Chalkballerina: Weddings and Writings; Whimsy and Whining.

[my beautiful sister] Kensey. Bridal portraits. Beaumont, Texas

To view a sample.  

Bitch-tripping.

Squirrels have been making strange entrances into my life lately.  It’s like the squirrel god has a message for me but because I don’t speak fluent squirrel and sometimes make fun of the way they eat nuts and look stupid they just keep showing up in more and more fucked-up ways.  Soon I’ll have little pieces of raw squirrel falling from the sky and hitting me between the eyes.  I will fall to my knees and scream up to the sky “WHAT??!! WHAT IS IT YOU WANT FROM ME?!!” And I will hear only silence, because the squirrel god is a squeaky bastard. 

A few days ago I was running with my friend Karen and we were about halfway through our run when suddenly, and I do mean that word in the most literal of possible forms, a blood-curdling scream made its way from Karen’s wide open mouth and filled the otherwise deathly silent street with her eerily loud sounds of panic.  In the split second of confusion I had as my instincts tried to put together the dissonance between an otherwise empty, peaceful street and my friend’s obvious distress (ie: WHO DO I FIGHT?? What on earth could be mauling or attacking my friend, and is the attacker in fact wearing an invisibility cloak?), I actually had the phrase “oh HELL no motherfucker” go through my mind.  

This fact really has no point to my story, except to prove the already established fact that I am an angry person who expects the worst from people.

So Karen is screaming, I am cursing, and the street is completely empty.  Empty that is, until I look down.  The little body was actually vibrating from the scream – in fact I think there was a good chance his little soul could have been sapped back from squirrel purgatory from the sound – rodent resurrection, if you will.  But the squirrel did not resurrect (around Easter I will re-tell this story with a resurrection ending… it’ll be sweet).  The squirrel was dead, but strangely it was not squished.  A squished animal on the road is disgusting, but my response is usually more along the lines of  “UUGGGGHhhhhhff… nasty.” As opposed to “OH MY GOD, HELP ME… DOES ANYONE HAVE A GUN OR BIBLE!?” 

The emotions aroused are more in the vein of what I feel when I see mold on bread or a strange pile of vomit(?) on a sidewalk – it isn’t TERROR that is felt when noticing mold (imagine seeing a person standing over a pile of vomit(?) and screaming over and over in sheer terror… you’d probably assume they were not doing well…), but disgust, and sometimes a bit of surprise (let’s say you had ALMOST put the bread in your mouth… GROSS right?? But TERRIFYING? Nay.) 

But back to my story, remember, Karen SCREAMED when she saw dead Squirrel McSquirrel.  She hadn’t said “UGH” or dry heaved a couple times.  I believe the reason for this is because the squirrel did not look damaged or mutilated, it just looked hideously needy in his deadness.  The squirrel was on its back, with its four little squirrel paws pressed dramatically up to the sky and then twisted back on itself; his mouth was open as if he died screaming and his eyes bulging with a look that said “OH GOD, HELP ME… tell my wife that I….” 

Yes, he was hideous.  And he was staring at Karen accusingly, as if she herself had sentenced him to death.  Come to think of it he might have died from terror, because there really wasn’t a scratch on him.  Karen is a very empathic person.  Empathy has many downfalls.  Screaming at dead squirrels is merely one.  I think I laughed for about twenty full minutes, partially because it was funny to me, but mostly because she had scared the shit out of me and I was so relieved she was okay. 

Fast forward to a few days later.  I am doing the same run by myself this time and approach the same place where creepy squirrel had lain in his final accusing and hideous stance.  Frisky and mischievous my ass – he busted up those squirrel stereotypes in a jiffy.  So I come around the corner and do a quick sweep for dead squirrely (while acting nonchalant, I don’t want anyone to KNOW I was looking for him… it’s not like I was sticking my head in drain pipes and saying “SQUIRRELY? ARE YOU IN THERE? ARE YOU STILL DEAD?”) and find nothing.  It was just a passing thought really. “Squirrel? Nah.”  Done. 

I was feeling a momentary burst of energy in my run, so I ran a little faster and felt a little stronger.  Yes it was ‘lil Wayne in my iPod.   And yes I was feeling good.   Bitch I’m the boss.  And then…

Maybe it was a crack in the pavement, a tiny misalignment of my feet, or a curse from the ghost of a dead squirrel who hated me in life, but I tripped. 

It wasn’t a massive trip.  Some trips are just “TRIP-SPLAT”, and then you begin assessing the damage. “Yup, broken leg… bloody nose, man that was bad… nope, can’t feel a thing.”  Trips like these, we will call them bitch trips, are quick and nasty.  You hardly remember falling, and your adrenaline kicks in so fast that you hardly feel the pain.  Dramatic and full of PUNCH – you have to spend a few minutes thinking about what just happened because it all happened so fast.  “What happened!?” you might say.  Or,  “MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!” you might also say.  Bitch trips are rough, but this particular trip was not one of them.  This trip, we will call them just-fall-already trips, began with a very, very slight stumble.  It wasn’t an ankle roll or an unseen rock – it was a tiny mishap that should have been easily recoverable; a normal temporary loss of equilibrium that happens a hundred times a day.  And then the just-fall-already trip began.  I am not exaggerating when I say that I almost fell for about 20 full steps (“steps” meaning leg rotations while running at full speed, with ‘lil Wayne still rapping in my ear – now sounding like he was mocking me, “stuntin’ like my Daddy” as I careened slowly to the ground). 

With each step my body and mind thought, “I got it.”  And then on the next leg rotation, even closer to making full body contact with the ground, I would think again, “yeah, I got it this time.”

Over and over the almost-crashing-but-not-quite-able-to-correct-it rhythm continued, until I eventually came to a ridiculously anti-climactic crawling position. 

It was so anti-climactic that I was thinking for what felt like forty minutes before I hit the ground “OH good grief, this is the most absurd waste of time – just stop your antics…” and then, a gentle plunk, and I was on the ground. 

If anyone was watching me they must have thought I was practicing a hideously choreographed piece in a theater production about runners.  I would be playing the runner with polio and determination who comes to a sad but mostly expected ending on her hands and knees, weeping and crushed; a polio loser.  I think if someone had been watching they would have encouraged me with a forced smile, “I’d work on making that last “fall” a LOT more believable… it still looks really fake.” 

Just-fall-already trips are fuckers.   They just go on and on and on… every time I got my failing legs back in front of me I thought “HERE’S my balance… I’ve got it… I’m not going to fall now.”  And I did.  Fall that is.  It just took me twenty steps to do it instead of one.  It wasn’t painful or dramatic like a bitch trip.  I didn’t have any adrenaline kick in.  I didn’t need help getting up or even have to assess the damage.  I knew what was happening as it was happening – and was still powerless to stop it. 

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that fall.  I always know something is “up” when a thought or a phrase or a scene won’t settle in me.  This drawn-out fall won’t settle.   I keep thinking about sitting on my hands and knees, a bit scuffed up, not really injured but still pretty pissed off at my lack of control, and I feel the clear feeling that this position is a perfect metaphor for my life right now. 

There is something about the drama and adrenaline of bitch trips that are familiar to me, in a metaphorical sense of course.  They are familiar to me because of how I grew up and because of how I relate to the people that I love. 

To crash, to burn, to lose control and to then spend my energy assessing the damage and the injury; this feels familiar and brings me temporarily closer to the people around me, like emotional hot glue. 

I am good at crisis management.  I am damn good.  If there is a crisis, there can be crisis management.  I am like Jack from Lost (I HATE Jack).  I have a place.  I have a guaranteed connection with the person who is hurting.  Just leave it to me, my psyche seems to say; I’ve got it.  And I do.  And when there really is a crisis, this is a great gift.  But the adrenaline that rushes to my system keeps me from feeling my own pain, so I can tend to someone else’s.  But let’s just say that a person, hypothetically speaking of course, stopped bitch tripping (sounds like a really cool drug term).   Let’s just say that a person began to realize that her balance and legs were strong enough to stay vertical for a four-mile run.   It would be a good thing right?  Right.  But good always advertises a nougat center and is always somehow filled with soy meat instead.  Fuck soy meat. 

It’s not that I never fall now or that the bitch trips were fake (“I” being hypothetical, of course).  They were always real falls – all the bitch trips were real.  They just don’t happen very often anymore.  My legs are stronger.  My balance is better.  I run every day. 

Now when I fall, I fall more slowly, with no rush of adrenaline or climactic injury.  A scuffed knee, a string of profanity, and I get up and keep running. 

On the day I slowly fell and looked like I was faking it, I got up and kept running.  A few minutes later a squirrel ran out in front of me, with absolutely no tail.  He looked SO stupid.  He seemed to be feeling double shame because a squirrel can’t move without that frisky, playful movement.  Try frolicking with no tail… it’s just stupid.  It looks like an elephant squirting water from a nubbin hole in its face where his trunk used to be.  I watched him and marveled at how difficult it would be to be in a body that refused to do anything but frolic, even when you feel like a douche.  

There was no crisis.  Or at least, the crisis was not mine.  His tail was gone, but he didn’t seem to be cursing or questioning the bastard squirrel god, so neither did I.  I just laughed.  Three parts sadistic, one part sympathetic.  

And then I finished my run, thinking about how stupid squirrels look when they eat nuts.  

Sarah, Brian, Koen and Diesel. Word.

Sarah and Brian are super cool.  I had the pleasure of meeting Brian through graduate school, and I know Sarah because she kicks ass and writes angry blogs like me.  ;)  She is passionate about women's issues, and therefore I love her.  Sarah and Brian have two of the most beautiful children I have ever seen.  Koen and Diesel... are you KIDDING ME?  The coolest names ever.  I learn much from these two people, and can't wait to get to know them better. 

Our photo shoot was fantastic, and I love the pictures because they capture exactly what their family's ESSENCE is right now.  In my opinion at least.  Since I am the family-essence-determiner.  That's actually my title.  Little known fact.

Koen was a constantly smiling, energetic blur throughout the entire shoot.  Oftentimes parents are panicky about this energy, saying things like 'OOH sweetie, come sit... come tell Mommy and her friend about your favorite Presidential candidate' with the result being, of course, an even more potent burst of energy and sometimes ear-piercing screaming.  Sarah and Brian were so chill - they watched Koen run, and assumed he would continue to run, and because of their comfort with where their kids were, the session was a blast. 

Documentary-style photography means that I really do seek to capture what is occurring, the "essence" (see previous joke), if you will.  I know that I have achieved this goal when I want to look through the photographs over and over again - because they are telling a STORY.  Here's a few for your viewing pleasure.

(One of the following photos that gives me particular chills is the one of Brian looking back at Koen standing on the beach... you can see the slight smile on Brian's face, and he's just WATCHING his sweet, full-of-life son.  It is a picture that makes me ache with love for my own father, and think that if I had this particular photograph with my Dad watching me, I would put it over my bed and weep each night.  Yes this probably has to do with my own issues, and yes I do think that actually putting that photograph over my bed and weeping each night would be disturbing, but even still, I think you get my point: I love that photo. It says something to ME, and my own story. OH and the picture with Sarah shielding the train-noise for Koen?? OH the protective tenderness...)

Amber and Cassidie, Seattle, Washington

Amber and Cassidie have known each other nearly their entire lives.  When Amber contacted me to schedule a surprise photography session for her and Cassidie's girl's weekend in Seattle (in honor of Cassidie and her wedding the following weekend), she included this photograph in her e-mail.  It is a photograph of Amber and Cassidie when they were in Junior High.  I think it speaks to their chemistry and personalities more than I ever could.  =)

Photographing them was basically the best time ever.  A few hours with two hysterically funny, uninhibited, engaging, dramatic women who love life and classic novels - what more could I ask for?  I could not be happier with their photos - I think they capture the chemistry between these two friends as well as their individual beauty.  As I edited the pictures this week I found myself thinking about my own precious girlfriends, and how there really and truly is nothing like the ferocious love of a woman who has known you since you had braces and no boobs (ie: since you were very much not a woman).  Or since five years ago, in the case of my Seattle friends.  Or since you were born (er, or since they were born), in the case of my sisters. 

At the end of my session with these beautiful women Amber handed me a gift, and wanted me to open it.  This unnerved me.  I usually don't open gifts in front of people, just in case it's a crushed up coke can or a piece of wood with dirty words written on it, and then I'm in the awkward position of acting excited about receiving it... but Amber insisted, so I fought through my trust issues, and I opened it.  I literally started crying when I saw what was inside.  It was a painting.  A beautiful, original painting of a vintage camera, painted by Amber.  I can count on one foot the moments I have felt such surprise from a person's generosity in my life - this moment makes the list. 

Here's a few of their photos. 

Jamie and Jorge, Wenatchee, Washington

I met Jamie and Jorge a few months ago to photograph them for their engagement pictures.  You can view those photographs here.  They were one of those couples that I had SO many people comment on... and if you thought they were magnetic in those pictures, you will now just fall down from shock and perhaps even die. 

Jamie and Jorge love each other.  It's just obvious.  It's obvious in the way Jorge's face looked when Jamie walked closer and closer to him down the isle.  It's obvious in the way Jamie's whole presence glowed throughout  the entire wedding day.  It's obvious in the way I watched her comfort and love her son in a moment she didn't know anyone was watching - obviously I was, but so was Jorge - and it was not only Jamie and her son's face in that moment that I saw, but Jorge's face watching Jamie - their faces were full of love.  It was an immense honor to photograph Jamie and Jorge on their wedding day.

Jamie and Jorge I wish you and your family every blessing I know, and when I learn new ones I will wish those on you as well. 

Linds and Ryan, Spokane, Washington

More to come... I just had to share a few because I am in LOVE with Linds and Ryan.