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.