a decade to remember.

The past 10 years have been significant to me in many, many ways. Particularly in the area of photography.

I started at the Sun-Times on December 27, 2009. Just in time for the millenium. I have been blessed with many wonderful experiences, none of which I would trade, and all which have defined me personally and professionally.

So, my "photos of the decade" encompass some of my best work as a photojournalist. Ever.

It's been a great ride:



Workers dig in the remains of the Milestone Tap, where several people were killed in Utica, IL where a tornado hit in 2004. This photo ran simultaneously in the front page of the Sun-Times and Chicago Tribune after Shamus Toomey and I (but mostly Shamus) weasled our way into being the press pool for the governor's visit to the site. And to this day, is the biggest coup of my career!




Tiger Woods reacts as he just misses a birdie putt on two Sunday during the final round of the PGA Championship at Medinah in 2004. And before his wife brought him to his knees in 2009. Poor Tiger.



George Ryan leaves Dirksen after being convicted on 22 counts Monday in 2006. That's Jose More's camera on the right. He missed this shot... sorry Jose!




With workers shoveling behind him, a man talks to his wife, victim of an overturned gravel truck Tuesday to a helicopter at the intersection of 159-Pulaski in Markham in 2005. No life-threatening injuries were sustained. Fire personnel rescued the woman and her baby. One of the best spot news photos I ever drove into. Ever.



Marines arrive at the Marine Sgt. Jeanette Winter's home in Gary to talk with the family in January 2002. This was the first fatality in our area from a war that continues to rage on, eight years later. Yes, eight years.



First place men's finisher Robert Cheruiyot slips as he crosses the finish line in the LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon in 2006 with a time of 02:07:35. He sustained fairly serious injuries in the fall. It's probably the best sports photo I ever was lucky enough to shoot.



White Sox Paul Konerko is congratulated by teammates Carl Everett, Tadahito Iguchi and Jermaine Dye after seventh inning grand slam in the 2005 World Series Game 2 at Comiskey. I thank Tom Cruze for offering me his seat at third base while he went to send some pics. I will never forget this night as long as I live. Go Sox!



Adam Flaherty, 5, looks for reassurance from his mom Karen Tuesday afternoon before entering Ogden School for his first day of kindergarten in 2000. Cute.



The best there ever was. The best there ever will be.



From left, Illinois Luther Head, Dee Brown, Jack Ingram, Deron Williams and James Augustine talk in the first half vs. UW-Milwaukee in 2005, on the road to the NCAA Championship. Illinois beat UW-Milwaukee 77-63, but lost to stinkin' North Carolina in St. Louis in the Championship. I am 0-2 for NCAA Championship series with my dear alma mater. I still hope that three times will be the charm.



Mourners, including daughter Megan Conlon, at left clutching her dad's fire helmet, watch for the funeral procession for Chicago Fire Department Lt. Scott Gillen to arrive at St. John Fisher Church in Chicago in 2000. Perhaps my favorite image of all time, since it still makes me tear up when I look at it. I hope these girls, who are now nine years older, are living good lives.



A couple enjoys an old-fashioned drive-in movie date in a '57 DeSoto at the Cascade Drive-In in West Chicago in 2001.



Mary Weaver, assistant stylist, center reacts with the rest of the crowd at at Laura's Hair Salon, 9858 S, Vincennes, as President Obama arrives at his swearing-in in 2009. Sweet.



WWII Veteran Arco Ciancanelli of Glenwood talks about his war days, in light of benefits he has yet to receive from his service. He received the Distinguished Service Cross to recognize his service. He was a character I will never forget. He received all his benefits after this story ran, and he died about six months later.



Mallory Gross, a pre-kindergartner at Brennemann School in Chicago tries to see around Lincoln Park Zoo gorilla Makari as she snacks of popcorn, honey and peanut butter with Rollie, a gorilla, who was re-introduced to her habitat in 2005 at Lincoln Park Zoo, after being treated in isolation for an illness the past few weeks.

Always good to end on a high note.

May you be blessed with happiness, prosperity and good health in the year ahead.

And may your photos all be worth 1000 words.

going home.

Today we head back to Chicago from a wonderful Christmas shared with my sister and her family.

This was a fantastic trip. We were able to stay for five days. The kids all got along, for the most part. And Christmas was as magical as ever, with Santa dropping extra goodies down the chimney here in the foothills of Denver.

Chrissy's family and extended family are fun, warm, loving people. Doug's mom and sister are really like my very own family members. I've known them for well over 20 years now. And their brother-in-law Gus, and his parents are great people all on their own.

It felt as good as being at home.

But today we leave, and it's the part I dislike about visiting. Having to say good-bye.

It's never been easy for me, all the 17+ years Chrissy's been out here. Try as I might, she's not moving back to Chicago. And with all that I have in Chicago, it's not likely I will be moving out west anytime soon.

Time to shake off the sad feelings though, and be thankful that this trip was as beautiful as it was. We got out here safe and sound, despite bad weather on both ends. We were embraced by our Denver family, and were able to spend quality time with people we love.

And that's really what it's all about.

re-soul-utions.

Time for the end of the year. The end of a decade, even. Time for reflection on which direction I am headed. Up, down or straight ahead.

I am going for the up route in 2010. Had enough of the down and certainly straight ahead just means more of the same. I am finding it harder and harder to settle for that these days.

Where are you? Where are you headed?

Where do you want to be?

I have asked these questions of myself a lot more in the past year. More than ever before. The answers have changed throughout this year. It's gone from," Ohhhh, I don't know..." (insert wallowing whine here) to "It's time." Like, now.

I can feel the change, and that is a very good thing. I feel the readiness, the willingness and the necessity converging into a very big year ahead.

I resolve to make myself healthier in 2010: physically, mentally and spiritually. That comes with both small and big commitments: eating better, exercising more, being present in my own life, taking care of myself, and embracing change.

Those are the general ideas. The sub-categories are far more detailed and numerous. But you probably get the idea.

Without goals, it will be hard to get anywhere. So I choose to make myself "publicly" accountable.

In my future: an 8K race. muscles. a clear head. more meaningful relationships. fewer commitments. a new home. new work to do.

And peace.

How about you?

comfort and joy.

I love this time of the year. I love it more than I ever have because I feel like I finally get it. Or I am at least "getting" it.

Christmas is so much more than I ever knew. The depth of God's love and sacrifice has never been so clear to me as it is right now.

Is it because I am paying attention? Calming life down a few notches to look around, take in and enjoy? Taking time to listen, to hear and to understand?

All of the above.

Priorities are funny things. They can seem to re-arrange themselves in my life purely on their own, when in reality I am choosing my priorities every single day. Consciously or not.

Yep. I am finally getting it.

This season, my priority has been to truly understand the meaning of Christmas, and share it with people I love.

When the love is returned, it feels like I comes back to me ten-fold.

Whether it is Gabi dancing in the kitchen with Jim and Jack. Or the look on Don's face when he opens up his gift. Or hearing laughter coming from the basement as my daughters enjoy their friends.

In those moments, I feel loved.

And yes. I get it.

the jar.

I received a gift this week that was truly about the spirit of the Christmas season.

Coming in from work the other night, I saw a gift bag tucked in between the doors in the front of my home.

Inside was a peanut butter jar filled with change. Mostly quarters, and a $10 bill. On the red lid in black marker was written "Merry Christmas."

There was no note.

I would love to thank whoever left it, and have tried to figure it out.
But so far, no luck.

I am amazed at the anonymous generosity. Although we sometimes struggle month to month, my family is far and away better off than many people I know. To think that someone gave up this sum of money to help us demonstrates what really matters: that people are good, and kind, and thoughtful.

I am so thankful to have received the jar. I may keep it on the kitchen counter as a reminder of the goodness in my life.

Better yet, I hope to pay it forward in 2010, and keep the spirit of this season alive and well.

Merry Christmas.

angels and demons.

Have you met your angel?

Do you know you have one even though you've never seen him or her?

This weekend, PT told me more about my angel than I ever knew. And, because I had missed last week's service, I also got to listen to Bill Brown's awesome take on the supernatural online.

I know I have a very active angel. I know he works overtime. And I have actually heard him speak.

So this week's service was completely fascinating and wonderful. Well, just as much as every other week. Check it out for yourself here:



When my dad was having open heart surgery two years ago, it was a pretty intense time for my whole family. The surgery came up suddenly, and left little time for us all to wrap our heads around the situation.

I went running that morning to clear my head before heading to the hospital. Listening to my iPod and running east on 191st, the thoughts of everything that could go wrong went through my head.

And, I swear... on my life... that out of the blue, a voice said to me, "Don't worry Jeanie." I literally looked around, trying to see who said it, it was that clear.

And all I saw was the 5AM dark, and handful of cars driving down the street.

But I knew then that Dad would be just fine.

I don't hear my angel a lot. I've never seen him, though I like to think he looks like John Travolta in "Michael." He has big wings, and an even bigger heart.

But I know he's there.

And I know I keep him busy.

even when it hurts.

I turned to Psalm 15:4 and didn't really know I needed it until the day had passed...

"...who keeps his oath, even when it hurts."

The words had rung in my head all day. And all day I tried, really hard, just for that day, to live right in God's eyes.

Did I succeed?

Ha!

But it did get me wondering. Yes, indeed. Why does doing the right thing sometimes hurt so much?

Maybe because I can't grasp the big picture, which is that it actually hurts a lot less than I it seems to in the moment.

Maybe because I live a rather selfish existence, where all that matters is the moment.

Regardless of why, it was a challenge. In what I thought, what I said and what I did.

But when the sun went down for the day and I laid down, knowing I gave it my best shot, it made it all that much easier to rest my head in God's hands.

Especially because it hurt.

thankful.

I am thankful every day. And not just because I should be.

But because I really, really feel it.

I am thankful to have re-established a relationship with God this past year. I have studied and listened and see every day how He is working in my life.

I am thankful for my two beautiful daughters, without whom life would not be worth living.

I am thankful for my health.

I am thankful for my eyes that see, my hands that work and my heart that feels.

I am thankful that I keep on keeping on. Despite the hurricanes, curve balls, and everyday BS that life hands out.

I am thankful for the people who choose to be in my life, just as I choose to allow you in. You are here because of a wonderful dynamic, and I love you more than I could ever really say.

Enjoy the day.

to receive is a gift.

My eyes hurt from crying last night during the last session of our book club.

The book, "Soul Revolution," was tremendous in it's own right. We journeyed through the 60/60 experiment together for 8 weeks, setting our cellphones to ring every 60 minutes to think about God's presence and work in our daily lives.

It meant different things to the 12 members of the group. To me, it was life-altering.

But nothing quite prepared me for the exercise at the last meeting.

We sat in Jim's dining room, chairs in a circle, with one in the center. Each person took a turn sitting in the center. At that time, each person around the circle told the person in the center what they appreciated about their relationship with them, what gifts they have that are shared with others, and what qualities they have that they admire.

It was truly a beautiful way to cap off the 60/60. But for me, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Mostly, I have little problem telling the people I love how I feel about them. I have actually gotten better about that in the last couple years, thanks to my kids, and definitely after life revealed it's obvious uncertainties to me in no uncertain terms.

But to return direct eye contact (which was requested) and be told by people you care about that you have value, meaning and a positive impact in their lives, is amazing.

I never experienced anything like it. I have known these particular friends for over a year now. We bonded during Divorce Care at Parkview, and remain close to this day. I love these men and women.

So, it was much easier for me to express to them how much they meant to me, than it was for me to receive their profoundly kind words.

I sat, with uncontrollable tears rolling down my cheeks, almost unable to look at them and accept what they offered me.

Part of the scared, unsure little girl in me was comforted in those six minutes.
Part of the adult in me, who has not always done the right thing with her life, felt redeemed.

And perhaps most importantly, the voice that is sometimes too loud, too critical and way too unkind inside my head, was quieted.

I hope forever.

Thank you, friends.
Your gifts are immeasurable.

feeling like myself.

My feet feel good on a football field.

The weather was football-esque in Calumet City this afternoon. Cloudy, grey. Chilly with a misty drizzle.

I stood alongside the TF North coaches I was photographing, as players ran their drills across a muddy practice field.

It was a perfect way to end my shift on an October Wednesday.

The smell of sweat and dirt clings to the air just enough to make it noticeable.

The players grunt out their routine. The coaches yell when the ball is dropped on a snap.

It's great being in the middle of it all. I would shoot a real game like that, if someone would let me.

And it doesn't matter what level the game is being played at. Little guys, high school, college or pro. I love the pace and the brotherhood of it all.

My love affair with the game really began in high school. I joined Brother Rice's marching band as a color guard, and sat in Gately stadium through all home games for two years straight.

Then, in college, I had a front row seat to some pretty good years of football at Illinois.

I covered the Bears for years when I worked at the Southtown, and then at the paper.

And while my time spent on football fields has been limited over the years, when it's time to step back in, it really is as though I never left.

I just love that game.

moving from 9 to 10.

The book club meets every other week as a large group, and alternate weeks as a small group.

We are a fairly tight bunch, having known each other for over a year, and spending a good amount of time around each other. We have enough in common to bond, having met in Divorce Care at church.

An exercise this weekend in the big group asked each of us to rank how open we feel we are as a group, on a scale of one to 10, with 10 being completely open. Our discussion, taken from Soul Revolution, by John Burke, centered on being honest, being exactly who you are, and not hiding a part of yourself to make a relationship really work the way God intended it to.

It requires a lot of trust, we decided, to obtain that kind of intimacy.

Most of us ranked our group an eight or a nine. One jokester (Jackster) rated us at an 8.5.

The numbers speak for themselves. But did it reflect our perception, or what actually transpires at our bi-weekly get-togethers?

I mean, how well do you really know those you feel closest to in your life? Do you have the type of relationship in which you really, truly are free to be exactly as you are, and still be loved?


If not for the past year of group talk therapy and friendship, our numbers likely would have been much lower. We have spent the past year baring our souls, and in turn, blindly trusting those who share a common denominator: what should have been the most important, loving relationship of our lives ended up really, really hurting each of us.

We all carry our experience personally. We all made decisions based on the circumstances we faced, or continue to face. We all bear individual responsibility for our words, thoughts and actions.

But can I readily admit to anyone every shameful detail I possess? Do I need to? At what point does someone decide complete honesty is necessary to a relationship?

When you really, truly love someone, and you share exactly who you are, what if they decide they can't love you back?

When is that brutal honesty worth the risk?

I wish I had the answer to that. And while I think a "9" is a great place to be, a "10" would really be off the charts.

Don'tcha think?

record of my life.

The fourth- and fifth-graders seemed interested - enough - as I talked to them yesterday about my job at the paper.

Somewhere between the story about photographing President Obama and one about being in a stunt plane, I heard what I was saying.

"I have been lucky enough to make a living doing something I really love to do, and having opportunities and experiences that I never would have, had I not chosen a career as a newspaper photographer.

"I still love what I do. Almost every single day. And I hope that each of you figure out what you love to do, and find a way to make a living doing it."

Wow, I thought. I really do love this. And man, am I lucky, or what?

I showed the kids a slide show of my past work. They were mildly impressed, and I found myself getting teary-eyed as I watched my photographs roll by to Springsteen's, "Your Own Worst Enemy." (Appropriate all on its own, BTW).

I have documented my life. Personally and professionally. I saw the people who have become part of that story. The Gillian family. Blago. Tiger. Richie. Megan.

The paper survived this week. Not by my hand, but those who settled for a lousy deal and the end of the union as we know it.

It was heart-wrenching. And besides 9-11, the absolutely worst day I have ever experienced in my professional life.

The good news is, the paper lives on for another day.

The bad news is, we have no idea how bad it's going to get.

I am a hopeful cynicist.

As I prepare for what very likely may be my last weeks or months at my paper, I am eternally grateful for the days I have enjoyed, and unafraid of what lies ahead.

how these days are.

Emails. FB updates. Friends. Texts. Rumors.

Business as usual at the paper this week. But it couldn't be more weird.

The next 48 hours decide the fate of this place. In business for decades. People who have been with them through most of it. The best of times, and now the worst of times.

But the news keeps keepin' on.

A pet blessing, a booted car, Dirksen, business heads. Pretty normal stuff.

"How's it going?" someone asks in the office hallways. "Eh."

No other response needed. Everyone feels the same.

The clock hands tick off minutes. A reporter yells into her phone at one of her regular sources. An editor yells a question across the room. The scanners beep and the TVs keep playing.

Very "Lou Grant," and very much the place I have spent much of the past 10 years of my life.

No one knows what these next 48 hours will bring.

Maybe, just maybe, they will bring a peace of mind no one has felt here for a very long time.

I hope.

it's the simple things.

The Dating Game at First Baptist Atlanta was a success.

The people were great; the entertainment value high.

I was able to see some of the people I enjoyed meeting during my first visit there in August.

Best of all, I learned something incredibly important.

People love when you remember their name!

There are two girlfriends I met in August at FBA, Kisti and Jane. I took their portrait, chatted it up with them, and thought they were very sweet. I remembered Kisti's very unusual name (it's a family name) and that Jane didn't particularly like her photo being taken, and that she worked with a lot of guys (a civilian at an Army office).

The two ladies approached my table last night, and I immediately smiled and called out,"Kisti!"

They couldn't believe I had remembered the name.
To be honest, I said to Jane, "I want to call you Jan, but I don't think that's right..."

But she said she was impressed; it was Jane. "But close enough."

We briefly caught up, and I asked them how they liked their photos from August.

Turns out, they really liked them, and were back to do some more.

Moral of the story: I enjoy connecting with the people I photograph. I always have, especially in the daily assignments for the paper.

But what's more important, people love that you connected and remembered it.

So simple, but so huge.

god sighting.

The girls were in the car with me yesterday when I was stopped at eastbound Wacker Drive to make a left turn onto Orleans and head to the office.

There was a cab behind me, honking his impatience while I waited for pedestrians to cross the street in front of me.

Finally, the light turned yellow, and I slowly turned into the intersection. The light turned red, and I went to complete the turn when a cab coming from the opposite direction ran the red light and just narrowly missed slamming into the side of my Prius, and my two daughters and I.

The cabbie waved angrily at me through his window, as though it was somehow my fault. We finished the the turn onto Orleans and whew! Arrived safely into the parking lot.

My heart was palpitating, and I kept saying, "I can't believe we almost got hit. We could have gotten killed."

"That was a God sighting," Becky said.

"A God sighting?"

"Yeah, you know, when you see things that God does, that's a God-sighting," she explained.

That was a good one, I told her. I'm glad He was paying attention.

I need to become more like a 10-year-old. Be thankful that God is paying attention when you really need Him, and you don't even know it. Not angry, not vengeful, not filled with all the bad stuff. Just really thankful that God's got such a big hand.

This weekend, PCC associate pastor Jason spoke on the very same topic. Basically, become less like yourself, and more like Him. It was a great sermon and a wonderful lesson.

I listened and found myself wondering why that simple concept is just so hard. So hard to just be thankful when God's big hand reaches down and helps.

So hard to do the right thing all the time.

I am going to look out for the God sightings this week.

Will let you know how it goes.

bittersweet.

The girls started school yesterday. They each caught their respective bus and headed off to their respective school.

We had a great summer together. It's funny how the not-as-good memories fade to the background in favor of all the good stuff you experienced.

Selective memory keeps you from losing your mind.

My older one tried to leave for fifth grade with eye shadow on. I promptly put a stop to that. She's going to have a tough battle with a mom who rarely wears eye makeup.

I told her, "unacceptable," and sent her upstairs to wash her face.

Next year is junior high. It might be a little tougher then.

I had mixed feelings dropping them off. Part of me is relieved, since we did face a few issues with day care this summer. Part of me is totally excited because the start of school has always been my favorite time of the year.

But then, there is the terrifying thought of them getting older. And facing things like the make-up. And having to do it these things on my own, with no back-up.

Will I survive the teenage years? They aren't even there yet.

I read a chapter of Romans this morning:

"We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." And hope does not disappoint us." 5:3

Here is the version I came up with:

suffering = perseverance = character = hope.

Hope = gift.

neighbors.

My friend Kris lost her dad to cancer last week. He was only 65, and young in a lot of other ways, too. He will be missed.

Kris and her husband Marc have been such a blessing to my family. Aside from being outstanding individuals, she has regularly gone over and beyond her neighborly duties for us. Always with a smile and a kind word. They are the kind of neighbors we hope to always have, no matter where life takes us.

I have had plenty of great neighbors throughout the years. Bob and Carol, Mickey and Wynn.

In Oak Forest there were Mike and Cathy, and Diane and Dave. Char and Heidi. Jim.

There are the neighbors who are good because they don't bother you. Then there are those who take your mail in when you are out of town, and let your dog out when you are gone all day. They have your house key and they watch out for your kids.

Kris agreed to watch the girls for me this summer, at the last minute, when I really needed someone. She is patient and kind even when the girls don't feel like cooperating. She has taken them to their summer camps and lessons, and taken them in at 6AM when I had to work early.

And though we don't "hang out" per se, we have been known to throw back a beer or two while enjoying one of their summer suburban driveway campfires.

And that is the type of relationship that might often go overlooked. But without which, life would be so much more difficult, and far less enjoyable.

Recently I ran across something that struck me so significantly:

God gives you the "family" you need, exactly when you need it. It is most likely not your "real family," most often is not. It is just Him working in slight, subtle and almost unrecognizable ways to help us bear the burden that every day life sometimes brings.

What a blessing.

a night at the ballpark.

I felt like a kid again, holding tight to Jess' hand as we walked toward the Cell for the Sox game last night.

Thoughts of my dad hustling four of us from the car to the entrance of the old Comiskey ran through my head.

Memories of the homeless guys with cups and the peanut vendors (the nuts are better and cost half as much on the outside of the park, dad always said) came to life on this perfect Tuesday evening.

Sox games link me to my childhood, even at a different park and being a mom, it's like taking a step backward in my history.

As kids, my dad took us there a few times a summer. There was ComEd family night (Commonwealth Edison back then). And I could usually pull a few As and Bs to earn free tickets for another game.

In 1983, Chrissy and I were at the park with mom and dad when the Sox clinched their Division title. We waved our big foam fingers and wondered why mom and dad wouldn't let us run onto the field with the rest of the crazies.

Now, with Jess, I have a real good idea why.

I sat next to Jim D. last night and told him I could literally hear my dad in the stands. And for the record, this isn't an obit... my dad is still alive and well and coming to a game with us next month!

"Awww, for chrissakes!" I heard dad say.

Oh, wait, that was me.

The Sox couldn't seem to hit the ball out of the infield for the first five innings.

"My grandma coulda caught that ball," I hollered at Podsednik, who let what looked like an easy fly drop in front of him.

Jess sat through the entire game, ate everything in sight, and complained just a little. Much like I probably was at the age of seven with my dad.

But surrounded by friends, and relaxing in the left field bleachers, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

Except maybe to have dad sitting there with us.

thoughts on vacation.

After a beautiful week of new friends, a ton of fun, and the US traveled, I arrived back to staycation last week.

A few more days unpaid until reality had to set in.

But it's back with a vengeance. The X, the money, the house, the job.

Yes, it bites.

Fair Hills Resort was better than great. It was awesome. Quality time with the girls. GREAT people. Friendships formed. And this was all in addition to all the activities that kept us amused morning till night.

We can't wait to go back. It was everything I hoped it would be, and more.

I thought quite a bit about the concept of vacation while I was driving home.

Italy? Disney World? Grandma and grandpa's lake?

Your own little place to escape to?

It's a state of mind, really. When you are able to relax and the pressure of everyday life relaxes for just a few hours, a few days or a week.

To me, that idea of "vacation" necessarily included a "vacation family."

From my very first vacation at Sunny Brook in South Haven, MI, the friendships made all the difference.

The Dockuses and the Roemers were my Sunny Brook cousins. Mary, Jimmy, Heidi and Ruth were pen-pals and phone calls from a pay phone at Newman Pharmacy, because dad wouldn't let us call from home.

All the way to Fair Hills. A new chapter for just me and the girls. The Clarks, the Waids and the Buells made our vacation complete. They are emails, and photo sharing and Facebooking now.

It would not be a vacation to me without these friendships taking off.

I am grateful for my very first vacation friendships, and I am eternally grateful for those that were formed since. For me and for my girls, who are learning that the best things in life are always the people that take a chance on you as a friend.

Especially while on vacation.

independence day.

It's either the ultimate adventure, or the ultimate in bad judgment.

So far, so good.

A slow ride through the Illinois/Wisconsin border, competing with thousands heading to the dells, along the boring four-lane highway known as I90. I am glad I hardly ever have to drive it. It kinda sucks.

Good mileage for the Prius, though, which is what I tell myself every time I get stuck in traffic.

The girls were model passengers, and I only had to threaten twice to pull over. I told them before we left that the moment there was any sign of fighting, we would pull over until it stopped.

Very mom of me, but it worked wonders.

Today, the trip is two hours shorter. It's pretty up here in Eau Claire, WI. So many thick, green trees. It's almost unreal.

I have a mixture of emotions. Excitement, joy, nervousness, and a touch of weird, but not unexpected sadness for what used to be, as I firmly establish my place in this life.

The single mom and her two daughters travel to a family resort in Minnesota, knowing no one but each other.

Happy Independence Day.

softball is life.

Softball is officially over for the season.

Two championship games.
One first place team.
One championship.
One third place finish.
One second place championship.

One All-Star game.

One of the most improved players on her team.

I have been a very reluctant softball mom for the past four years. It has been a hassle: a scheduling nightmare, long, often boring, political and sometimes way too intense.

And that's just the parents.

This year, as the season ends, I have learned to enjoy the games. It wasn't easy, and it didn't happen overnight. I simply had to come to terms with the fact that I had to actually sit still for two straight hours, and do nothing but relax.

This, my friends, was the secret that no one shared until this year.

Two straight hours of doing nothing but sitting, relaxing, and watching the girls try really hard.

Other "things" I also did at the softball field:

Solidified friendships, both old and new.
Witnessed the girls make new friends with their teammates and extended families.
Brought cold water on hot days, and hot coffee on cold days.
Learned to never left the house without a blanket and my Illinois camp chair.

The hardest part? Sitting still.
The easiest part? Cheering for each and every little girl.

It was an awesome season.

I learned an awful lot. Like, I actually can sit still.

Except maybe during playoff games.

See you at the field.

signed,

a softball mom.

choosing between happy and happy.

My lil' family faced some tough decisions these past 48 hours.

Drowning in softball, we had to decide whether Bec was going to make it to her second playoff game, or proceed with a previously planned trip to Michigan to visit my parents.

Softball won.

Then came some not-really-but always-kind-of-anticipated difficulties from the X. One thing led to another, and I was left scrambling to figure out how to still get to Detroit for a Saturday night event with Cache Connections , have Bec make her afternoon game and avoid asking the X for any help, strictly based on principle.

I woke up at 3:30AM this morning to think about it. And with just a little (okay a LOT) of help from my fantastic friends, it worked it out.

So, instead of hanging with Fishy and Papa at the lake tonight, we were able to go to Culver's for dinner with our softball friends for dinner after Jess' first playoff win, ever.

Hard to feel bad about missing out on something when you are being bombarded with love, laughter and the company of truly outstanding friends.

Happiness is everywhere. Even when you aren't looking, it sneaks up behind you and gives you a big, warm hug.

Be ready. It's coming for you.

i remember.

"The" Farrah Fawcett poster. I had hanging in my room. My older sisters made fun of me for it, and I was too young to really understand why.

To me, she was everything I guess maybe I wanted to be. Beautiful. Cool. Confident. Tough. And an "Angel."

We had the Charlie's Angels barbie dolls. I was always Jill. My sister Chrissy was always Kelly, and Suzy was always Sabrina.

The show was never the same once Farrah left, and replaced by Chris.

We also had a CA board game, and a secret Charlie's Angels fan club, with membership limited to the three of us and a few neighborhood friends.

Who didn't want to be able to kick some bad-guy ass every week with your bare hands? After all, the guns were really just fashion accessories.

And then, Michael Jackson. His death today only deepens the sadness and nostalgia for my generation.

Everyone loved him for his music, his immense talent and his ability to entertain.

Thriller, one of the greatest albums ever made. Loved by all. White, black, old, young. It didn't really matter. Even my dad liked him.

We danced to his music as teens on Sunday nights at Cagney's, an Oak Lawn bar that catered to teens that one night a week. It was where I first saw the much-anticipated Thriller video debut on MTV.

That night, the whole bar fell silent as together, we watched the magic unfold on a big screen television.

Jackson's life took many strange and troubling turns through the years. His death leaves many questions unanswered. I am certain in the weeks ahead, much more about his private life will be made known. Much of it will likely be even weirder than I can even imagine at this moment.

But nothing can take away the memories these two pop culture icons impressed in my formative years.

It reminds me that I am not getting any younger, but also that my life was made richer by the talents these two celebrities shared during a most impressionable time in my life.

blues, blues, blues... greens, reds, yellow, oranges.

Thought I couldn't shake them blues lately.

Nothing in particular, just a few of those days when nothing seems quite right.

I spent a weird lil' day off gathering materials for a bankruptcy attorney and my divorce attorney. Have to meet with both to straighten out what I can, and continue the forward path in my life. Much like my divorce, I am facing a situation that really sucks getting through it, but you just know there are better days waiting on the other side.

I am going to give up on the house. Wave the white flag. Start over. Definitely not in the way I had hoped it would have gone, but circumstances sometimes spin out of my control, and take on a life of their own.

My friends are absolutely the best. I know that whenever I feel kinda crappy, I just need to sit down to a beer with them, and I feel so much better. It does wonders for juggling your perception and knowing everything is going to be just fine.

I have been reading Psalms the past week or so. I have learned so much, and again, miraculously at a time when I really need it:

"Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

"How awesome is the Lord Most High." Psalm 47:2

"...in God I trust, I will not be afraid." Psalm 56:4

Now, if only these mantras can fill my head and my heart.

I will see in rainbows again. Soon.

"

welcome back.

I don't know if I was avoiding writing or just didn't have the time.

Perhaps just a little of both.

Softball season takes up most of our "free time." So in reality, free time has been relegated to rain outs and other Acts of God.

There's not enough of it.

I was on furlough this week. Without Pay (WOP) week. Staycation. Whatever you want to call it.

Like millions of others in this economy, I am facing a 9 percent paycut and eight days without pay. For a grand total of a 15 percent cut.

I like being off. But it's a bitter pill to swallow.

"At least you still have a job."
"It's better than a 100 percent pay cut."

Yes, I know that's all true. The X finally will be employed again, beginning Monday. It's of some relief. Financially, it has been a pretty rough five months, and I have worked almost seven days a week to make sure stuff gets paid.

There has GOT to be more to life than this. Doesn't there?

I met with Dr. KA yesterday. We talked about plans for my future.

"Do you even know what you want?" he asked.

"I want to be happy and peaceful," I said.

"Ummm, nope. You don't even know what that means," he replied.

He's right. and that is both frustrating and insightful.

I am not looking forward to getting back to work. I enjoy being with the girls, going on a field trip with Bec, hanging out at the library. Doing some "happy photography." Not rushing around like an idiot to make our full schedule of games. Seeing friends and having sleepovers.

It's all good.

It's time I do figure out what the "happy and peaceful" thing is all about.

Otherwise, how will I know how to get there?

finally.

How do you finally face the fact that you tries to help, but never even had a chance with someone who can't be helped?

That for almost half of your life, you thought by being kind and patient and good and tolerant that things would get better. That somehow, some way, by being an example, magically, the other person would finally see what you had pleaded for and fought about so hard, for so long, that it almost destroyed you, and most certainly destroyed "us."

I figured out that it's when enough is enough. When it hurts more to allow things to stay exactly as they are, than it does to do something completely different. When you are finally ready to risk being hurt, failing and accepting change, then you finally face that fact head on.

Yes, Dr. KA. I get it now.

The X pushed himself over the edge of my cliff of tolerance this past week.

It wasn't any different than the many scenarios I had faced over the past 15 years.

I disagreed with something he wanted to do. He didn't like it. He started off reasonably enough, pleading his case, then quickly moved on, reminding me that I was ruining his life.

Then the emails came. Cruel, crazy emails, one after another.

I answered the first one. Calmly and rationally explaining why I felt the way I did and that was it. Done. Finito.

A couple more arrived in my inbox. I hit the delete button and went to bed.

The scenario is the same. He rages, he spews, and then he's done. Everything in his world returns to normal, and I am left wondering what happened, scarred again from the verbal and emotional abuse that is so familiar.

He's not doing it anymore. I decided that night it was the very, very VERY last time.

I've said it so many times before, but this time, I felt the conviction rise from my toes to my shoulders.

You stop being the victim when you stop allowing someone to victimize you.

This is very different for me. I always, always, always held out hope that things could be different. Better. Calmer. At least civilized.

It's never going to happen. And I am done trying.

Finally.

mother f-er, may i ever get through this month?

All my worlds collide from mid-April to mid-June.

And as luck would have it, it's been a fairly busy time for my blooming photo biz as well.

Don't get me wrong, I love the work. More than my "real work." Which I currently and fondly refer to as the "death chamber," with all the good news flowing about and all.

So... work (any kind) = happy me.

Add dance, a recital, softball for the girls, softball for me and all the regular commitments we keep every month, and it's a lot like paddling through wet cement.

Today we had to decide between two softball games and dance.

Dance won, and my secret prayers for rain on this gorgeous day may have been heard. Clouds are rolling into town and perhaps a nice long downpour could happen right about 5:15PM. Bec can get to dance without having missed a softball game. Yay for us!

That's just so I can complain when the game is re-scheduled, don'tcha know.

Minnesota in July is sounding better and better all the time.

And just to keep life extra-interesting this week, I got an email from a former friend. I lost the friendship when I wasn't sure I would, and it hurt a lot. But I thought I was doing pretty well with that.

Until the stinkin' Crackberry buzzed and the email popped in.

It was no big deal. Just really unexpected and pretty weird to hear from someone I once used to talk to with some regularity. You hope, however, that life moves forward. Relationships are lost or irrevocably damaged, and you either adjust or you spend a lot of time paralyzed by a situation you can't control anyway.

Dr. KA tells me all the time that you do the best you can with what you know at any given moment. That life hands you lessons and you can either choose to learn from them, or you can react the way you always have and get the same result.

Today, I talked through the email with Patti, and together, we got me off the ledge.

I learned something new, and in the midst of everything else that is going on, I chose not to hurt anymore today.

It's 5:10 PM and the rain has arrived.

God always hears me. Even when I think He might be too busy to listen.

why am I so blessed?

I listened to a Holocaust survivor and incredible speaker at an assignment this week.

Gerda Weissmann Klein, is now in her 80s. Her family was forced to live in the basement of their home in Poland when she was 15. They stayed there three years before being separated from her parents and only brother. She never saw them again.

Klein's story brought me to tears. She talked about a childhood friend who died in her arms while in a Nazi labor camp. The 350-mile death march she was forced to do, and her liberation one day before her 21st birthday. She spoke of being sick, hungry and near death for many very long years.

What kept her going? Klein said in the darkest hours, she thought back, in her heart and in her head, to times before her family's life was forever changed. She said she could picture her family in their living room. Her father was smoking a pipe and reading the evening paper. Her mother did her needlepoint. She and her brother sat at the table doing their homework. "It was what I called then, a very boring evening at home," Klein said.

Klein continued on. "When you go home tonight, approach your home with the eyes of a hungry, sad, homeless person," she said. Go in, and be thankful for all that you have. Don't think of what is missing in your life, because everyone's life is missing something. But approach your home like a hungry, homeless person, with their eyes.

And when you are there, look around you.

Then ask yourself, "Why me? Why am I so blessed?"

rites of passage.

I met a great group of teenagers this weekend.

And I'm not always too fond of teenagers. One of my least favorite situations is being on assignment and getting caught in the hallway of a high school during a change of classes.

It makes me feel suffocated, nervous, agitated.

But this was only six kids, and they were great.

I was invited to photograph Natalie's prom.

When I first arrived, the girls were giggling uncontrollably as they got ready in a bedroom. I snapped some photos, and hoped they would relax enough to let me into their world for the night.

It worked.

I think.

The dates were just as nice as Natalie and her girlfriends. Respectful, cooperative, NICE guys. They played along without a single complaint, and even seemed to enjoy themselves while hundreds of photos were being taken.

I followed the group to the Field Museum, where prom was being held. I waited with Jim D. and the kids to be allowed into the big hall, which was still being set up.

As I watched more kids arrive, memories of my own prom, in 1985, came flooding back. I went to prom with Al Sarro, a good friend who sadly did not return the affection I felt for him.

But Al liked to dance. He was adorable, and a lot of fun to be around. We had a good time, and I am forever grateful for the good memories that remain from an important night in a teenager's life.

I wondered if the 2009 prom couples realized they would also likely remember this night well into adulthood. Good or bad, memories were going to be made that evening that quite possibly would last forever.

Looking older beyond their years, but also like nervous kids, they walked up the steps to the historic museum, dressed to the nines and ready to allow their life to happen.

I felt honored to be part of it.

And I found out that being around teenagers isn't so bad after all.

the love/hate relationship.

The pushing, shoving, yelling and swearing... all for about 30 frames on my camera.

I lasted about three minutes, and I had to get out.

The scene at Dirksen Federal Building resembled a pack of wild dogs descending on dinner this morning, as our former governor appeared before a judge to hear what counts were being held against him.

He pleaded not guilty and walked out five minutes later.

I was outside the courthouse about 9AM and waited for him to arrive. He showed up, stepping out a large, shiny black GMC truck around 10:50AM.

All smiles, he answered questions and slowly pushed his way through the throng of cameras into the courthouse. He smiled, spoke pleasantly and seemed to be enjoying the attention.

What was it like to be there? I enjoy the camaraderie of the courthouse. I didn't used to like it there. But courthouse duty very quickly became part of my job. It was easier to embrace than fight the inevitable.

The guys I work with from the other paper in town and the TV stations are all very cool. We stand and wait. We wait and stand. We talk. I was next to a cameraman from channel 11 today. We talked about running, marathons and taking care of ourselves. The time goes by fast, and at the courthouse you are always waiting around a lot longer than actually shooting.

As great as they are as people, they can't help themselves as soon as a shot is at stake. It's incredible how we talk nice, then turn on each other, mobbing our subject, even one as agreeable to the attention as the former gov.

After the melee, cluster-fuck in newspaper language, and the guv makes his way through the door of the courthouse, we all rush in behind him to send images and tapes to our offices and trucks. His indictment doesn't take long, and before my pictures make it into the office, he's on his way back down and I am throwing my coat on to run outside to do it all again.

The scene on the way out is even worse. Running, pushing, smashing into each other. I was getting pounded into the ground by the crush of cameras and microphones on my head. The guv even asked if I was OK at one point.

It's a love/hate relationship with my job. The adrenalin rush in some situations is like a drug. Getting a great photo feeds the habit. On the other hand, I felt suffocated and for a brief moment, did worry about my safety. And my dignity.

I wouldn't trade these experiences for anything. And when it's over and the paper turns out its lights forever, I will be forever thankful for the very experiences I inexplicably love and hate simultaneously.

i heart my miserable life.

At least that's what Dr. Kickass told me today.

I enjoy meeting the low expectations I have set for myself. I have no real desire to change. I am comfortable with status quo. It's what I know, and all I expect.

And that was probably just the first 10 minutes.

The problem is, is he right?

If he wasn't so entertaining in how he delivered that message, I probably would have burst into tears. However, I tend to take myself much less seriously these days. I laughed, agreed with him and then got angry.

I am not sure if I was angry at him (he doesn't care) or myself. Probably more at myself.

I hate when people who act like they know everything actually do.

So then he tells me I believe, for exactly one hour a week on the Costco love seat in his office, that I want to do things differently. Be better to myself. Expect more. Rid my life of the chaos I create daily, which is the source of my constant exhaustion.

I try to argue, but I realize he's right. I am content with the status quo. I do nothing to improve on the very situations I bring in to talk to him about every week.

"I want to change," I tell him.

"No you don't," he says.

It's Easter. A time of new life, of a renewed promise. Can I hold myself responsible for the change I so desperately need? Can I honor God the Father, who wants so much for me to have the fullest life possible?

"Above all else, guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life." Proverbs 4:23

I read that verse this morning, about 4 hours before my appointment on the Costco love seat.

Sounds like a really good place to start.

and I will be free, indeed.

Life sometimes bears down with a heavy hand.

Sometimes it makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes I feel like throwing up.

The money. The job. The house. The boss. The relationships. It's f-in exhausting.

I currently average about nine hours of sleep a night and still, I am beyond tired. What is the deal with that?

I am looking forward to church this weekend. It's my first Easter as a believer, which illuminates the meaning of the season 1000 times. PT's sermon two weeks ago made my heart hurt. But in a good way. Meaning, I think it was supposed to.

He talked about Jesus' last words on the cross. The unspeakable pain he felt. The humiliation and suffering he endured. For me.

For me.

I need more faith. I need to believe more that these silly problems I face are just that. Silly.

Sometimes I feel like God is looking at me and shaking His head, saying, "Jeanie, Jeanie, Jeanie. Why do you spend so much time on these little piddly-ass problems? Don't you know that I have it all under control? For you.

For you."

Why is it so hard to release everything to the cross and be free, indeed?

69 posts and still talking about ireland.

69, dude... wahhhannngggg.

Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure fans unite!

And not too totally unrelated, this is Blackie O'Connor.

He is apparently well-known around County Clare. And I am sure it is not just for his Irish pipe playing, though it certainly was charming to listen him play outside Newtown Castle on Barb and Patrick's wedding day.

In Ireland, he was a "good-looking lad, isn't he?" In America, he is just plain hot.

How hot was he?

So hot that while my buddy, the bride, was ascending the castle stairs to meet her soon-to-be husband, at my recommendation, we paused at floor two so she could get a good look at him.

And while his name wasn't Patrick O'Malley, it was a pleasure making his acquaintance none-the-less.

I heart Ireland.

them irish don't mess around.

So, another random story from Ireland.

Still the best trip ever, and I can't seem to stop talking about it!

Chrissy and I were on the plane high above the Atlantic, when the flight attendants dragged the "duty-free" cart down the narrow aisles.

"Cigarettes?" they asked each row. Perfume and booze were also available. Tax free!

One look at the cartons of cigarettes and Chrissy and I laughed until we cried.

"SMOKING KILLS" screamed the warning on the side of the carton.

"SMOKING CAUSES FATAL LUNG DISEASE" screamed another.

So much for the pussy surgeon general's warning we get on cigarettes here in the States.

"Ummm, I'll take two..." I said to Chrissy. We laughed even harder.

I chased the flight attendants to the front of the plane to take a few snaps before the carts were put away.

Which they thought was hilarious.

And in case you were wondering, the people were snatching up the cartons at a record pace.

Maybe they missed the warning.

why irish eyes smile.

I tried to blog from Ireland, I really did. But the wrong plug for my Mac, combined with erratic Internet connections made it pretty much impossible for me to do so. Which naturally had it's upside.

It left more time for me to drink and sleep. With emphasis on the drink.

Not in a bad way, mind you. Just in an immersion-in-the-culture kind of way.

Chrissy and I hung out, talked and enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells of a country so lovely that it often looked more like a movie scene backdrop than reality.

We were blessed by our stay in Doolin, County Clare. It's right on the ocean, and a short boat trip from the Cliffs of Mohrer, which was an amazing site to see. Huge jagged cliffs, distinguished by age, and guarding the western side of the country. It was the most tremendous natural sites I have ever witnessed.

We had the pleasure of meeting Susan Daly, owner of Daly's B&B, where we stayed. With her wonderful sense of humor and knowledge of the town where she was born and raised, we couldn't ask for a better host. We loved everything about her, down to her red hair and thick brogue. She made sure to teach us a few things about the people and history of Ireland, and made us right at home.

The countryside was green and open, complete with the shale walls everyone sees in Ireland photos. It was clean and fresh and at night, you could count the stars in the sky. We enjoyed perfect weather and sunshine for the whole week.

Barb and Pat had a beautiful day for their wedding. The sun shone for the couple hours we needed it to. The ceremony was performed by Father Darrah, a roving former Catholic priest from the Aran Islands. He left the priesthood to get married and have a family, but still performs ceremonies, not Mass, for weddings. It was held at Newtown Castle in Ballyvaughan, a 16th century castle with three stories. Pat and Barb were married on the third story, way up a winding stone staircase. Family and friends were able to watch from a balcony just above, and the view from there made for some incredible photos. We enjoyed their reception and dinner at Gregan Castle, which is set next the Burren, another breathtakingly beautiful creation of God. It made me stare in awe.

For those of you who have never visited Ireland, I highly recommend it. Those of you who have already been there know how freakishly warm, welcoming and nice the Irish are. It made me feel instantly at home.

Chrissy and I did some shopping, ate at pubs and drank every single night. We met great people from all over Doolin. I learned quickly to acquire a taste for Guinness (served cold everywhere). I also was introduced to several other local beers and liked them all. We heard some great music and laughed until we cried with friends, both re-connecting with old friends and meeting some new ones during the trip.

It gave me a chance to drink in not only local brews but peace and joy. I rested my head. I hung with my sis. I ate things like bangers (sausage), fish & chips, salmon and oddly enough, beef curry. It was all good.

I also was taught the proper way to pour an Irish stout and was able to bartend at the wedding reception... one of the highlights of the trip.

Everything I bought was all made in Ireland, which makes you feel kind of proud for supporting the local economy. I realized that other parts of the world are so much more environmentally conscious than we in the States are. They drive tiny cars and conserve water, and actively preserve the beauty that has surrounded them for generations.

I didn't have to give up my Blackberry entirely and was able to call and text home as much as necessary. Becky learned to text back, and we traded stories every day. I also answered a lot of questions from her.

It's expensive to live there, but worth it for a "holiday," if not for a resident. I totally can see myself living there, happily ever after.

Most importantly this trip gave me a much need break from my world. I cleared my head and was able to think straighter, re-aligning some priorities and hopefully jogging some ways of thinking.

Be nice. To everyone.
Be warm.
Offer help when needed.
Take care of where you live.
Take in the beauty around you.
Be proud of where you come from.
God is alive and well.
Treasure friendships.
Re-connect.
Take some risks.
Do more with much less.
Life is way too short.

Drink more beer.

Cead Mile Failte (Kaid-Mee-la-Fawl-teh) means "One Hundred Thousand Welcomes."

I enjoyed every single one of them.

the blind leading the sighted.

One of my favorite things about my job is meeting people much different than me, and learning from them.

I worked on a story today about visually impaired high-schoolers.

They were, as you might expect, a real inspiration. Without my own sight, I would not be able to enjoy the abundance of opportunities that I take for granted nearly every single day.

These students typed braille faster than I can type on my keyboard.

They are musicians, sports fans and writers.

They are thoughtful and accepting of their circumstances, far more filled with grace than I am.

One student played an original piano composition for us, then articulated the meaning of the different movements in the piece. He's composed music without ever viewing a single note. And he played it perfectly, without any sign of hesitation.

I was with the students for a couple hours, witnessing how they moved in the hallways and their classroom, aided only by their walking stick and sense of place. And how they joked with each other, dealing with their disability in a positive way.

Today, I was blessed to have been introduced to these kids.

And humbled knowing my personal roadblocks in life are so small in comparison.

tears of another kind.

I love the process of meeting new people, getting to know them, and letting them get to know me.

My Divorce Care (DC) group at PCC has been an incredible place of new friendships with people who really do understand the hurt, pain, challenges and emotions of going through a divorce, raising kids on your own, and restarting your life.

We had a session on "single sexuality" last night. Not the easiest topic to openly discuss with new acquaintances, but this group has a wonderful sense of humor. Our discussion was not only productive and thoughtful, but also filled with easy laughter and lots of jokes.

Who doesn't love sex jokes?

An important theme has emerged for me from the DC meetings. Laughter is incredibly important in life. Life sometimes holds plenty of stress, sadness, tears, anger, judgment, missteps, and painful lessons.

Without the gift of humor and laughter, life can be a rough road, indeed.

Just think about it. What diffuses a bad mood faster than a good belly laugh at some random ridiculousness? Look, and that random ridiculousness is everywhere.

My DC friends are really talented at lightening the load. Even through a flood of tears, they can make you smile with their kindness, a twist on words spoken, or their own brand of self-deprecating humor.

What a gift to those around them.

When's the last time you laughed until you cried?

Tears of joy beat the other kind, hands down.

a hard day's day.

My head hurts from thinking too much today.

Literally, I can't clear it. There are so many ideas, plans, things to do, and what ifs, filling it. It weighs me down and makes it hard to feel even "just okay."

There are days when I can overcome the giant weight, but today it seems particularly hard. Work is slow, which doesn't help. The day moves like a snail, giving me way too much of its time on my hands.

Even with tremendous generosity of friends over the past week, and the house becoming much less cluttered and so much more liveable, I can't seem to enjoy the progress. I want to stay there, but I want to leave. Do I try to sell it, or get a roommate? Can I afford the re-fi or will it still be too much for me to handle on my own? Will I even qualify for the re-fi?

I don't know what to do.

I am grateful for options, but when all of the options kinda suck in their own way, maybe something needs to happen to make the path clear for me to travel the "right" way."

I am not even sure there is a "right way."

(insert whining sound here.)

Seriously though, how are you supposed to know what to do?

Life weighs heavily some days. Change is hard.

Maybe I just need to have faith that what will be, will be.

even stinky cheese can be beautiful.

I went to Oak Park to this really cool deli-bar-coffeeshop-fancy food place called the Marion Street Cheese Market last week.

The assignment was about the rising popularity of "stinky cheese."

Yes, "stinky cheese."

Even though one might balk at what I get paid to do, this one takes the cake. Or the cheese, as it seems.

I was wary, but pleased with the assignment. As a self-proclaimed cheese lover, I was willing to give the stinky cheese a shot.

The place is really cool... with wines, beers, coffee and sandwiches in addition to two giant cases filled with cheese.

I was in heaven.

I got the selection the assignment requested, with the help of the "cheese monger."

We chose to take the photos near the expansive front windows of the shop where the sun poured in, flooding the glass beveled tabletop with late-ish afternoon light.

With God's light and a real love for what I was shooting, it was perfect.

The moral of the story:

There is hope for all.

Even stinky cheese can be beautiful.

the yoke's on me.

I couldn't resist writing something on this.

It all started Saturday at PCC, where actor Jim Caviezel, who played Jesus in The Passion of the Christ," was scheduled to speak this past weekend. He got the flu, we got to hear PT and it was awesome.

I needed PT much more than I needed Jim Caviezel.
PT talked about "blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." And meek does not equal weak. Moses was meek. And Jesus was meek. And meek back in those days meant a quiet strength, exercised with control. Kind of like, say, doing what you know needs to be done because it's right and good and despite the difficulties you will embrace the task.

Tim explained it so much more clearly. He said it was willingly surrendering to the fact that God is indeed "driving the bus.' You accept that, and you let it be. And you let it be so well that that is the way you choose to live your life. It is strength and acceptance.

PT went on to talk about being "yoked to Jesus." So clearly he explained how in the days when oxen were used to work the fields, farmers would yoke two oxen together, because together, it was so much easier to get things done the right way, the first time.

The picture in my head was so clear as I listened to him. Instead of whipping around alone, in a state of confusion, you can yoke up with Jesus, and the tasks of everyday life get done the right way the first time, with so much less energy and worries. Together is inherently better than going it alone.

I am the type of person, who can "get" a visual idea so much easier than one only explained with words.

And while I might not pay much attention to that yoke on a daily basis, it is so comforting to know it is there and ready to help me make it through life's trials and tasks.

Together is better.

holding it together while letting it go.

The nice white-haired clerk at Walgreen's knew I had asked the manager for cardboard boxes for packing. So when I checked out and paid for the packing tape I purchased she asked so kindly, "So, where are you moving to?"

The tears came out of nowhere and I managed to choke out, "I really don't know yet. It's a long story, but I can't stay in my house for much longer."

Like any decent grandmother would, she nodded and wished my luck as I hurried to the door of the store, embarrassed that I had let my emotions leak to a complete stranger.

I went back home where my girlfriend Colleen was washing light fixtures and windows for me. Together we began the process of putting away my personal belongings in anticipation of trying to sell the house I had hoped to never move from.

I will take the good with the bad. In a lot of ways, the house, as Chrissy described, had a death happen in it. I never really intended to live here forever after the divorce, but I suppose part of me had wished I might be able to.

Lucky for me, Colleen is much better at making decisions about what to keep, what to give away and what would find a home wherever the girls and I land.

Later, I had a visit with the good doctor and I continued to weep like a baby. He didn't mind, but he also suggested I just let it out and let it go, since it wouldn't be in my best interest to sit on that pity pot for too long, lest it become my new aversion technique to the issues at hand.

Wisely, I agreed.

He also offered some sound advice. That the path I take to get to where I am going is much less important than where I eventually end up. So, like most things, there is no right or wrong way to go about it, but the object is to definitely find myself in a much better place. Physically and emotionally.

I've never had much faith in myself to do anything.


Right now might be a real good time to start.

capturing the spirit of the soul.

When I set out to start my portrait business, I didn't really know what to expect.

I knew I had the skills to take good photographs, and I had enough knowledge about handling a business.

I had a few definite ideas about what I wanted: I knew that I would use my name for the business. I knew I would take a photojournalistic approach to my portraits. And I knew I wanted to take the type of childhood photographs that the child, once grown, would be thrilled to have hanging in their home:

A moment, frozen in time, that captured his personality and spirit.

I expected to learn on the job, which I have. But nothing quite prepared me for the magnitude of the lesson I learned recently.

I do a lot of regular work with my friend Shannon at Drama Queens in Mokena. DQ is the place of a little girl's dreams... a house filled with seemingly endless racks of dress-up clothes, shoes and accessories, where she and her friends are limited only by their imaginations and how fast they can change outfits.

When I first started doing photographs there, it seemed like non-rocket-science type of work. I mean, really. How hard would it be to take a few snaps of cute little girls in dress-up clothes?

And then, something else evolved.

In the process of meeting hundreds of little girls over the past few months, I realized, that even when it first went unnoticed, as I sat down to take their portrait, every single one of those little girls, whether younger, older, shorter, taller, bigger, smaller, are absolutely beautiful to behold.

Part of it may be the magic and excitement of the day lighting up their eyes. Part of it could be that they are able to dress in sparkly gowns and high heels and big hats.

But mainly, it's their inner beauty that shines through, every single time.

This past weekend, I did portrait work that was not altogether different.

My subjects were adult women and men, who were attending one of the events presented by Cache' Connections, an online dating service for Christians. These participants were kind enough to entrust me with taking their portraits at two separate events, one at Parkview and the other at Calvary Church in Naperville.

Like the little girls at DQ, the grown-ups came in different ages, sizes, colors and shapes. And while at first glance, they may have appeared to be "ordinary," the camera in my hands told me otherwise. These people were truly beautiful.

It's not as though I haven't felt extremely blessed to do the kind of work I do. I always have. But this type of photography is different.

The people I photograph have trusted me to honor and respect them through the portraits, and I am honestly humbled by that. The gift of this work has transformed me with an incredible lesson.

Not only does true beauty comes from within, but all of God's children are truly beautiful to behold.

the value of a hug.

I want to hug and be hugged more.

From Jessie's regular demand, "I want a HUG!" ...to my friends at church, to those friends I simply haven't seen in awhile, you just can't underestimate the power of that simple act of affection.

I went to Divorce Care last week, and left realizing I had hugged no one. I was late getting in there, and I guess, rushed to leave. But the usual hugfest just didn't happen. And when I thought long enough about it, it made me just a little sad.

Human contact is so necessary on a daily basis, and when you are struggling, it becomes a need that can heal, lift a spirit and repair some damage all at one time.

And as the world gets more digital by the day, and when regular contact with friends and family becomes easier yet so less personal, I forget that a gesture so easily done can mean so much. Even when you don't realize it.

Go ahead and hug it out.

You'll be so glad you did.

borrowing from FB for all non-FB'ers.

That's FB as in Facebook. Yes, it's a time waster. Yes, it's addictive. Yes, I totally love it!

The friends, the status updates and the instant connections.

It's like electronic high school, but better.

There was this viral thing going around last week called, "25 Random Things About Me." You get a tag from a friend and you're supposed to write your own version and post it to 25 more friends, and so on. It's been fascinating reading what others have written and finding out things from the silly to the serious to the downright scary.

Absolutely awesome.

It was also kind of cathartic for me as well. Like a popular psychology experiment, you start with a single thought and then move on from there, recording what comes to mind. It all kinda goes together, but not really.

If you haven't done this on FB, I recommend the experience. Here's mine. In absolutely no particular order:

1. I want to get a dog: a brown, smallish, already-trained girl shelter dog, so we can name her Dee Brown.
2. I really love the work I do, but the situation we are up against makes my job kinda suck.
3. I learn something new every day.
4. My daughters are sometimes much wiser than me.
5. If I could run away to a deserted island I already know who I would take with me. They know who they are. And I would bring only my iPod and camera and live naked and happy.
6. The four years I spent at U of I are still my best four years to date. I sometimes wonder if that will ever change.
7. I love bacon and watermelon, and could live solely on those two things.
8. I wouldn't trade lives with anyone I know.
9. I would really love to be Michelle Obama's personal photographer. She is totally cool.
10. I am jealous of no one.
11. I am a born-again Christian.
12. Sometimes I don't act Christian-like at all. I am working on that.
13. I swear like a truck driver and probably should work on that as well.
14. I would die if anything bad happened to my girls.
15. I wish I had played competitive softball as a kid.
16. I don't like to fly, but I am going to Ireland in March, and it's the only way to get there.
17. My favorite colors are navy blue and orange, and I make no apologies for it.
18. I slept with a night light until I was in high school.
19. I crack my knuckles.
20. I almost drown once, while on vacation in Cabo San Lucas.
21. I am legally blind without my glasses.
22. I love my Toyota Prius, and I do feel superior while driving it. Yes, I do.
23. I never voted for either George Bush or Rod Blagojevich, and I am very, very proud of that.
24. If I won the lottery, I would pay for all my nieces and nephews college educations. I would also buy resort property in Michigan and run an American Plan resort for families.
25. My biggest wish is to one day be filled overflowing with joy for absolutely no reason at all.

when God's love is palpable.

"God is Love." 1 John 4:16


First let me get this out there:

I didn't know there was a difference between the Book of John and 1 John until this week. So you know.

These three words are so simple and yet so profound, that it struck me like a bolt of lightening when I read them for the very first time.

I am struggling lately. My life has been on an evil roller coaster ride these past few weeks. It's hard to remember which side is up, and which way to turn so that it hurts the least.

And in the midst of all this, I find out the God is indeed, Love. And better yet, I felt it. And in case you need to know what it feels like:

It's kinda like a big, warm hug on a day filled with sunshine from someone you really, really like.

Last night at Divorce Care, the session was on depression. My group consisted of a few friends and a few people I have just recently met. As as person talked about their own circumstances, the others listened. And in the moment where one of us was feeling weak, torn down and beat up, the others were ready to jump in and save you.

Without even really knowing the group, I felt the love in the room for each other.

It wasn't summoned, it just appeared. And it was good.

Maybe it's there all the time, and I just don't notice it through the trials of life.

I have a feeling that, like the difference between John and 1 John, I have just figured something really obvious, but also really wonderful.

having a sharpay evans kinda day.

"EVERYBODY... QUIET!"

The emails. The texts. The phone calls. The kids. The boss. The Crazies.
o. m. G.

I thought of Sharpay in my inability to sleep early this morning. The scene is the East High cafeteria in High School Musical 1.

The kids are running around the cafeteria singing, "Stick to the Status Quo," when Sharpay stands on a table and shouts that out, immediately silencing everyone in the room.

I liken it to the Calgon commercials of the 70s, "Calgon, take me away..." and the "Serenity, NOW!" episode of Seinfeld in the 90s.

Some days, it's all too much. At once.

And what to do about it? I'm not sure. It made me giggle just thinking about Sharpay.

My immediate solution was a deep breath, some Sudafed, Excedrin and the blog.

And sincere desire that today might be better.