f8 1.4

"Do the very best you can do. And then, be at peace with it." -My Mum...


So many thing happen at such a rapid rate, I couldn't possibly slow them down to a manageable pace, allowing me to accurately document them just they way they felt while they were occurring. This is the perpetual problem parents run into. This also explains the unmanageable amount of photos of every one of life's major events. Boxes upon boxes upon albums of weddings, first children, first kisses, first vacations, first.first.first. click.click.click.

Eventually, I think, we learn to sit back and live these moments. The sweet air cannot be bottled and the spot on my son's head where the sun hits it just so, the warmth won't be there much longer than a moment. The lucky snapshots are a one-in-a-million, but these moments that pass won't ever again.

It's frustrating how little justice a photograph can do. In the most ambient light, the shadows fall dramatically short of what I saw, what I felt when I pressed the shutter. What I read when I observed the light. Maybe this is why most parents have more photos of their first born than any that follow. They learn quickly how little justice the photos have done over the years.

I think that challenge - the triumph of capturing an image that grants a moment the credit it is due - is what has attracted me to photography. It's what keeps me from boxing up old photos and never looking at them again: the hope that I'll peer at an image and finally grasp what I was striving for when I took it. It's what keeps me from just living a moment. As precious as moments are, the sound of my beautiful son breathing, the all-encompassing peace when I lay my head down in a dim room with the smell of midsummer's night clinging gently to the walls, I can't help but think of the symbolism a photograph depicts.

Summer is over now and we are knee-deep in autumn. A blanket of strategically-fallen leaves has covered all the damage we've inflicted on the grassy parts and the whole world smells like anticipation.

I don't want to miss a minute of any of this. I don't want this time of year to pass me by. Living in the Chicago region, autumn is the momentary blur between summer and winter, the grey area that is so fleeting. If you blink you'll miss it. A pity for someone like me, who likes to rest her eyes...

We went to the Peggy Notebaert museum this weekend twice. Both times we learned something new. Both times we left with a greater understanding of things we take complete advantage of. Here are some photos...

Butterflies are proof that God has a sense of irony. Like most things I love, they are elusive. And, like most things I love, my instinct is to hold them oh so tightly, to look at them closely, examine them, shudder at their perfection, and hold my breath the moment they come near. The irony in these creatures is that I cannot entirely do any of those things. Holding them tightly is out of the question. Their delicate wings would crumble. Looking at them closely and examining them isn't easy either. They seem to always be on their way somewhere else. Holding my breath when they come near isn't easy either, because while shuddering at their perfection, one is bound to let out a sigh...

I think they are nature's ballerinas. I am certain they hear symponies.

Of all the unplanned art I have stumbled across, butterflies are the most inspiring I've seen. They somehow manage to encompass architecture, stained glass, and grace in their brief existance.


Us with our things. Pitiful things. Butterflies emerge as works of art, with an evolving canvas. How we pale in comparison.




This is Crecent. She is two, and she came along with her mother and big sister. She likes to run. She likes to growl. Sometimes she gets tired and sits on the floor in a tiny ball. Crecent likes to twirl her hair in her fingers and tug on her eyelashes when she gets sleepy...


This is Elsa, Crecent's big sister. Elsa is four. She like a good knock-knock joke. Elsa likes to smell my hair. She has a remarkable attention span and vocabulary for her age. She likes to stare at things as closely as she can until she gets "wontie eyed" ... which is Elsanese for cross eyed.




Crecent gets frustrated when Elsa accomplishes the things she has yet to. It's an interesting process to watch as Crecent is always just beginning right as Elsa is finishing.










Days like this pass us by without warning. While sitting quietly one day, we might talk about it. Tomorrow, it will be yesterday and eventually, it will just be once upon a time. Today, we lived it, and I feel so blessed that we did. Today, I felt the leaves gather under my feet as I drug them across the grass, and I feel so lucky that they showed up. Autumn will pass just as quietly as it crept up on us, and I feel so complete knowing I didn't miss out on today.


"Maybe I need fantasy life of chasing butterfly " =W=