The beginning

Truth be told, I love vintage.

My daughter found an old typewriter - yes, I said typewriter - in our basement.

She dusted off the old turquoise case.

I pressed the hard plastic keys. The metal letters struck the black ribbon, and, as the white paper revealed the slightly bruised paper, I fell in love with the sound of the carriage return and the feeling of my fingers getting a pretty intense workout.

The ancient machine worked.

This beauty was my mother's typewriter. It was the typewriter on which I wrote my very first stories - the typewriter that helped me earn a Young Author award as a small child, that later assisted me in completing job applications and that then helped me write a winning scholarship essay.

The smell of the paper after it comes out of the platen and is released by the paper bail is almost intoxicating. The sound of the keys stretching to reach the blank paper and strike it with just enough force to leave the perfect mark drowns out almost every other noise.

As I compare the experience to sitting here with my laptop on my couch, I believe there must have been something quite soothing about the peace an author had so many decades ago, when he would sit in solitude - probably forced because the sound of a typewriter clicking away at full-speed actually is deafening!



I am thankful that I can use the delete key and that I can save and change my work as I please. The computer has increased my productivity and allowed for creative independence. I can rework a piece with very little effort on my part. I can cut and paste, strike and add paragraphs and correct word choice - all with the stealthy touch of a very soft keystroke.

But, there is something about that typewriter. And my daughter feels it, too. So, for now, we are writing, er, typing letters to each other - the old fashioned way. And, it feels so good to sit where it all began:)

Another milestone

Tonight, at 7:46, my oldest baby turned eight.

It seems unfathomable that so much time has elapsed.

She is the one who gave me the title, "mother."  She is the one who taught me the meaning of sleepless nights, made my a heart burst with so much love I just couldn't take it, and helped me understand the pure joy of bringing a new life into this world.

Reflecting back on these eight years, I've come so far. I learned more than I ever could have imagined from her, my mommy-friends and the life my husband and I forged with our new family.

I gave up my high school teaching career. At the time, I was torn. I wanted so much to continue to teach the students I had grown to love, but I also longed to stay by my daughter's side. Ultimately, the sleepless nights decided for me.

I couldn't have been happier.

We now are a family of four.

I have two precious little girls who make my life exciting, stressful and beautiful all at the same time. I wouldn't trade that for the world.

What I didn't expect was to have been on the cusp of a new career.

A journalism job literally fell into my lap when my oldest was just a year old. It was not a huge time commitment, and I was excited to get out of the house to interview other adults from time to time. It was perfect. I taught journalism at the high school, so eventually the paper called me to the copyediting side.

I have been blessed with numerous opportunities to use my writing and photography skills over the past seven years. I am looking forward to new opportunities in this second career - eight years after giving up my first to take on the best job I will ever have - raising up my daughters.

Happy eighth birthday, oldest little!

We drove into the city

We drove into the city yesterday.

As the country roads gave way to the highway, the farm fields quickly turned to industrial areas. And then, the skyscrapers came out of nowhere – piercing the clouds and towering over each other, clamoring to stretch higher than the next.

As a young adult, I yearned to live here – to walk to the corner store, to use public transportation through the perfect grid of streets and to embrace every ounce of culture I could eek out of this bustling metropolis.

Fast-forward about fifteen years: I took my girls. We appeared to fit in amongst the crowds, but a quick trip to the corner Walgreen’s reminded us that we did not.

Those we passed on the sidewalks hurried through congested crosswalks, raced passed the other pedestrians and never looked me in the eye.  Even worse, the three people ahead of us in the checkout line were brusque toward the seemingly friendly cashier. Their callous responses saddened me as I watched his countenance change each time a customer rudely ignored him, just grabbing their plastic bag and walking away.

When I said, “Thank you, sir” he actually looked up and said, “Thank you for being so polite.”

It stopped me in my place. When had we as a society become so introspective that merely responding to another human being no longer was commonplace, but something rare? Was it just the day? Or were the people we encountered truly unhappy? Was it the constant crowd? Or, perhaps, the busy-ness of their lives?

I think I will always be drawn to the architectural brilliance and the cultural magnificence that literally explodes from every corner of the city. But, perhaps I realize now, more than ever, that the city – with all its nightlife and magic – actually may be a lonely place.

I am thankful to live in my small town. There is an innate trust that we have here. We stop and help a child fallen off a bicycle. We greet and sometimes give snacks to the postal worker. We watch our waiters and waitresses work through high school and move on to college. We know our neighbors. We invite people to dinner. It is that kind of town.

I am sure there are plenty of friendly city-dwellers, and plenty of grumpy country-folk. The creative hub downtown forever will draw me to it like a magnet, but the open spaces and the freedom of walking along a path or having a backyard garden will keep me grounded – at least for now.

Wherever you live, a smile (and a kind word) is sure to go a long way. You never know the difference you may make in someone’s life.

Believing in Yourself ... And Taking on a Challenge

Not that long ago, I wanted to do something special for my husband while he was off at a weeklong air show. I took my infant daughter to the local craft store and came back home with one jar of black paint, one jar of white paint, canvasses, a few brushes and a palette.

Despite having taken some art classes as a child, I had never painted (artistically speaking) since marrying my husband. I so desperately wanted a painting above my couch, but we couldn't afford what we really wanted.

So, at night, after my baby went to sleep, I stayed up. And, knowing my husband was an avid lover of airplanes, I decided to search for something within my (very small) skill set.

It was no easy task, but I have never been one to back down from a challenge - within reason, of course!

I didn't start small either - this was a four-panel, pristine white canvass spread out before me. 

I wanted to paint in secret; I honestly didn't know if I could pull it off. I had this picture in my head of an airplane in black and white. It looked sophisticated and classy in my mind, but also comfy enough to sit above my couch.

Hesitant, I used pencil to lightly sketch the major features of the plane - the wings, the engines, the propellers, the windows, the wings.

Then, I poured out the untainted paint, watching it fill in the hollow scoops of my palette. It was daunting. I thought about the potential failure of this DIY. I realized it could be really, really embarrassing.

But, I took the plunge and began mixing the colors to create varying shades of gray.

Once I used my brush to pick up the smallest bit of color, I began to see the plane take shape. 

It took some time, some patience and a little late-night work, but my *cough, cough* masterpiece was complete.

It wasn’t perfect, but it did – to my great surprise and relief – actually resemble a plane. My husband was so surprised when he came home. He never expected me to create our own décor - much less paint a plane. He loved it. And, I was happy knowing that my hesitancy didn’t keep me from forging ahead and giving it a try.

That was two years ago, and “my plane” proudly resides above our couch today.

I have recently embarked on a new journey. I am scared that I will fail. But I also know that I won't have the opportunity to succeed if I don't at least give it a try. And, like my painting, my new journey may not be perfect, but with love, patience and hard work, something worthy might just arise.

The plane is proof of that.

Superheroes - big and little

My nephew (and godson) loves superheroes. In fact, after he opened our gift of a red cape and reversible blue and red mask, he wore it immediately. And, just like that, he was transformed from a (far from) ordinary boy into a superhero able to jump over tall(ish) buildings, wield a magic (toy) sword and save his mom from the hazards of a sink full of dirty dishes.

Yes, he stole my heart running around with the world on a string - superpowers oozing out of every limb - every finger and toe.

He reminds me of another real-life hero I so greatly admire. 

Not that long ago, I had the honor of interviewing a young man who had overcome the wounds of war and, despite suffering for an extended period of time, he now thrives in a world in which he couldn't have imagined living just over a year ago.

His service to our country and putting his life in peril is, for me, an unimaginable feat. When I think of the bravery and the courage this man has, my heart aches knowing there once was a time which he would describe as unbearable and a time during which he wasn't really living.

Heroism comes in many forms. My nephew is a superhero - he really is able to lift spirits in a single-bound and leap over hurdles that are known only to preschoolers. His enthusiasm is infectious and his smile will absolutely melt your heart.

And then there is this Marine, who stoically defended our country with little regard for himself but with every regard for others. He now inspires others with an easy smile, laughs with those who may not feel capable of laughing and stands by with waiting hands as others take the reigns of their new lives - and he is there to catch them if they fall.

A hero changes things - makes a difficult situation better, looks out for others and protects strangers just as they would a loved one.

Who are the heroes in your life?

Putting It All In Perspective

Recently, I interviewed an aerobatic pilot and a wing walker. I come from an airplane-loving family, and, although I am not an aviation buff myself, I can appreciate the beauty of aviation.

My husband has a dream of flying in a Stearman: breeze in his goggled face, brown leather pilot cap strapped over his ears and white scarf trailing in the wind. He was excited that I had the opportunity to take these photos. Now, this particular stunt plane happens to be a modified Super Stearman. It is an open-cockpit biplane that once had two seats, but now has just one - a modification needed for the type of stunts it performs. 

The experienced aerobatic pilot was quite interesting to speak with. He gave me (and my children) a tour of the plane and talked a bit about the history of it.  But, what really captured my attention was the passion with which this man spoke of his respect and admiration for his wing walker. And, it turns out, that is for good reason.

I had no idea that his wing walker doesn't use a tether.  That means this gentleman walks the wings of the plane, does headstands and performs other stunts - while the plane is in flight - and he is completely unsecured. I am pretty sure I will never be able to watch his act. Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps and that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. This man is absolutely amazing.

But, it made me think of the great responsibility upon the shoulders of this pilot, too. He not only is taking care of his vintage plane and his own life and those who are watching the airshow, but he also is responsible for that man walking on the wings under his command as he focuses on his one job: holding steady the plane.  And, that puts a lot into perspective for me.

There is a great trust that develops between two good friends, two business partners, a patient and physician, a man and his God. That trust is earned and then it becomes implicit - something that defines the relationship.

It reminds me of my marriage. I trust my husband with everything. I trust that he will make the right decisions for our family. I trust that when I come to him with new job opportunities, he will honestly tell me if it is the right time for our family. I trust him to make sure I am teaching our children well, and, if he asks me to do something differently, I try my best to work through it with him. I do this out of respect, because I have seen him take care of me and take care of our family, time and time again. I have been through wonderful times with this man and I have been through difficult times. He is rooted in his faith and he is the one person who truly grounds me. We are bound together by mutual trust.

So it is with these two men. They have a bond of trust - perhaps similar to the one I have with my husband. Though I probably won't be walking untethered on the wings of a plane my dear husband is piloting, I am metaphorically walking untethered in the world. However, that bond of trust is the tether that brings me back, day after day, night after night, no matter what the day may bring.

Whether that bond for you is your bond with Christ, your bond with a spouse, your bond with a good friend, or your bond with a business partner, I encourage you to take care of it. Trust is a delicate virtue -for once broken, it is forever broken. Sometimes that tether is strong. With work, despite the palpable weakness, the repair is relatively quick. But sometimes, as with these two men, once broken, it is forever altered. Keep the tether -- whether visible or invisible -- strong. Never take it for granted.

  

Thank a veteran, equine therapy and the Huffington Post

So, I have been busy taking photographs and writing for a not-for-profit business that works for the healing of veterans with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as well as Traumatic Brain Injury.

It has been such a blessing to me to be surrounded by such strong men and women and an honor for me to be able to be witness to moments of healing as well as to listen to stories that have made my heart break into more pieces than I knew it had.

The statistic published by the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs is that 22 men and women - veterans who have served our country - take their own precious lives every day. It is literally gut-wrenching for me.

I can hardly imagine there are any veterans left in our beautiful country - 22 veterans' lives taken by their own hands each and every single day. I wish I knew what I, an ordinary citizen, could do to make a difference. I have resolved to say, "Thank you," to each and every veteran that I can. Though it once sounded trite and too simple, I have learned that perhaps, it isn't. Perhaps it is something that anyone can do - and it costs nothing.

There are men and women who donate hours upon hours of time to offer assistance in therapeutic horse riding facilities around the country.

I, myself, am not a horse-lover nor am I from a military family. I was here on assignment, but I have stayed to offer my services - in whatever capacity - when I can. There is something special and almost breathtaking about being surrounded by these men and women - brave men and women who, beneath a gruff and sometimes scary exterior, are some of the most compassionate and most hurting individuals you may ever meet.

I was afraid that I would not be welcomed - that I would be an outsider writing and taking photographs of something about which I knew nothing.

Instead, I was warmly welcomed - my heart forever changed.  

The Huffington Post ran this article by Robert Piper and used my photographs!  It is a well-researched article about equine therapy.

I encourage you, even if it seems awkard (which it did to me), to go out and thank a veteran. Shake a hand. Tell him or her that you appreciate what he or she does.  It just may save a life.