Like, while driving to a shoot to see a beautiful old friend and classmate, you come upon this sign along the way, and you just know the shoot will be smashing?
This was absolutely a beautiful dream come true for me: a friendly soul practicing yoga, which has been my savior and passion for years, in a most beautiful location. People kept stopping as they passed to ooh and aah over Abby in the scenery. We were totally feeling the power of nature. It was incredible and addicting. I want to do this every weekend! Photograph my beautiful friends and clients in settings like this, doing what they love.
And then . . .
Excuse my terrible, chipped manicure.
But RIGHT ON! Come on! As I throw myself into photography again, and put myself out there, this felt like a little karmic kick, the cosmos telling me the I'm doing the right thing, even if I'm so exhausted, and pregnant, and working on several other projects . . . photography is something that gives me some of my greatest joys and I want to share that.
So, hells yes! Right on!
Do you believe in signs? Figurative or literal ones?
In which you might just be all, WTF? But trust me, in one day, two musical numbers that perfectly explain what's actually happening, with specifics, is too much for me. So here's goes . . .
Mr. Andrew DuBeau, who might just be my musical mirror-image, posted a great Mighty Mighty Bosstones' song recently that sums up exactly what happens to this city this week. Now that we are in Rosi, it doesn't affect me as much, but man, the first time you show up to Charlie's Kitchen after Labor Day, you just want to spit. Where did all these kids come from?
And then, Kris put this song up in response to a joke I made about finding a half-way point between NYC and Boston, in which I suggested the ever lovely Mystic, Connecticut. And really, it's a swell song. And really, really, I need to go out for drinks with two space-tiger-roller-derby-ex-pats right now. Right now.
I love how you can throw things out into the universe and see what comes back, like this blog, for example. I wrote about starting my first sweater and who should see but my knitting fairy godmother, Rani, who was the person who taught me how to knit. And then who called me to say hey, and she was in town, with her two lovely sons, and could they stop by? And then they did and her children are beautiful, peaceful people, and she was exactly the same after (gulp) three+ years, and she wanted to see my sweater so far and she just happened to come at a time when I was stumped on wrap and turn rows. So she helped me, of course, because that is what knitting fairy godmothers do. Love how the universe works, don't you?
How about a little serendipity? On my walk of shame back to Long Island, clutching my bagel and coffee as if life itself depended on it, I stood in Penn Station waiting for that train to take me back. Now, I'm no stranger to this train station. Even after my brief but passionate love affair with Grand Central back in college, Penn Station is the heart that beats me back home. And I should add: I'm fine with that. But like most folks who grew up on Long Island, I happen to always have a feeling when I come up from my train and emerge into Penn, that I'll probably run into someone I know. What an obnoxious New York-type of thought, but whatever, I just do. Because I have run into people at Penn before, and elsewhere in the city, mind you.
So here I am. Standing there. Waiting. Still a little tipsy from the antics of the night before. And who should come up from the tracks, arms wide and grin wider? Cheryl. Cheryl, who I had not seen for over twelve years. Cheryl, who I was going to go out with that very night back on the Island. Cheryl, who missed her regular train and who never comes up from the tracks at that exit where I happen to be standing. Just as I remembered her, with the brightest smile, freckles and beautiful blond hair. Now a grown-up, but still exuding her happy lightness. She was always comedy. What? What? Gosh darn, I love when shit like this happens.
A quick embrace and off to work, but in twelve-hours time we'd be sipping wine and really catching up. Which we did. A little too well.
In this day and age, I have found a lot of lost friends through the magic of the inter-web. I love that I've reconnected with such awesomely beautiful people. But more than anything, I love how some folks still make me laugh like they did in high school, like Cheryl.
Silly me, I forgot that Popi has a camera that I could use. Before company arrived for Thanksgiving dinner, we walked into the foothills of Hunger Mountain, casually bumping into Tari and Chris, because it's Vermont and things like this always happen. We followed the Blue Trail deep into the woods, to find the old beaver dam ponds. The weather was warm. The sun came and went. It was exactly what we needed. I could have stayed in those woods all day, honestly.
Yeah. It's Thursday night. I'm watching Fuel TV, which has easily become a favorite go-to channel when we flip on the TV at night after the girls are asleep. And, well, a long while back, when I was 15 in fact, I tried surfing. It lasted a few years. I owned a few boards. I'll spare you the details and just say that while I loved doing it, I wasn't any good.
Nowadays our really good friends Matt, Kristin, and Aaron have all taken it up and with passion. And I mean serious passion. Pre-dawn, pre-work sessions in Rhode Island or New Hampshire. They are good enough to slack a little now and then and let their friends (ahem, me) try out their longboards on quiet days. I still suck, but I have a way better audience now. Bea was mesmerized. She was unfazed by the cold, cold New Hampshire water. She cried when we told her we had to stop. I will suppress all urges to become a Toddlers & Tiara's mom here, but how freaking rad would it be if I could surf with my girls?
And then, just as I was slipping back into my surfing frame of mind, I was contacted tonight by the first person who took me out, taught me to paddle, and call out good waves. I really can't think about surfing and not think about Patrick. Glad to see that we are still connected by the ocean, old friend. Let me show you a few new spots up this way and we can catch up. We certainly have a lot to share.
Well it seemed like a good idea: Rainy Friday in Boston; let's go to the Children's Museum with our neighbors and new playdate pals. Too bad there was an APB out to all the families in the tri-state area about this one. Oh, and the end of year school field trips too. Don't get me wrong, the museum is an awesome place and we were having a great time, but it was tiring. Thankfully they have the three and under room and within that room, an even smaller space tucked away to nurse. I was back there, dreamily staring out the window into the larger room when I suddenly saw a girl who looked familiar. It was Emily Allen! From Arkansas! Who I hadn't seen in over three years, people!!! Here she is at the Children's Museum with her cousins on a rainy Friday in June staring back at me!!! Tears were shed. It felt so amazing to see her, as brief as it was. It was like spotting a rainbow. Emily, you were my rainbow today. File that under super-awesome run-ins of magical proportions.