Tag: photos

Day Four: A Place You’d Like to Visit

Provence, France

In my head, I’m a world traveler the likes of which rivals Carmen Sandiego.  In truth, I’ve crossed a few state lines in my 30 plus years, but when I think about where I’ve been in these United States hasn’t been too far from my own backyard.  When it comes to international travel, I could count on one hand how many times I’ve had my passport stamped in the past 10 years.  

Often times when we plan a trip, our itinerary  is slam packed with things to do, people to visit and places to see.  DH and I are at a place in our lives when we’d rather do off the beaten path type of trips rather than the traditional mega city whirlwinds.  I’m ready to just pack my toothbrush and leave the Fodor’s at home on the shelf.

Imagine waking up in a cozy room, overlooking the quaint cobblestoned streets of a village of Luberon.  I can totally see myself sipping a cafe au lait and doing some serious people watching in Gordes before heading off to haggle at the market. The vielles dames will coo and cluck like sweet hens over the girls, pinching their cheeks and chucking their chins.   We’ll get a baguette, some grapes or cherries, and snack in the village square.  “Let’s get some bikes and lost in Lacoste”, DH will say.  The sun will set in lush colors of ochre and lavender as he and I sip wine on the outdoor patio of  any of the abundant vineyards.  We’ll leave dusty red footprints from our walk of the Colorado de Rustrel in Roussillon.

It used to be, with every trip, I’d stuff ticket stubs, photographs, and travel brochures in my journal.  Now I see, experience is the best souvenir.


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IN: ON: March 4, 2011 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Day Three: A Photo that Makes You Happy

Longpoint Beach
Martha’s Vineyard
June 2010

The weather has been down right bi-polar lately.  67 degrees yesterday. 37 degrees today.  I don’t know when to bundle up and when to strip down. Most days I look like a homeless person, just wearing all my layers in case of a shift in the weather.  Indoors or outdoors, my hands are constantly cold. The upside to that, though,  is the girls have finally started dressing themselves to avoid my frozen fingers.  
I was born in Massachusetts where white Christmases are often preceded by white Halloweens.  I spent my formative years in New Jersey, which has seen it’s fair share of cold weather as of late.  Having lived in Virginia for the other half of my life, I’ve totally lost that Yankee edge.  Anything below 65 degrees?  Um, where’s my jacket?  And could you pass me my scarf? 
It’s no surprise that when the weather channel calls for low temps, I turn up thermostat. I’m starting to think it’s an exercise in futility because the house never feels like it’s warming up.  It’s that thing — psychosomatic — I turn up the thermostat and trick myself into believing I’m getting warmer.    As a result,  I forget to turn it down by the time I go to bed. We’ve got radiator heat, which is hot like the 7th circle of Hades once it gets cooking.  My side of the bed is on the radiator side and along about 2 in the morning, I am sweating like a hooker in church! God forbid we open a window; that’s the express lane to sore throats, stuffed noses and all matter of hacking coughs.  
The next day, it’s a balmy 60 plus degrees.  The neighbors and kids are out in flip-flops and tank tops.  Even nature is fooled into thinking warmth is abundant and long lasting.  Daffodils and crocuses start to sprout, the grass greens up and then the sun goes down, taking heat with it. 
I am so ready for a steady bout of spring like weather.  Even if it’s overcast, even if it’s drizzling a bit, I’ll take it.  Until then, I’ll stick my hands in my armpits for warmth, re-wrap my scarf around my neck and wish myself back to the hot, hot sand on Longpoint Beach.

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IN: ON: March 3, 2011 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Day Two: A Photo of Yourself At Least A Year Ago

Our House
June, 2011
DH channeling Austin Powers
This is the face of a woman having a good laugh.  It was a gorgeous summer day. My hair was working, my face (as the kids say) was beat, and I can proudly say that orthodontia works wonders.  
When was the last time you had a really good laugh? I mean, the kind that leaves you breathless and glassy eyed from the tears rolling down your cheeks?  Sure, the girls do comical things that elicit chuckles.  The stuff that comes out of their mouths, the way they imitate the mannerisms of my parents or me and DH, that’s funny. But what about gut-busting?  
Though I’d never tell him for fear of inflating his already large ego, my brother is hilarious.  He has this way of telling a story, particularly any involving members of our family, that will leave you holding your sides and wheezing for breath.  He throws out one-liners and makes observations with a Seinfeld-esque ease. And when situations call for solemnity, he’s handing out quips to lighten the load. 
I took him as my guest to a wedding about 3 years ago.  Christopher and I had the pleasure of standing behind this guest at the buffet line, who was sporting a rather loud looking suit.  The back was embellished with some kind of peacock-turkey-eagle hybrid or something. 
“You gotta take a picture,” Christopher says to me. “No one will believe this.” But we were in the midst of mixed company.  How am I going to just snap a photo of this fashion disaster without it looking so obvious that I am making fun of this guy. 
“Okay, okay,” say Christopher, “Here’s what we’re going to do.  Give me your sunglasses.  Now take my picture, but fake it.”
Every time I look at this picture, I crack up.  The jacket. That Risky Business look Christopher is sporting.  Again, the jacket.  Epic fail. 
What gets you start cracking up so badly that even trying to explain it to someone else leaves you dissolved in a puddle of gasps, hoots, and “Hang on, hang on. I’m going to get it together?”  Please share, ’cause I always enjoy a good laugh. 
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IN: ON: March 2, 2011 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Day One: A Photo of Yourself

Harlem, New York City
September, 2010

An appropriate choice for the first picture, I think.  Even though my hair was a little Justin Beiber-ish, I’m really digging how I look here.

I’ve come quite a way since that first shoot.  My camera is no longer an expensive piece of electronic equipment I leave on automatic.  I’m changing settings because I know what I’m trying to capture and what I need to do to get there.  I enjoy talking to other shutter-bugs about F-stops, apertures and lenses because I’m getting it. I get that you have to have a low F-stop to get that nice, dreamy quality in the background. I get that you have to dial down your shutter-speed to give the illusion of emptiness in a busy place.  I can look at photos now and puzzle out what settings they used, if they used a flash or not.  I’m not saying I know it all, but I know more than I did yesterday and I’m going to know more tomorrow.

Before that shoot, my experience behind the camera had been limited to a point and shoot. Candids from birthday parties, girls’ night out, and vacations, that was my portfolio.  This was different.  There was a story to tell through the lip balm and the clothes.  I worked closely with DH to create a storyboard.  As the models got ready that day, DH and I rigged lights, dressed the set, and set up craft services (we keeps it professional).  I had yet to even put the lens on the camera and I started to doubt myself.  My experiences with modeling were from the other side of the camera.  All I knew was head tilts, shoulder leans, and broken doll.   Could I duplicate what we had discussed?  Would I be able to re-tell this boy-meets-girl love story using angles and light?

I look at myself in that photograph now and see apprehension on my face.  Just below it, though, is some confidence, some anticipation.  I look at that photograph and I can see the story behind it.  Before, I would have captioned that photograph “Aspiring Photographer Testing Equipment” (real eloquent, right?).   Now, “Photographer, Self Portrait”, is more fitting.

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IN: ON: March 1, 2011 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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When Life Hands You Lemons. . .

Coever has been having trouble recognizing when she need to go, she really needs to go.  As a result, we’ve been burning through underpants at an alarming rate.  She, like her sister, is so afraid to miss something, she will hold it and hold it until she’s bursting.  This means, even though she’ll make it to the bathroom, in the time it takes to get her pants around her ankles, there’s some pee around her ankles, too.

*le sigh*

She’s frustrated. I’m frustrated.  We’re working on it, though.

The other day, she had another accident, and I scooped her up and dropped her in the tub.  I was tempted to stick her in the shower in my bathroom so I could have a Calgon moment of my own.  It was about 2 in the afternoon and the sunlight coming in from the bathroom window was so soft and just inviting.  Coever was rosy cheeked from the warm water and I pulled her out of the tub, I thought, “I need to photograph this!”

I’m thinking either one of us may have a future career here.

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IN: ON: February 17, 2011 TAGS: BY: Hilary
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