one time i stood under a flowering pear tree in my wild backyard and thought, this is good. it was warm and i’d just finished nursing my baby girl. she heavy-slept in a sling on my freckled chest. her hair was red and my feet were bare.
one time i stood on a street in london in my doc martens and thought, this is good. it was warm and i’d just toured buckingham palace pretending i belonged. steaming tea, a double-decker bus. my dress was red and my socks were yellow.
one time i stood all alone in my choked bedroom— the air was hot, the bed unmade— a shadow stretched over drifts of laundry left to fold. my face was red, the pen denting my thumb, and i thought, is this good?
5/100 For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
“She did not succumb to the battering of the brutal elements in her life. No, instead, with nourishment and strength from those surrounding her, and from her own deep, strong roots, she continued to grow; not just grow but thrive! So much so that she did not buckle under the weight that was not her own.”—Claudia
For the month of June, my model was my lovely friend Claudia. We met during sunrise, to avoid the heat, and our time together was magical. We wandered the same wooded area I had taken photos in last month, but it looked different, more golden and less dark green. I focused my camera on capturing her lovely energy, smile, and how she connects to nature.
I met Claudia when our kids started first grade together. My first memory of her is volunteering together to paint the school office. She was working hard (something I learned is how she’s wired) and we got to talking. I instantly knew she’d be someone I wanted in my life. She’s caring and kind, but doesn’t allow boundaries to be crossed. She’s a loving mother who taught her kids to speak up for themselves and is the very epitome of unconditional love.
I’ve seen my friend go through some very rough times in the last few years and really focus on healing. She’s in such a good place right now and I saw it, radiating off her (see the photos at the end for photographic evidence, maybe?) I’m really loving these sessions with my friends and can’t wait to keep growing and sharing my photos with you all.
Enjoy!
#1#2#3
What makes you proud? Watching my kids advocate for themselves and set boundaries, and knowing that I provide well for them, not just physical needs but in all of the ways that matter makes me really proud.
#4#5#6
What makes you feel brave? Reminding myself of how much healing and growth I have done these past few years makes me feel brave.
#7#8#9
What gives you hope? Trusting the path that the universe has set for me, believing that it has good things for me, and reminding myself that it has always taken care of me (even though I endured a lot of pain and trauma), gives me hope.
#10#11#12
When we first starting taking photos together, I told my friend to just take a moment to look around the woods. Relax a minute and feel the energy. I snapped this shot. Although it’s most likely just a unique sun flare, my first thought when I opened the image was “did I capture her aura?” I had to share it with you all too.
And here’s some extras, just because I like them:
These were taken with my Olympus E-M1 MarkII, using several different lenses and edited with Lightroom Classic. Let me know what you think, and check out the others in this series if you missed them.
“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?” —RuPaul
For the month of May, my model was my lovely momma. We decided to include her best friend, Olive, in the photo shoot and I’m so glad we did. My mom is a lover of animals, loyal to those who are kind to her children, and a bit silly. She knows how to make me laugh, is always there when I need someone to listen to me, and loves me more than anyone else on Earth. I credit my mom with giving me my resilience, a childhood filled with animals, and being my number one fan.
My mom lives in Washington now where she and her dog can take daily hikes in the woods, her favorite thing to do. While she was here for my daughter’s graduation, I had to get her in the woods for some photos. This little spot filled with oak trees and a few wild flowers was perfect. This shoot included way too many burrs in our clothes, a tiny bit of rain, and a lot of giggles.
Thanks mom for being a light in this dark world. I love you more than you’ll ever know.
#1#2#3
What makes you proud? My kids and grandchildren make me very proud!
#4#5#6
What makes you feel brave? When I’m out walking in the woods with my beloved dog Olive.
#7#8#9
What gives you hope? Looking into the eyes of my granddaughter and grandson. I hope for greatness for them both.
#10#11#12
I’ve got over twenty photo shoots under my belt now and I’m starting to find my stride. I’m currently on a trip to Vegas with my daughter and her best friend, and leaning into a more documentary style. I’m experimenting with leaving the images a bit grainy, editing less, and exploring more with composition. I’ll be curious to see what others think of those images when I post them, and what you think of these. I also did very minimal editing on these, and I think I’m starting to find a sort of style I like. Let me know what you think, and check out the others in this series if you missed them.
“A winner is a loser who tried one more time. Not the smartest. Not the fastest. Just the one who didn’t stop.” —George M. Moore Jr.
For the month of March, my model was my dear friend Penny. I met her in 2013 at the table read for the Listen to Your Mother stage show. We locked eyes across the table, and instantly connected. She possesses a warmth and kindness that allows her to make people feel profoundly seen, a rare gift. She’s a singer, writer, storyteller, caregiver, and one of my favorite people on the planet.
We met last week at the beautiful St. Ignatius Loyola Catholic Church, where she sings as cantor. The space was gorgeous, and she was a natural at posing. We only had an hour to spend together because of our schedules, but we made the most of it. She trusted me fully, and I think it shows in the way she’s looking at the camera/me.
Penny normally doesn’t like her photo taken, but she said it was fun with me. And she loved the photos! That’s the whole point: helping my friend see her own beauty. Each time I do another shoot, my confidence grows and I’m learning more and more. I’m so grateful for this growth! Please, give her some love in the comments below and tell me what you think of this shoot. Do you have a favorite? Do you see improvement in the quality of these photos?
What makes you proud? For most of my life I have been able to do what I loved, what I was good at and things that made a difference on the planet. The fact that I usually also got paid was icing on the cake.
#4#5#6
What makes you feel brave? I’ve been a family caregiver for over 30 years. If that didn’t break me, nothing will.
#7#8#9
What gives you hope? Children. They are the future. The fact that God keeps sending them is a sign that He hasn’t given up on us yet.
#10#11#12
Thank you to everyone who is cheering me on with my photography. I’ve been very focused on it lately, but I’m still writing. I’ll be sharing some words soon. Promise!
My skills aren’t growing as fast as I want them to. I have several photo shoots lined up in the next few weeks and I’m suddenly aware of how scary this all is. Yes, I’ve been playing with my camera for years, but it’s only been a few months since I took it seriously. I’ve jumped in with both feet and I’m flailing a bit.
My good friend Angy always says that super scary things mean you’re moving in the right direction. Last night all I could think was, “I’ve made a terrible mistake.” I’m not ready for this. What if my friends/clients hate what I do? What if, like my nephew’s birthday over the weekend, I can’t get the exposure right? By jumping in this fast, have I ruined my chance of having this as a second career?
So, while I couldn’t sleep last night, I edited these photos from my recent trip to Denio’s Farmers Market. It’s a weirdo space, and I felt at home taking photos here. I love these. The stakes were low and so I just had fun. This is what I need to remember when I’m out taking photos of people in the next few weeks. I love this. It’s time to play and have fun. It’s all growth.
So, today I’m taking another online class about lighting. I’ll probably beg my daughter to let me photograph her again for practice. I’ve already booked a bunch of shoots, so no turning back now.
Let me know if you like these and don’t miss my bonus butterfly photos at the end. Have a fantastic day!
After the tremendous high of self-publishing my book in April, I’ve spiraled into a funk so deep I’m hesitant to even speak about it. I’ve resisted naming it or giving it power, but the truth is as plain as the sweatpants I’ve been wearing for days.
I’m not doing great.
While I can rally when my friends and family need me, it takes everything out of me. My default Pollyanna attitude, always seeing the joy and wonder in everything, is slowly fading away. It’s harder and harder to put a positive spin on things, and as a result, I’m dissociating more and more. I check out for hours and days at a time by playing on my phone or binge watching TV, often doing both at the same time.
The creative spark I had just months ago seems lost.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. I’m picking fights with my family, crying easily, and my body hurts all the time. I feel myself stiffening in all ways. It could be stress in my life, the state of the world, perimenopause, or most likely, all of those things combined.
It’s time to seek help. Again.
Sigh.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I think part of getting through this is going to be recommitting to blogging again. Reaching out to this beautiful community as my whole broken self and saying, hey, I sort of need a hug right now and maybe you do too, so how about we hug each other with words? That sounds weird, but you know what I mean. We aren’t alone. None of us.
So, yeah. I’m here.
How are you? I seriously want to know. Good? Bad? Tired? Energized? Did you get a new dog? Your cat do something funny? What projects are you working on? Tell me all the things.
I might not be doing great, but I’m going to show up. I’ve taken a ton of photos lately and it’s time to edit them and share them with you. Maybe the joy of the tiny details will help me in my recovery, and who knows, maybe you’ll find something about them to love too.
I’ll leave you with this photo my daughter took of me in Washington earlier this month. I remember thinking in a world where an artist creates something this magical, anything is possible. I’m holding onto that feeling, even if it’s tiny.
Kat sees the button first. A bright green light tucked into the corner of the wall. It pulses and calls to her. It knows her name.
“Do you know what day it is?”
The voice speaking loudly beside her ear is all blue and has no face. Only eyes. Where is the green? What day is it? It’s not her birthday. At least she thinks it’s not. The voice keeps speaking and moves now to her other side. She can see the button again. It glows brighter and Kat wants to press it. Instead, burning heat presses into her. It travels from her scalp to her toes. It quiets everything.
Time moves. Kat can feel minutes turn into hours. Days, she thinks. A small window to her right remains closed and covered with thick slatted blinds. A parade of blue figures touches her. Pushes things into her. She points at the green button over and over. Nobody answers her soundless question.
“Did you know Tutankhamun died 1,000 years after the great pyramids were built?”
A voice comes from across the room and Kat sees a figure leaning against the wall beside the green button. Clad in blue, his face isn’t covered. He’s got deep brown eyes with thick lashes, a large sloped nose, thin dark lips, and a small trimmed beard flecked with grey. He says his name is Ebi and Kat smells rain and wet earth when she looks at him. She hears hooves kicking sand.
“The Great Pyramid is made up of over 2.3 million stones, weighing 2.5 tons.”
Kat closes her eyes. Two million. Two tons. The majority of the universe is made of dark matter. It’s made of nothing. She opens her eyes and the green button is still there. Ebi is still there. A question vibrates inside her gut and bubbles and bubbles until the words form and come out as a whisper she isn’t sure carries sound.
“What happens if you press the green button?”
Ebi hears from across the room and smiles.
“It releases air in the isolation room, but don’t press it Kat…it will start things over.”
He winks at her. The number of trees worldwide is greater than the stars in our solar system. She once walked in an old-growth forest and felt the trees leaning forward as if wanting to speak to her. She’s not the center. Everything is connected. Don’t press the button. Press the button.
“The Great Pyramid was the tallest building in the world for 3,500 years.”
Ebi’s eyes are still far away but she can see the reflection of a round clock in the black pupils. The second-hand moves too fast. Dangerously fast. Kat tries to match the rhythm by patting the thin mattress with her hands. Sound can create patterns in sand. It can break things apart. A storm bangs against the shuttered window. Knocks loudly. Is Kat making the storm?
“The pyramids originally had a bright white smooth stone casing which sparkled in the sun.”
Ebi holds a thick book in his hands. Hands covered in thin white scars, and slash marks, like etchings on stone walls. Kat pictures those hands knowing true north and finding what is missing. The book opens and closes. Quiet and heat come again and the smell of rain is replaced with metal.
Kat wakes to find the room empty except for the green light. It calls to her. It knows her name. She can’t ignore it any longer and pulls tubes from her arms and a mask from her face. Her feet find the cold floor.
Stumbling and breathing heavily, she crosses the room in two steps. Or is it two plus two steps? She reaches out her fingers and presses the smooth, round surface of the button. Relief comes as darkness. Her body falls onto the hard floor and her head makes a terrible cracking sound. The air smells of nothing at all.
Kat rolls onto her side and presses her cheek into the warm sand. Voices call around her in celebration. Drums pound out a rhythmic beat like raindrops. Hands hook under her armpits and lift her onto a pair of broad shoulders.
“Stay close Kat,” her father says.“There are many here today to see the Pharaoh off and I don’t want to lose you.”
They stand at the base of a giant pyramid gleaming white with a bright gold top. Voices sing around her. Starting over is scary. Kat grabs the small green stone hanging from a gold chain around her neck and presses it tightly.
Author’s note: I spent a few days this week in the hospital beside my sister-in-law. She’s okay and home now, but I was inspired to write this story by a brief conversation with a nurse about Eygpt.
Bradbury calls upon writers to “go panther-pawed where all the mined truths sleep.” Lately, I’ve been rather horse-like; clip-clopping through knee-high weeds which itch, burning my skin toward a fake sunset. “Wake up, dummy,” I say each morning, but somehow my eyes don’t hear. Instead, I close them tighter; stumble, trip across briar patches again and again. “Wake up,” the bluejay mock calls while diving beak first at my lips. I kiss away pain by pressing my palms hard across thin eyelids so I can’t see even a tiny speck of light. If I don’t look maybe they will go away. But then the doves sing from their nest. Tiny white eggs might be under them now; new life waiting for a chance to dive and fall from branches into an uncertain world of cats and clovers. “What if I do open my eyes when I sleep?” I ask rabbit jumping across my yard. His ears twitch which means he hears me. He knows plenty truths, I think. Maybe I can hop wildly like him.
Note: The poem I’m referring to appears in “Zen in the Art of Writing,” by Ray Bradbury. It’s called “Truths Sleep.” The photo is of our pet rabbit named Bun-Bun.
I’ve struggled to find words to process the last few years.
We’ve collectively lived through something hard.
Impossibly hard.
I can’t write about the enormity of the experience, so I’ll take it to the personal micro-level.
I lost my grandmother to Covid. I didn’t get to say goodbye and we didn’t have a funeral for her.
My son had two terrible accidents. They were scary. I relive them daily and I hold him too close.
My daughter didn’t react well to social distancing. Her light dimmed so much I felt I might lose her.
Our family was together all the time, but somehow things got messy and convoluted. The undercurrent of fear kept us on edge, too internal, and we became strange to each other.
I want to move forward and say 2022 is the year it all changes, but it feels like rebuilding a puzzle without knowing the picture, and some of the pieces could be missing. It’s an uneasy feeling.
Yet, I’m going to try anyway.
Trying for me looks like refocusing on daily journaling, the short story challenge, and recommitting to posting to this blog. I’m moving my body and cooking dinner. I’m taking vitamins and sticking to a budget. I cleaned my closets. I’m making plans with friends.
These are important steps forward, creating new focus and new habits.
But if I learned anything from watching the Muppet Christmas Carol on repeat all December, we have to live in the past, present, and the future.
Not everything during the last two years was awful.
The dark night sky had some glittery stars, and they were incredibly beautiful.
Can I show you?
There was time to watch the sunrise and the sunset.
We drew this chalk mural for our neighbors to see as they walked by our house. We also hung hearts and paper cranes in our front window. It gave us a purpose and made us feel more connected to the outside world.
There was more time to spend outdoors, and we hiked a lot.
My sweet nephew got in on the hiking, too. Silly faces were a requirement.
We did an online challenge of trying to copy famous paintings. I think we nailed it.
We snuck away to a beach house during the lockdown, and took a walk on the empty beach. It began to rain, and we saw starfish everywhere. We lost count at 100.
I grew my first ever pumpkin, and then…
I became queen of the pumpkins.
I did some of my daughter’s school work with her and drew this beauty.
We did numerous photo shoots with Puff the Magic Hamster, who was a wonderful sport about it.
We had our own May Day, and it’s my favorite picture of us.
My son got his first car,
and my daughter grew wings.
I got to take my nephew to his first rock concert and see him light up.
I got my first tattoo, a matching wave with my best friend.
I captured this moment at the aquarium.
When I could hug my mother again, it was everything.
And when it was safe, this group got together and my heart was full.
My kids tease me because I take a lot of pictures, but I’m grateful. Looking through these memories, and there were a lot more, it helps me remember the last two years have been hard, yes, but also filled with tiny moments of beauty and joy.
Bridgette Tales 