But the twins didn't need to stick around for that.  I happily leaped across the driveway out to a sunny fence and began positioning faces and checking exposure.  The kids were quiet and responsive.  After I was content with the number of group shots I had taken, I really wanted to spend some alone time with Terry and Cindy.  I took the two of them up near the barn and instructed them like it was an engagement shoot.  "Alright!  The closer and cuddlier you are, the better!  Feel free to touch and kiss and goof around as much as you want!"  Terry kicked his foot into the ground "Man, I like that sound of THAT!"  Cindy smiled with her whole face.  It didn't take long to discover that Terry was infatuated with his bride.  He was staring, caressing, squeezing, smooching and staring more at his girl.  I was fascinated.  Often I find older, long-married couples to have a comfort-level, a rhythm, a unity, a strength that newlyweds just don't have.  But it's marvelous to watch a man literally leaping and wooping with joy over his wife of 24 years.   "Wow.  Not many girls find a guy like that," I thought to myself.  I was taken aback.  For the next thirty minutes they twirled, laughed, sat on straw and smooched.  

When the shoot was finished the dew had melted off the pick-up trucks and wire fences.  The littlest children had play-dates with grasshoppers and chickens.  The mister and missus with whichever children wanted to participate planned on letting me interview them.  That sounds intense.  Planned on letting me talk with them. Ask them questions.  I wanted to hear from the parents about their story.  I wanted to hear from their children about their marriage.  The oldest boys were released to leave at this point.  They had houses waiting to be built.  "Thank you so much for taking pictures!  We're going to do a little interview thing now, so you boys are welcome to leave.  I know you have some work to do," I prompted as we funneled inside. Caleb interjected "Oh! No, it's fine.  We don't have to leave now.  We have plenty of time."  It was the second thing he'd ever said to me.  

The whole family gathered around for a time of sharing and speaking.  I studied Mr. Morris' body language. His hand was on his wife's knee.  His hand around her back.  He scooted as close as he could to her.  His body was turned her direction.  When she perhaps was a little weepy, his thumb rubbed her knuckles.  It was a beautiful time I will never forget.  Once the "interview" was done, and in keeping with all the midwest hospitality I'd heard about, there was an offer to stay for hamburgers.  That didn't work with the schedule, I apologized.  But before I headed to POPS and a day with Dre and Becca, I flew through the wind and red dirt roads on a 4-wheeler.  I almost killed a Morris daughter who rode with me.  No one told me the brakes on the vehicle were BROKEN.  We truly missed a dangerous crash by a hair.  But gracious, it was fun.  My smile was huge.  My heart was full.  I felt strangely close to this whole family.  After a few hours I really, really loved them.  But I had things to do, and it was time to leave.  After a few jokes about the phrase "y'all" and firm hugs, I left the Morris Farm.  The entire afternoon and evening was spent with my favorite funny little couple, eating burgers and wandering downtown Guthrie.  

See my snazzy thin, wide bangs?

Within 24 hours I was back in Maryland, but after my trip to Oklahoma I certainly found myself with sweet new friends - even Facebook said so. Mrs. Morris and I kept in touch frequently (she is quite the texter!). Mrs Morris had actually even invited me over for volleyball after church the day I left.  My flight prohibited that get-together from happening.  She insisted that I come back again.  I honestly wanted to.  Happy, large families are rare to come by, but they feel like home to me. 

As the weeks went on I was asked over and over to come visit.  I loved that the Morris' constantly had friends over.  Just a fast look at their blog showed friends (and strangers-turned-friends) at their house nearly weekly.  I didn't find it odd or suspicious; that's just how these people are.  The final hurrah-came when Mrs. Morris invited me to her annual Christmas party (as well as other friends in the area I knew).  This single, adventurous, scheming, spontaneous girl was convinced.  After all, many near-strangers (also known as: blog friends!) had invited me all over the country and I often went.  California, New York, Atlanta, Vancouver, Las Vegas - it was common for me to shell out the dollars and take whirlwind trips to visit people I barely knew.  Accepting this invitation was perfectly normal for me, but looking back it can be hard to believe that I didn't suspect anything.  Looking back, I'll fully admit: this trip was perhaps quite bizarre, ridiculous and schemed.  At the time? It only seemed natural.

Behind the scenes, there was a shy, smitten buckaroo.  Though we barely spoke five sentences to each other, meeting me during that photoshoot stirred something in Caleb.  Because, in fact, I was right.  The day I showed up on his property, he was interested in another girl. Somehow that short morning was enough for him to want the chance to see me again.  Little did I know that those five sentences were much, much more than he usually said to a girl he first met, let alone a girl he "felt" something with.  Whether this was by accident or by design, the strict courtship methods used in his homeschool program looked down on guys walking up to a cute girl and talking to her.  Caleb loves to joke (now) about the years of making eye-contact with girls for days on end, and never speaking a word to them, but thinking he "liked" the girl.  Poor boy.  He didn't know what to do.  Or what to say.  He'd like my Facebook statuses occasionally.  He'd stalk my page daily.  But he had no idea what else to do.  Hence my invitation to the Christmas party.  Mama Morris was going to do everything in her power to get me back to that farm!  

This trip was a few weeks before Christmas.  Friday afternoon I arrived at the same Baltimore airport I had flown out from in October.  I headed to security.  The officer who reviewed my ID and boarding pass signed off his name to prove that he had indeed reviewed my information.  His last name was "Morris."  Ha! Beneath my name, "Kristen Snyder," there was now scribbled in "Morris."  Eerie? Or just kind of funny.  Regardless, again I flew to flat nothing-ness and the land of cows.  

I landed in the late afternoon with just enough time to get to the Morris' and get ready for the party.  The boys and men were all still away at work, and the women had the house looking like Miracle on 34th Street.  Desserts were baking, music was singing and the sun was setting.  Eventually the men arrived.  I greeted everyone, but I don't remember seeing or even saying anything to Caleb.  He says he couldn't wait to see me, but when he did he didn't know what to say.  A gaggle of girls crowded into a small bedroom lined with bunkbeds.  We arranged our hairs and painted our faces and smoothed the cloth on our bodies.  Caleb was a few doors down picking out his horrid outfit for the evening.  A pair of light wash jeans with a black Under Armour cropped turtleneck tucked into his jeans with a belt.  He wanted to show off his muscles.

Before long guests were at the door and the party began.  Hello's, hugs, unveiling of treats, prayers and conversation followed.  We played holiday games, sang holiday songs and partook in holiday cheer.  It was a night where time flew and also stood still.  I forgot there was a whole world outside the decorated walls.  I fought in giggles during inappropriate times - I was so amused by it all.  I met some lovely, disgustingly sweet, and adorably accented people.  I won the free-for-all-Spoons-game at the end of the night by tackling one of the guys and grabbing the spoon out of his hands.  As Friday evening turned into Saturday morning I was sent outside to go "snipe hunting."  I knew it was a prank, but I couldn't resist.  That night the nickname "Snipe" was coined.  The Morris' love their nicknames.  I had received a badge of honor.  I thought one of the Morris' friends was cute.  When my dad asked how the trip was going I told him about the friend.  "I think he likes somebody else.  All the cute, good guys do."  Aside from thinking his shirt was just ridiculous, I don't remember much of Caleb at all that night.  Apparently we talked for a little bit, but I couldn't tell you what we said if it would save my grandmother's life.  Caleb felt sparks.

Some of the dudes with their White Elephant gifts.  Caleb has a lovely neck for a jewelry! ;)

The next morning is a bit of a blur.  By the afternoon we were out in the fields dirt-biking.  Let me elaborate: we were in the COW fields dirt-biking.  Where there were cows.  In the field. With us.  Were the cows.  There were probably ten of us kids out there and I was the first to ride a bike.  I strapped my helmet on and sailed away in clueless but prideful glory.  My heart was racing.  I should have asked more questions.  I'm going to die in a field.  Cows are going to stomp on me. Everyone is going to laugh when I crash.  I want to go faster.  I know I'm breaking this bike.  Turning is scary.  I was as stiff as startled baby while I rode.  Caleb thought it was adorable.  

When I finished my ride (accident free) Caleb wanted to get on and impress me.  I wanted to go inside and check my phone.  Signal wasn't great out there, but maybe a few texts slipped in.  I don't remember watching Caleb ride, but I do remember talking to his brothers while he was gone.  They were much more talkative and charming than he was.  All of a sudden everyone was screaming and running while mud flew and an engine roared! Caleb nearly smashed into us all.  It would have been hilarious if he'd been on roller skates.  But it made my heart tremble.  I am going to die in a field.  Caleb passed off the bike to another brother and tried to make small-talk with me.  He was getting a little desperate.  As we flitted through words and comments an alarming reality approached. 


The cows were all done with the field.  The wanted to kill us dirt-bike-riding-disruptive-hooligans!  They were charging.  All five or size or 12,000 of them.  Cows move quicker than you'd think.  I started yelling for everyone to take shelter behind the face.  The dust behind the cows was building.  Visions of the stampede in The Lion King galloped through my brain and beating heart.  No one was listening to me.  I ran like a banshee past the barn and clumsily crawled over the tall metal fence.  Most of the Morris' just stared back at me.  One of the sweet girls tried to assure me that it was alright.  I needn't worry.  They won't hurt us.  That's probably what everyone says before they're speared to death by cattle.  One of the brothers, Tig, laughed and laughed and laughed.  Lije jumped in.  "If you want to run away from a cow, you have to run in tight circles! Really, really, really tight circles." I practiced behind the fence.  I was spinning like Tara Lipinski's double axle.  "No, Snipe!  You're not moving!  You still have to run!  Just in circles!" They laughed and I decided to take a little break from the cows and machines inside.  It was glorious. And they all thought this worried "city girl" was a hoot.  Caleb thought I was hot.

The rest of the weekend was filled with meeting more friends, going to the movies with the whole gang, late night McDonald's trips, volleyball, seeing the land and beginnings of homes the twins were building, holding goats on the couch, four-wheeling through wild hog territory, touring a deserted Oklahoma City in the dead of night, Sunday School, Pizza Hut, and ice-skating.  

All the while Caleb was trying desperately to get to know me better.  Why is it that men just adore girls who have no interest in them?  It's quite silly.  The more I kept busy with other people and activities, the harder he tried to be around.  But when he did have me for a moment (say, next to me during a car ride) he couldn't think of one blessed question to ask.  I'd tease him and carry right along, thinking nothing of it. I teased everyone.  I loved everyone.  It was one of the best weekends of my life.

The night before I left (Sunday night) it finally dawned on me.  All weekend I had missed, chosen to ignore, or talked myself out of believing that Caleb had a little thing for me.  But as a caravan of three trucks with nearly a dozen boisterous young adults pulled into a closed McDonalds, everything changed.  We had planned to get one last ice cream for the weekend, but since the Golden Arches had shut down for the night, we decided to go buy some BlueBell and eat back on the farm.  Caleb and his friend were riding in a old-yet-perfect manual-shift pick-up truck.  I was in a different truck.  At McDonalds Caleb got out of the stick-shift truck and headed towards mine.  In a split-second I jumped out of my truck and ran into the stick-shift truck with Caleb's friend.  The friend and I sat there, waiting for everyone else to load up.  I promised the friend I could drive very very carefully and well.  He believed me.  I said something funny, and the friend laughed.  Then all of a sudden the friend was gone, and Caleb was in the passenger seat beside me.  Caleb looked at me with huge, shocked, silent eyes and jumped out of the truck.  I was alone in the driver side of the bench seat.  The friend pushed Caleb back into the truck.  Caleb popped up a second time and I heard multiple "No! No! Nooo!"s.  The friend fought back.  "Dude, GET in the TRUCK."  "I can't, stop it, I can't," Caleb waged.  "Yes you can! Get. In. The. Truck!" in a very Noah-telling-Allie-to-swing-on-the-rope-into-the-swimming-hole voice.  Caleb wasn't going down easy.  He pushed the friend (we'll call this nameless friend "Tyler") into the car next to me and sheepishly sliding in afterwards.  The three of us sat in a split-second of squished, stunned silence.  And then the rest of the trucks started pulling out, so I got into driving-mode.  Keep the brake down.  Turn the key. Put it in reverse. Release clutch. Gah.  Tyler's shoulders were overlapping mine.  His knees were touching the steering wheel.

"Hey Snipe!  I need to get some gas in this ol' thing.  Pull in here!" Tyler was making his move, he had Caleb's back.  As I pulled into the gas station, Tyler got his wallet out.  When I stopped, he made Caleb get out of the car to let himself out.  While Tyler pumped gas, Caleb got back in with me.  We sat in silence.  I knew what was happening.  I knew Tyler knew.  I knew everybody knew.  I knew Caleb knew I knew.  How could I not?  He followed me all weekend.  He somehow managed to hold my hand every time we did chains on the ice-skating rink.  He was never more than one seat away.  Of course, Kristen.  He crashed his dirt bike in front of you!  Tyler inched back into the truck.  A much slimmer, perfect-postured, blonde boy was next to me now.  I was confused on how this happened.  I wear jeans, doesn't he know?!  I watch America's Next Top Model! Because I have cable TV!  I believe in the gift of tongues today - and I argued with his father about it over dinner!  My bathroom is just a mess and I go spray-tanning and I've gone on a handful of dates with other guys!  And I hate live animals! Tyler - loud, funny, obvious Tyler - broke my stream of thoughts.  "Guys!  You have to listen to this song!  I get chills every time I hear it.  No joke, man.  It's good stuff. Good stuff."  

The song started to play.  It was a long live version, so it played for the remainder of the drive.  We all sat in the dark night, maneuvering through dirt roads.  "Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy."  "I didn't come here for this." "We are His portion and He is our prize!" "He thinks I'm a carnival show. This is nothing.  He thinks I'm literally like a merry-go-round."  "If grace is an ocean we're all sinking."  "I'm not what he's looking for."  "Whoa, how He loves us." "What is he doing? There is no way this is serious. No way."  "Yeah, He loves us! Oh! How He loves us!" "Mmm. Yes, He loves us." Kim Walker started speaking on the track: "Tonight, God wants you to feel His love, His amazing love.  Without it these are just songs, these are just words."  Tears singed my lids.  "Oh, how He loves us. Oh, how He loves. Yeah, He loves us!"  I breathed heavy and hung on every word.  I think I even sang along.  Actually, I know I did.  And I didn't care or even realize I wasn't in the car alone.  I can't really explain it other than to say that I knew God was near to me.  I all of a sudden felt very overwhelmed with fears and impending failure.  "God, please help him not be serious.  He's not serious.  I know he's not serious.  He thinks I'm a carnival show!  Like a sparkly, noisy attraction for children.  Not anything serious."  We made the turn onto their gravel driveway and I was thrilled.  I determined to shut off my mind and dream this little predicament away.  The kids and friends rallied inside, hollering about "Cookies and cream? Or chocolate?" I shuttle myself into the bedroom and texted my dad.  I stayed in bed the rest of the night.  I'd be leaving at 6:30 am in the morning.  I don't have to see Caleb again.  I didn't say good-night or good-bye or even eat any Bluebell Ice Cream.  I vanished from the promising evening, full of worry.

In Oklahoma City for the afternoon - before I realized Caleb liked me ;)

When I woke up the next morning and headed home to Maryland I drearily told my parents and friends the news.  "I think Caleb likes me."  I was frustrated with myself.  I really didn't want to hurt him - I didn't want to hurt anyone! Like I wrote before, my post-high-school years were almost strangely filled with relational hurt.  Me being hurt by people, and me hurting other people.  I was burnt out.  And I didn't want to even think about "the situation," or even the possibility of there being hurt because of me.  I'm the sort of girl that cries about turning guys down - and I don't cry about anything.  My stomach turns when I think about relationships being ruined.  I hate when relationships are ruined.  My heart aches.  I believe God "makes all things new."  That He "redeems and He restores."  But for the most part, the big friendship fall-outs I've witnessed or been a part of have never been "like the used to be."  That's probably okay, but it's still hard.  And my head, heart and smile had been so free, so full, so genuinely happy all weekend long, without a care in the world.  I was so happy.  And now I was afraid it was going to "all be ruined."

My dad told me that Caleb would get in touch with me within two days.  I lied to myself and said he'd never e-mail.  It was nothing.  Within two hours I had a Facebook message.


(to be continued...)

Enjoy People | Three Best Friends | Child Lifestyle Photography

“this is what youth must figure out:
girls, love, and living.
the having, the not having,
the spending and giving,
and the meloncholy time of not knowing."
e.b. white

By now you all surely must know Audrey, Edith Grace and Little Behr.  Their mama's are best friends. The girls are sisters.  Behr thinks Edith's legs are chicken wings, and Audrey's hair is spag-het-TI! (in an exaggerated Italian accent.)  Audrey tells stories about how Behr got into the "lotion," even though she herself has white, dried up yogurt-crust on her arms and cheeks.  These three live a mere eighth of a mile from each other.  I don't think they are going to get married to each other.  I think they're just going to be the best of friends.  

Behr already has a patience for these girls that he doesn't have with anyone else.  Audrey can decorate him.  Edith can wail beside him.  Audrey can accidentally land her jump on him.  Edith can be in his way when he rolls over.  He just sits there like a sleepy lump.  Edith, on the other hand, almost gets worn out by these two.  She tunes them out, I think.  She's the voice of reason.  Audrey is the instigator and the schemer.  She reminds me of this line from E.B. White's Stuart Little: "He was quite warm from the exertion of being Chairman of the World. It had taken more running and leaping and sliding than he had imagined.”  Ah, yes, Audrey.  The little Chairman.  It's not easing being in charge of the world!

I love watching their little friendships begin.  Please don't hate each other too much when pimples, driver's ed, BO and ugly nail polish are your worlds.  Just be awkward best friends, okay guys?

"TiTi! Watch! Audrey jumpin'!"

Behr's "concerned" face is one of my favorites.

Audrey: "Baaaaby Behr kickin'! You kickin' Behr?"

Audrey: Deese for you Behr! Pink glasses!

Behr: [concerned face]

Edith: Oh my gosh. Calm down. And those are green glasses.

Behr: Okay, f'real Audrey, I'm not wearing your girlie shades. No way.

Audrey: Hahahaha! Behr bein' silly, TiTi!

Behr: No, I'm being concerned!

Audrey: It's pretty Behr! Pretty pink glasses!

Behr: "No" is no, and that's final.  It's very serious!

Behr: Oh dear. Auuuuuudrey. This is not good.

Edith: You two.

Behr: But... I... don't... want... them!

Audrey: Pretty pink glasses! For sun'n'errands! Errands Behr? At stores? And Target?

Behr: Hey TiTi, would you get a load of this? Wanna help a boy out?

Behr: No? Alright.  I'll take matters into my own hands. HALT!

Behr: I will dissolve your womanly wear with my super saliva!

Behr: Oh. This is just delicious. Mmmm. Yes.

Edith: Zzzzzz

One of our favorite Behr-isms is the way he rounds his legs and "clasps" his feet together.  He'll wiggle them together and then flail! and kick! and celebrate! followed by his feet "holding hands."  It's so precious.

Pretty girl.

This picture is how I will remember Behr and Audrey as little friends.

The mister has been teething for almost two months and his teef haven't popped up yet.  Apparently the leopard slap bracelet felt incredible on his sore gums.

(^ that's not an upset-with-Audrey face... that's just his "Hmmm, this tasted different than I was expecting" face.  Probably like what we do for lemon slices, or oversalted foods :)

Her saggy top-knot.  His ARMS.  Her yellow romper.  His ARMS.

Fascinating what a few weeks can do, huh?

I love these next pictures of "tummy time."  (Audrey feels left out of the baby activities sometimes?)

(Um. Behr's arms!)

If the next three images had a title they would be: Big Sister Whispers While Cleaning Up CrayonsBefore NapTime.  (It could use some work.)

"Night night, Eedif."

Enjoy People | Copious Photoshoot Sneak Peek | San Francisco

copious: abundant in supply or quantity; plentiful, ample, profuse

Here is a little sneak-peek of the Copious Campaign Ad photoshoot to whet your appetite.  Dedicated to laughter, color and new friends.

Enjoy Writing | Oh My My My | Part 5

time, love. time, love.

time, love.

it's only a change of time.

josh ritter - change of time   

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4---The dryer hadn't buzzed yet.  It was time to leave.  I hadn't checked in online.  I hadn't printed my boarding pass.  I hadn't finished blogging like I planned.  My clothes were still damp.  Oh well, into the carry-on they go!  I stuffed, zipped and hobble-hobble-hobbled out the door and down to my car.  There probably won't be any traffic, it's the middle of the day.  I have no idea what is in my suitcase.  Do I have my license? Oh gosh. I paused in the parking lot of my own apartment complex - where I lived on my own.  The concept was still very new to me.  I hadn't even paid my third full month of rent yet.  Life was very happy and my house still felt a little bit like a hotel or vacation home.  I invited friends (ranging in age from one year-olds to my mom's friends in their 50's!) over constantly.  My heart was so full when people enjoyed my house.  Mornings were fun, but after that being alone was stinky.  I craved seeing familiar faces by dinnertime.  

With my damp, unplanned luggage in tow, I zipped over to the airport in Baltimore.  I'd already gone to visit my parents in Florida a few weeks prior.  Now it was time to go see that funny couple I loved so much.  We had waved good-bye to them in August and it was already nearly November.  I was slightly proud of myself for being the only friend who actually made plans to visit them.  Though not much of a hugger, I wanted to give Becca a hug.  And hear some Andree humor.  And to see ALL there is to see in Oklahoma (apparently I didn't need more than 72 hours to visit everything important in the state.)  The two best friends were not Oklahoma boasters.  I had heard from them that the memorial downtown, the farmers market and a cool place called Pops on Route 66 were the only fun things in all of the area.  Oh! And Big Truck Taco.  Whoooa. Sounds like SO much fun. Woooo-eee. Rah. Rah. Can. Not. Wait.  Ha.

This would be a good trip, I decided, to focus on people.  Not everywhere has to be beautiful or inspiring.  Sometimes it's just about who you are with and nothing more.  You see, this trip was not only going to include seeing a much-missed couple but also doing a family shoot for a project I was working on.  A project about real marriage and proven love.  I'm perfectly addicted to shooting weddings, and waving good-bye to lovers on day one of their marriage.  But who photographs day 132 when they get into their first sort-of big fight? And who photographs the triumph in her eyes on day 216 when he says the meal she made tastes better than his mothers version? And who photographs day 1,824 when the couple still isn't pregnant, after wanting a baby so badly?  Or perhaps day 1,824 is filled with tears from mama and tots, who all need daddy to come home.  Now.  Who takes pictures of the husband in line at the grocery store with a little bouquet of flowers for his woman, over 2,000 days from their wedding? Who photographs day 4,991 when work is just at a dead-halt, and with bags under their eyes and fears inside their hearts, two people discuss options.  They weren't expecting to still have money issues "this far" in.  Who is there to photograph daddy mowing the lawn with his little dude following behind with a plastic toy, while mom and her quite grown-up daughter talk about what they want to do for her birthday this year?  Who is there for those long, beautiful, days that become long, beautiful years, where they "come together, fall apart, break each other's heart"?  "When the sound of little feet, is the music, they dance to week to week?"  I was (and still am) hungry to study marriages, not just wedding days.  I wanted to do photoshoots where I not only took pictures of people, but heard the whole story.  Where I asked lots of questions.  Where I took my time becoming emotional and inspired by their life and marriage.

With this desire in my heart (among other things!) I was moved to tears as I read a blog called "Joel's Journey."  A friend had showed it to me, and I spent one humid afternoon laying on a mattress in an empty house reading the story of a marriage.  Terry and Cindy Morris had a wedding day.  The had the smiling, waving, cheerful day one.  Someone was there to take pictures.  It was beautiful and good.  By day 7,331 they had become parents to 13 children on their Oklahoma farm, and one of them was getting ready to say good-bye to his family for a little while.  No one knew that little Joel wasn't going to be in their arms for 90 more days.  No one knew that the funny, root-tootin', round-headed three year old had a tumor.  But they found out.  I read from the beginning, with no ability to stop my body's response to the story, and though I knew Joel had died, I found myself cheering for him and his family.  I read about their initial doctors visits, their car rides back and forth, Joel leaving his home and farm for the last time (which, of course, they didn't know would be when it happened).  I read about his brain failure, but his little heart beating away.  I read about holidays and birthdays celebrated in his hospital room. Hours of reading and music and cuddles from mom, dad and his twelve best friends.  I read about the kind nurses and the cold nurses.  I read about the gut-wrenching search for a doctor who would continue to treat Joel (the hospital he was in refused to since his brain was dead, even though his heart was still beating and the family wanted him to be treated.)  I read about the Morris family being sued and having to go to court in the middle of caring for their son.  I read about the medical staff ignoring Joel's room, and Terry learning how to take care of him by researching online.  I read about the day that they decided to let Joel go back to the farm to let him be comfortable in his own house.  I read about little Hosanna's birthday party in his hospital room while they waited for an ambulance to take Joel home.  I read about the ambulance not making it in time.  I read about the entire Morris family surrounding Joel as he left our wearisome world and was healed forever.  


Cindy held him and wept. Terry was by her side. The children propped each other up, heartbroken.  Joel walked in a world they've never seen, but believe is more real than this earth.  He was greeted in paradise with cheers and open arms.  Joel will never hurt again, and will never die again.  He went home.  Home home.  It is very good that Joel lives in Heaven.  It is sharply sad that Joel is so missed by his family.  I read on their blog their hope in the promise of their God:  they WILL be reunited with Joel someday.  They WILL touch him and see his precious round face.  He is alive, and he is with God.  

I cried. Oh, I cried.  I could hardly make it through the next few years of blog posts.  The posts of fight and fear and questions and belief.  I was cut to the quick.  It's not often you come across such a real, vulnerable story.  I almost felt like I knew this family after I read their blog.  I wanted to know more about their story, and hear about the marriage that made it through the storm.  The marriage that is still walking through the storm.  I contacted Cindy and a shoot was planned.  Yes.  This trip would be about people.  This trip to Oklahoma would be about hugging Becca, laughing with Andree, meeting Cindy and Terry, and learning about their life and family.  Who cares if the state is boring?  It's not like I'm staying there or anything.  

With visions of miles and miles of flat nothing, lots of cows, big trucks and more nothing, I flew.  After landing, I realized my visions weren't flat enough.  And didn't imagine enough cows, trucks and nothing.  But I didn't care, my evening was happily spent with friends, eating soup and, yes, hugging.  Friday night came to a close and I slept on the couch (like usual) in my travel clothes, with all my make-up on.  

The next morning I did not pop right off the couch.  I groaned.  Where is my phone? And are my teeth made out of cottontails? Blech.  My eyes felt like the saltine crackers I had crunched into the soup.  The rim of my hair was sweaty.  I could feel it.  Where is my phone? I thwacked and patted the couch.  I stood up and it slid down the blanket as I shook it out.  AH-ha!  I checked the time, hoping I had at least an hour to take a shower and freshen up before the shoot.  Besides, I still had airplane peanut salt in my nails. No such luck.  I had about 15 minutes to get myself out the door.  Maybe even less.  Darn it darn it darn it.  

This photoshoot needed to start on time.  Mrs. Morris made it abundantly clear to me that her oldest boys needed to get to work as soon as possible.  Our 9 am start time was already cramping their groove.  I had seen on her blog that her oldest boys (twins!) had bought 25 acres of land (with cash!) and that they spent their Saturdays and evenings building their houses.  On a normal Saturday they would be at Home Depot by 6:00 am getting supplies.  Getting to the job site at 10:00 am was down right disgraceful!  "As soon as you finish taking their pictures, they'll need to go!  I think they're a little frustrated with me, makin' em take family pictures! But you know what, they just need to deal with it!"  I laughed in agreement.  Yes, suck it up, put on a smile and deal with it.  

I was a flurry that morning.  I pulled out my favorite black skirt.  It was still damp.  At least it smelled like Lavender Fields.  But you know how damp clothes fit.  They hang "heavy" and don't quite flatter.  I had a soft red cardigan to wear with my favorite black skirt.  It too was a little damp.  The cuff of the sleeve was loose and wide.  And for some reason the cardigan was more rounded then straight.  Just bad.  I shook and snapped it, hoping to give my favorite sweater a little life in it's veins.  Nothing.  I had a tight little black tank-top to wear underneath my cardigan.  Except that I didn't.  I thought I had a slim-fitted black camisole, but I guess in my packing rush I grabbed the wrong top out of the dryer.  Instead I had a flowy, loose, butterfly-sleeved, long, semi-pleated black Gap shirt.  Darn it.  I tucked the too-big top into my skirt and tried to arrange it neatly so that it might look like a smooth tank.  Instead I looked like a breast-feeding mother smuggling hamburgers .  It bunched in the back and gave me love handles.  It bunched in the front and gave me a trapezoid shaped mid-section.  Whatever.    


At this point I still hadn't addressed my face. Oh lordy.  A few days before this trip I decided to give myself bangs.  Bangs that started at my ears.  They were bad bangs.  They weren't cute like Zooey or Carrie or Liv.  Besides the fact that they were too wide (I've since learned that bangs are supposed to start at the end of your eyebrows, not the end of your forehead), they were also too thin.  And thanks to my complete lack of self control and ability to get myself ready for bed, set an alarm, and wake up on time, I found my self arranging a greasy wheat shoot field along my scalp.  When in Rome…? The rest of my hair was no better.  Flat, half-wavy, half-straight and quite split-end-y.  I wedged two bobby-pins in the back of my head, creating one of the most unfortunate half-up half-down hair styles I've ever seen.  On to my skin.  I swirled and swirled my powder foundation, leaving puffs of the make-up all over the bathroom counter.  Make-up never goes on well without moisturizer.  The powder just perched on my face like birds on a telephone line.  Darn it.  I forgot deodorant.  And eye-liner.  And toothpaste.  With a quick mascara application, apple breakfast and squirt of Becca's perfume, I danced out the door in my boots (but not in my socks.  Because I forgot socks too.)

The drive was quiet and calm.  Maybe the country is a little pretty in the morning.  My feet itched in my shoes.  Oh my gosh, my nails.  I was going to take this chipping polish off.  Oh well.  Before long, I found myself bumping along a gravel road, which dead-ended at a long dirt road, which led to a gravel driveway and the Morris property.  

The big red barn in the background proved that this was a farm.  Not that the little cowboy boots all over the yard, bleeting goat sounds, red-dirt soaked pick-up trucks in the driveway, playful dogs, crunchy and rolling fields, the parked dirtbike, horseshoe decor in the garden and stillness in the air wasn't enough.  Rap rap rap on the door was followed by running foot-steps, "MOoOOOOm!", muffled shutting doors, a little face in the window (that disappeared after a fast smile), and eventually the door opened by a lovely woman, dressed in black, purple and denim. "HI! Welcome! Welcome!"  There is no awkward confusion over whether you shake hands or hug here.  Cindy grinned and collected toys off the ground while walking into the cozy, country-themed living room.  Terry appeared with open arms, too.  He has story-eyes.  Good man story eyes.  And both Terry and Cindy looked much younger than I was expecting.  "We're running a little behind, I'm so sorry!  Oh, and Bethany is sick.  She was almost too sick to even get out of bed this morning.  But! She's a trooper!  She's getting ready! I'm going to help everyone get themselves fixed.  Make yourself at home!"  


I stood in front of the giant wooden table, with enough benches and chairs to seat 20 people.  To my right was a kitchen in the middle of renovation, to my left was a small TV room and an open door.  An arm stretched out past the open door and I saw the back of a tall boy putting on a black button-up shirt.  I turned away and sat down on a wooden wagon-wheel love seat.  Kids and animals slowly made their way into the living room.  The older kids introduced themselves and shook my hand.  The younger kids came in packs and would avoid eye contact as they popped out from behind walls and furniture.  I couldn't keep all the names straight.  Including Joel, the Morris' have nine sons.  There were boots-wearing, jean-clad, trimmed-hair, tan, cute boys everywhere.  All dressed in black or purple.  Some changing outfits in between viewings.  I didn't even try to remember their names!

It seemed that everybody was just about ready.  There were probably ten people in the living-room-kitchen-great-room when Daniel came down the hall and said hello.  Following right behind was Caleb.  Apparently these two put up a good ol’ fashioned stink about having to miss precious weekend time to build.  For family pictures nonetheless! They're too respectful to argue, but I’m sure there was stomping around in the bedroom, watching the clock constantly.  Muttering disappointments to each other.  Though the 23-year-old twins were tall and toned with fantastic jawlines, I was hardly impressed.  They were much too thin for my taste, and they both had matching stiff-gel-shlacked  hair-do's.  Their faces looked like chiseled statues that didn't move.  I'm not kidding.  Their facial expression was just that: an expression.  One. Singular.  They stood perfectly straight, with crisp owl-like head movements, and serious, focused looks.  I wanted to shake them and say "CHillllLLLl oooouut!"  The reader must keep in mind that I felt about as attractive as a bag of frozen bagel bites.  I was kind of crushing on a guy back home, but was mostly burnt-out with guys and trying to meet them.  


Besides, from what I could tell from the little bit I saw on their mothers blog and Facebook, it seemed that both the twins had their sights set on other girls.  Not to mention that I knew they were a part of a famously conservative homeschool program (the same one that the Duggar's of 19 Kids and Counting are in), so I knew that I would NOT be the kind of girl ANYone in this household would take seriously.  That last sentence was very judgmental of me, but also came from fairly reliable information about families in this organization.  Many have told tales of being snapped at for wearing pants and "dressing like a harlot."  Let's not even talk about crazy music choices, like Taylor Swift and Beyonce'!  All that to say, I had no mixed motives when I entered that household.  No part of me even remotely thought "I wonder if I'll meet a cute dude here! Giddyup!"  


Caleb walked over and shook my hand.  I hardly remember it. I hardly cared. I promptly began counting children and asked to get this shoot going.  


Caleb, on the other hand, felt sparks. 

Enjoy People | Ryan + Christina | Glen Echo Engagement Shoot

"i had a dream that I had to drive to madison
to deliver a painting for some silly reason
i took a wrong turn and ended up in michigan
a pallbearer aboard took me to the giant tire swing"
kim dawson

In October I received an e-mail from a woman, asking me to shoot her wedding. Sweet! So far, so normal.  I'm used to that.  "I'm sending you some pictures so you get a feel for us as a couple!"  Wonderful.  I ask for that on my website.  Also normal!  The pictures downloaded.  There was a woman in a floral jacket with a horse head/mask on in a candy store.  Picture number two: A man flailing between the teeth of a giant plastic shark (the kind outside of aquariums or inside SeaWorld where mom's take tourist photos and teenage boys stick their heads inside the mouth and think it's so so funny.)  Ryan didn't just pop his head in and make a scary face... he is curled up inside the mouth of the shark.  His whole body. There was another picture of him sitting on a giant pink hand... of her wearing a blue bicycle helmet... of them smiling in front of a rain forest.  Just to be clear: not normal.

And I loved it.  Our first coffee meet-up was over two hours long.  They told me story after story.  I heard about Cheerio-eating goats, cats named after royalty, monocles. My Little Pony, nerds, Facebook messaging, strawberry lemonade, and moving.  It's rare to come across such fascinating, funny, real and quirky people.  As soon as I was finished with the "meeting" I told Caleb that I was smitten with them.  "They're incredible.  They're hilarious.  They're loud.  They're just so much fun. I had so much fun."   

So, enjoy this pair today.  I don't feel like I can explain them well enough to do them justice.  They're sweet.  They're weird.  They're genuine.  Just... yes.  Just enjoy their faces and love:

(Ah, yes.  The Pity Head Pats.  I've been victim to those one-too-many-times.  "Poor little girl." Pat pat pat.)

 

Copious Project | Behind The Scenes

"when you're curious,
you find lots of interesting things to do."
walt disney 
The world is a fun little place.  At Alt Summit I met a fascinating and bright woman named Shayna Kulik.  I started following her on twitter.  Around the beloved spring-cleaning time of year she posed a question on her twitter: "Should I sell my clothes on ebay or Copious?"  I did not know of this "Copious."  The moment I went to the website I knew I was hooked.  In the next 24 hours or so I had created an account with this new "social marketplace."  I blogged about it.  No one commented.  No one.  But people clicked on my store.  You all clicked enough that my little blog was bringing in the hits for Copious - at least enough for their stats-guy to notice.  
Kaitlyn Barclay, the community marketing manager, got in touch with me to be a part of the "Copious Closet."  That e-mail turned into a conversation about Copious, a few ideas I had for them and a mini brain-storm sesh.  Within days we had a Skype meeting.  A few more days and there was a trip planned.  In a matter of days Kaitlyn pulled together a full-day campaign ad shoot for Copious.  Designers, stylists, hair and make-up crew, models and a photographer from Maryland gathered together in San Francisco, just a short walk from Instagram's original studio and AT&T Park.  Curiosity and a few connections led to an incredible experience for me.  These women (and men!) are passionate, giving and motivated.  And just truly very, very kind people.  It was certainly a career highlight to be a part of this shoot!
I can't wait to reveal images from the shoot, but for now I thought it'd be fun to show you a few behind the scenes shots.  Enjoy!  And please do check out Copious... that's how this all started after all!  So, thanks everyone!  

Moral of the story?  Don't be down if your post doesn't get comments.  It just might end up being your most important post of your year! ;)


Copious Community Marketing Manager: Kaitlyn Barclay

Models: Krista Gambrel, Cara Cutter, Carole Morey and Nkechi Njaka. Stylist: Lexie TiongsonDesigner: Michael Oh + Ariel SimoneHair + Make-up: Lara Olivia + Bailey Photography: I'm KristenEdited With: VSCO FilmMy Copious Store

Enjoy Project | People | Twins + Violins

you are
home, home
where i wanted to go
clocks - coldplay 

After all the smack-talk and big-mouthing I got about how nothing compares to Oklahoma... I must say I'm very pleased to have successfully convinced two cowboys to join me in the "big city."  My darling fiance' once again shares a room with his twin brother.  In the "big city." Muhaha. ;)

Besides having family in town, the best part of these two being together is their incredible musical gifting and talent.  Combined they have been playing music for 38 years, and it all began with teaching themselves piano.  In an effort to really make a living by playing music, The Other Twin (aka: Daniel) has set up a nice little facebook page.   Please don't like it "just because."  Listen to them and see what you think.  If you like - or dareisay love! - the sounds you hear, let them know!  Share their video or like their page or even send them a message.

They are available and eager to teach lessons as well as play for weddings.  In the "big city." ;)

(They had never heard "Clocks" by Coldplay.  In an hour they were playing this:)

(Caleb still hasn't heard "I'm Yours."  But he can play it.  They are freaks of nature.  In the "big city.")

Maybe I have to give Oklahoma some credit for raising these tall, gorgeous, disciplined, creative men after all.  Maybe they were right: maybe nothing compares to Oklahoma.