Friday, November 11, 2011

My Photographic Tendencies...

Connor, age 2
Some people look at a canvas and can create an amazing image on it...  Some people look at clay or stone or some other moldable material, and can create stunning figures...  So many people in this world can create something from nothing.  Beautifully.  Me?  That's not how my artistic self flows.  I don't ever feel like I can create something from nothing.  Kids, maybe.  But not art.  Give me a cartoon, and I can recreate it.  Give me a pattern - cross stitch, crochet, drawing - and I can make it.  But don't ask me to actually make the cartoon or the pattern.  I go completely blank.
Connor, age 5


But send me outside, or in a group setting, or anywhere, and I can just see things framed in a photograph. A pretty good photograph.  Or at least, I like to think so.  I'm getting closer to the point where I'm ready to take a gigantic ego risk - I feel like my shots come from a piece of my heart sometimes - and call myself, in word and deed, a professional photographer.  Maybe.  So, here are some of what I consider my highlights - you may be able to figure out my favorite subjects...  :)
At my husband's
Baptismal Mass
Casey, age 4 months
Casey grabbing my finger,
age 3 weeks

Casey, age 7 months
Casey, age 3 weeks
Connor and Tim in Miami, 2008






A friend's gorgeous son
Connor playing T-ball,
age 6
Connor in the snow, age 6




Tuesday, October 4, 2011

I've Been Re-Named


I waited a long time to hear my son call me "Mommy". I kept chanting "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma" at him when he was a baby, hoping he would say it, on purpose, to me. Didn't matter - his first word was, of all things, "ball". Go figure. But he did eventually start calling me "Mommy". Incessantly. You know, like that now famous clip of Stewie from Family Guy. And I loved it. I was MOMMY!

As many of you may know, Connor turned 7 in September. He started 2nd Grade this year. And he started calling me "Mom". Not all the time, but there it is. I am loosing the all-powerful, omniscient persona of "Mommy", and becoming the more flawed "Mom" (and, let's face it, ladies... "Mom" is just plain stupider than "Mommy" ever was). And my firstborn, my baby boy, is growing up. /sigh

Sunday, September 11, 2011

I Remember...

The alarm went off - it was set to the radio. A man was talking about something weird. Some plane hitting the World Trade Center... must be one of those War of the Worlds things. I hit the snooze button and rolled over. 9 minutes later, the same man was still talking about the "tragic accident". It sinks in. I get up, shake Tim awake while I'm turning on the TV. "Honey, something's wrong in New York City... a plane crashed or something, get up." I'm not a news watcher - I don't like hearing about all the tragedy that happens in the world every day. But I just knew this was... bigger. I knew something was wrong. I didn't have to channel surf. It was on all of them. We were watching for less than 3 minutes when the 2nd plane hit the South Tower. That's when it dawned on the general public what had been known for less than 20 minutes by the FAA and the Air Force. These were not accidents. They were attacks. And they were only half the story.

Tim had recently moved to Maryland. He was interviewing around the DC area for a job. I had an inkling of the repercussions this attack would have. After I had regained my speech, blinked away the first tears and dropped my hands from my mouth to my lap, I took his hand and told him he was going to take the first job offered him. When I couldn't wrap my mind around the unthinkable, self preservation took over. But not for long. Another plane hits the Pentagon. It was like a bad movie unfolding in real time. The South Tower collapses... the heroic souls aboard flight 93 sacrifice their lives to prevent the possible deaths of hundreds more... the North Tower collapses... In one hour and 37 minutes, our lives are forever changed. All of our lives. Some more than others. But irrevocably changed.

My father's machine shop was located off Route 4 in New Jersey, 20 minutes outside of NYC. They could see the smoke from the parking lot. Route 4 turned into a parking lot. Emergency vehicles raced into the city, waiting for... nothing. No one above the impact of the planes survived. When I asked my brother, later, what the city looked like, he said, "It looks like NYC got her two front teeth knocked out."

I have a student that was compelled to travel to NYC that morning to help in any way he could. He made it pretty far up the NJ Turnpike before he had to park his car and walk. Over 30 miles, as I recall. He worked for days in the city, looking. For anyone. He said he is forever changed - altered - by what he saw there. I will spare you the details. Part of me wishes I could forget them, myself.

Why am I going through the details of that day? Why do I feel it necessary to remember, as vividly as I can, every year? Because our memories are short. Time moves on - I've gotten married and had two wonderful children in the past ten years - and the normality of our lives reasserts itself. We try to push horrific memories to the back of our minds. It is our nature as human beings to try to forget. But this event... we cannot.

My heart breaks for the 2,998 people that were killed that day. For the families that lost integral parts that day. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, husbands, wives, sisters and brothers... Gone. We must never forget them.

There are crazy people in this world. People who are jealous of the freedom we, as Americans, enjoy. Revel in. And take for granted. People who think we are arrogant. Too full of pride. And they want to take it away from us. They failed. If we remember... they will never succeed.

As I sit here looking at the beautiful and precious life that is my 8 month old daughter, and listen to my 7 year old son playing cheerfully outside, I send a prayer to all the families effected by 9/11. I pray for the ones that are safe in God's hands, and for the ones that were left behind. I pray for and thank God every day for the men and women who put themselves in harms way for me and mine, so that I can continue to revel in the privilege and honor of being American. Fire fighters, police officers, paramedics, soldiers... you all have my eternal gratitude. THANK YOU for keeping my babies safe. I will always remember...

"A great people has been moved to defend a great nation. Terrorist attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of America. These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve. America was targeted for attack because we're the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world. And no one will keep that light from shining. Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature. And we responded with the best of America — with the daring of our rescue workers, with the caring for strangers and neighbors who came to give blood and help in any way they could." ~President George W. Bush, September 11, 2001