lauriewrites's blog http://www.blogher.com/blog/45/atom/feed 2009-05-18T11:24:05-05:00 Who's On Your Fridge? On Your Desk? In Your Heart? http://www.blogher.com/whos-your-fridge-your-desk-your-heart 2009-11-14T11:48:49-06:00 2009-11-14T11:50:58-06:00 lauriewrites I was standing in my parents' kitchen eating cereal and staring into space, as I do, when my eyes landed on the refrigerator - and more specifically, the pictures on it.

And the magnets, and the invitations, and the um, business card for a particular blog that no one reads because I think they still think there's a secret password to get in and hey, who am I to correct that notion? But mostly it's the photos.

]]> I was standing in my parents' kitchen eating cereal and staring into space, as I do, when my eyes landed on the refrigerator - and more specifically, the pictures on it.

And the magnets, and the invitations, and the um, business card for a particular blog that no one reads because I think they still think there's a secret password to get in and hey, who am I to correct that notion? But mostly it's the photos.

I don't know about your family, but ours could live in a mansion and every event would still end up centered in the kitchen, everyone on top of each other, telling and making stories, maybe even getting on each others' nerves in that old, familiar, wondrous way. So in some ways it's not surprising that you can find some of our heart on the fridge. It's not everyone and it's not everything that matters to us by any means, but it's a good idea of who and what does, and in its own way (and thanks to my mother, almost entirely) it's a work of art.

Towards the bottom, there is my grandfather's handwritten barbecue recipe and a happy picture of my late grandmother and great-aunt, sisters-in-law and lifelong friends. There are a couple of photos I have shot that my mother likes, pictures of my parents on vacation and my dad playing golf, my godson's senior picture and my sister and me with our cousin who is like our brother. The Wizard of Oz stuff is my fault and I'm also responsible for the Red Hot Chili Peppers in football helmets magnet - fan club swag (oh hush, have you never heard of pre-sale tickets?) that's been up there since I lived here and has never come down.

You'll see what we care about - travel, friends, our extended family, food, music, each other.

The best thing about pictures, and what I can see now has guided me as a photographer since the day I picked up a camera when I was a child, is the story they tell. ISO, shmISO. (Not really, it's just not the most important thing.) And what matters an awful lot about pictures to individuals and families, in my opinion, is not just the story itself but the way it's represented in your everyday life - the images you keep around you, and the effect that they have on you when you look at them daily in the spaces you inhabit.

We will talk soon about all of those years of stories crammed in boxes in your basement and spare room closet, oh yes we will.

I think sometimes we go on autopilot with this stuff, that we're not even conscious of it. The same pictures stay in frames, not updated or changed, moved around only to dust or so they won't knock you in the head when you have to move the television to find a lost dvd. We've maybe moved the same photos from office to office when changing jobs, haven't updated our desktop image in awhile, haven't bothered to get some of the better, newer photos printed out that highlight new hair or a ten-pound weight loss (or gain, ahem.)

Weddings and babies are not the only reason to go crazy with the new photos, I promise, although they are among the best excuses. The every day should not be overlooked.

Some environments cry for photographic reminders of other aspects of our stories. A few of my colleagues have their favorite views from vacation either over their desks or on their computer wallpaper, because sometimes you need to go to the Outer Banks or the Bahamas in your mind, let you lose it. My dogs are sadly long gone with no replacements yet but they are always with me on my office bookshelf. I have a few (safe for work) fun shots of myself with friends in my office, so my students know I'm not a droid, which somehow matters to me, and so I don't forget that I'm not, either.

I only change up my screensaver every few months, and I know it's possible to have a slideshow sort of thing but the truth is when I'm at my desk the computer is rarely idle long enough for me to care about it.

What is on your walls and surrounding you while you work and while you think? What images are on your refrigerator when you open it first thing in the morning? Does this matter to you at all? I'm curious.

I have this image of my grandmother's hands in my office, and after losing her earlier this year it might seem like a bummer but it's the opposite.

It has helped me to avoid denial, and I'm good at denial. It has given me pause before I've shot off an ill-advised e-mail or two. Turns out there's nothing like having your grandma's hands on your printer to keep your priorities straight when a low toner warning might make you lose your tiny little mind on an off day. It has kept her in my space, which is where, when I was honest with myself, I figured out that I needed her to actively be, at least for now. That's a big part of my story at the moment.

It changes, you see - and you know, even if you forgot you knew. I know my mom switches up the stuff on the fridge sometimes. New things get added and carefully subtracted over time. My grandfather's recipe showed up one day, out of nowhere, with the sauce stains and his careful handwriting. I joke about the business card but since I'm way past the age of crayon drawings and there aren't any kids around, it's the closest thing, I guess. Soon the holiday flyers and invitations and year-end pictures of our friends will take over.

I think that's good. The story changes, the images shift, and it only takes a little effort to keep them in our sights where we might need them the most.

This summer I bought some new frames and a hanging thingamajig that will allow me to display several 4x6 prints on a photographic mobile of sorts, something that will brighten up my office for the winter and allow me to rotate through more images at a time, there when I need them.

Now I just need to hang it up. ***********************************************************

My BlogHer Art & Design colleague and general all-around excellent friend Karen Walrond is using her powers for good as usual, hoping to brighten up rooms of kids at the Texas Children's Hospital this holiday season. Please visit her site and find out how you can contribute. She gave me some inspiration this morning along with my coffee and I'm thinking she'll do the same for you.

The Internet can be awesome. Let us help to make it so, in pictures.

I love, love love love this picture, Refrigerator Memories, from Sarah (sadandbeautiful) on Flickr. I don't even want to talk about it, other than to say that I loved the comment that "our fridges are little museum-shrines." I just want you to go and look at it, please.

Lindsey Lane at This and That posted a sweet poem last week called My Mother's Refrigerator for her mom who died earlier this year. "This is how love is, messy, chaotic, stuck together," yes.

I include A Fanciful Twist's office renovation photos solely for the shot of the photos hanging by clothespins halfway through the post. DIY doesn't mean complicated, and in less formal spaces personality is everything when it comes to displaying images. Case in point: check out Kelly's office at Porter House Designs for contrast.

Everyone has a different story, and although I'm completely biased, I believe that pictures can always help to tell it better, even - especially? - while we're living it. Yours? And yes, I'll take refrigerator pictures, please?

Family and photography contributing editor Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites, and posts way too many photos on Flickr.

]]> Violence UnSilenced - Maggie Dammit Talks about Domestic Violence and How We Can Help http://www.blogher.com/violence-unsilenced-maggie-dammit-talks-about-domestic-violence-and-how-we-can-help 2009-10-31T17:35:58-05:00 2009-10-31T18:13:48-05:00 lauriewrites Today is the last day of October and of Domestic Violence Awareness month. Obviously in what I would believe to be a better world such an observance would be completely unnecessary.

]]> Today is the last day of October and of Domestic Violence Awareness month. Obviously in what I would believe to be a better world such an observance would be completely unnecessary. Since that is not so, I wanted to take the opportunity to share the work of Maggie Dammit of Okay, Fine, Dammit, and Violence Unsilenced, a site with the goal of "shedding light on the epidemic of domestic violence and sexual assault by giving its survivors a voice." 

Maggie is one of my writing inspirations who used the still-amazing-to-me ability to immediately self-publish and her formidable voice in the blogosphere to provide this digital space where people affected by domestic violence - survivors like Gina at Upside Down Cats and Jett at All Blogged Up and Nowhere to Go - can tell their stories.

I cannot begin to share the stories of many of the people I have known who have been affected by domestic violence, both because they are not my stories to tell and because there are so many at different levels of complexity that I wouldn't know where to begin if they were. When I mentally scroll through the years and relationships of my life, I'm sobered by the numbers of individuals I've known personally whom I could say had either been abused or were abusers - and this was just in situations that I knew enough about to be able to make that call.

So if I can't, who can? And if they want to, but are unable to, either from fear of violence being done to them by a family member or the safety of their extended family, how can we help them?

Maggie was willing to talk to me and I would like her answers to stand alone, both because she is one of the most capable writers I know and also because I believe the story is best told simply. Please, read about why she started this project and how you, if you choose to, can participate. Reach out however it is comfortable for you. Comment, as she suggests. And if you are like me, be amazed and somehow comforted that this vast medium of blogging, whatever it means for you and as alternately loved and reviled as it is, can bring people together for purposes as noble as they can be the opposite. Here is what I asked Maggie, and here is how she answered:

I used this quote from the Violence Unsilenced site as my guide for this post, because in my role here I am most concerned about what we can do as friends and family members to support people we love who may find themselves in precarious situations. 

"I believe that you have people in your life that are being abused, you just don’t realize it. I believe victims are led to believe they are alone, that no one will believe them, and that people will think less of them."

1. How can we help? And I know you're not giving clinical advice on the site, so if you just want to point me to stories that's fine. No pressure here.

We can help by talking about it, because talking about it normalizes an environment where secrecy and shame over abuse no longer exists. Abusers rely on our silence. They taunt their victims with it. "No one will believe you." "Everyone will know." Well... so what if they do? The victims aren't the ones who should have to carry the blame, they aren't the ones in the wrong. We as a society have a mandate to keep that blame squarely where it belongs, and one of the ways we can do that is by talking about our experiences and validating survivors who speak out.

2. I'd like just a little bit of background on Violence Unsilenced. I've read your background posts (I think - at least the ones linked on OFD) and I don't want to make you repeat yourself, but is there anything else that's come clear to you since the article and the blog posts about why this became so important for you to do?

I'm a journalist and in 2008 I wrote an article featuring the stories of seven survivors. It was a big deal because we used their faces and full names. What struck me at the time was how empowered the survivors were by telling their stories--they had lived so long in silence and the act of speaking out was even more therapeutic than they ever expected. Also, in the process of writing that article, many of my friends came out of the woodwork with their own stories of abuse. It got me thinking about the blogosphere, and how connected we all are, and how if one in four women has a story of abuse to tell, chances are you know a whole lot of bloggers that are affected. I wanted to empower survivors, but I also wanted to hold a mirror up to the community because this issue belongs to all of us. And, let's be honest, we often need to put the face of someone we know to the stories we hear or we don't soak it in as well.
3. It has been about a year now since the blog started. How do you feel about how it has been received? How many submissions do you receive, even in ballpark?

I am so grateful at the way the blogging community embraced Violence UnSilenced from the start. From day one everybody out there took it and lifted it up and made it their own. There were over 2,000 hits in the first 24 hours because countless people helped spread the word. It was legitimized from the start and I owe a great debt to this community for that. Most importantly, in those first 24 hours 32 survivors sent stories my way. The support has continued, steady and strong, a year later. I have a several month wait list for submissions and when I post the stories, twice a week, people always spread the word through Twitter, Facebook, and email, and leave supportive comments. It's amazing.

4. Do you get response from family members and friends on the site? People who are concerned? I'm just wondering what the engagement is with the extended community, in addition to people who are living in abusive situations or have in the past?

If the survivors are able to share their stories with their own loved ones (and they often aren't), we'll see plenty of comments from them. There is a regular cadre of VU readers, but each post gets several new comments from first time visitors, too--I assume from the survivor's own readership. We also implemented a Wednesday Q&A with a local expert a few months back, and that's where a lot of non-survivors will voice concerns or confusion over what they can do. People want to help, they just don't always know how.

5. As extended family members and friends, what can we do to best support our loved ones who we feel are in potentially or already-existing violent situations? How do you deal with the fear of approaching them or do it in a way that makes it less?

My local expert, Carrie K., has addressed this on our Wednesday Q&A. I really feel for people in these situations because it's such a helpless position to be in, or so it feels. It's so complicated, too--you don't want your loved one to feel judged to the point they become further isolated, and you also don't want to do anything that puts them in further danger.

6. This is a project that lives digitally, spun-off from real people that you interviewed and included in the article. What kind of meaning do you think the online community has or can have for people who live in some relationship to domestic violence, either in their present or their past?

Victims of abuse are usually isolated, but the Internet (and in particular the blogosphere) has helped blow the lid off that. Survivors can now reach out and receive support without leaving their homes. Sometimes just reading about other people who have lived through exactly what you're going through now, what you thought was uniquely awful to you, can be very powerful. When a survivor sees him or herself on these pages, it can inspire them to speak out, too--especially when they see how supportive the community is in the comments. The comments you leave on VU are so important--even if it's just to let them know they've been heard.

7. Do you have any thoughts about how the Violence Un-silenced project might continue? Is there any way you would suggest that readers get additionally involved, either online in their own way or in their local communities?

I have a lot of informal plans to expand Violence UnSilenced --things that could help it gain more reach, and also affect more concrete change. I'd like to develop a financial sponsorship program for victims, possibly. I'd like to organize writing workshops, because speaking out is so empowering and I'm a firm believer in the written word as therapy. I'd like to do more outreach, connect with other advocacy groups beyond the ones in my local community (who, by the way, have been very supportive of VU.) I'd also like to develop a news aggregate on the site to organize and disemminate reports about abuse. There are lots of things swimming around in my head, but for now I'm focused on the nuts and bolts--providing a forum for survivors to speak out, and for readers to support them.

I want to say the community of Madison, Wisconsin has fully embraced VU. Domestic Abuse Intervention Services of Madison has a link to VU on their page, and they also gave the project a community service award at a banquet this summer. One of their former employees is the person who organizes the Wednesday Q&A pro bono. The local CBS affiliate did a segment on VU, and it included an interview with the district attorney's office lauding VU's efforts. Madison Magazine published a small blurb this month as well. When the project first launched I also received supportive emails from several local advocacy groups, including Men Stopping Rape and the Wisconsin Coalition Against Sexual Assault. All of this support from traditional groups further legitimizes the efforts of this non-traditional project, and my hope is that we could expand the awareness to other communities as well.

I would like to thank Maggie for taking the time to share the story of Violence UnSilenced with us. Again, I encourage you to support it in whatever way is comfortable for you. October may be coming to a close, but this is unfortunately a problem that does not ever go away, in any month of the year. We can't solve every problem, but we can pay attention, and help where we can. I don't think there is much more to say than that.

Family and Photography Contributing Editor Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

]]> The Impossible Polaroid Returns http://www.blogher.com/impossible-polaroid-returns 2009-10-16T19:28:57-05:00 2009-10-16T19:28:57-05:00 lauriewrites The Impossible Project - formed to "re-invent and re-start production of analog INTEGRAL FILM for vintage Polaroid cameras" - may have accomplished just that.

]]> The Impossible Project - formed to "re-invent and re-start production of analog INTEGRAL FILM for vintage Polaroid cameras" - may have accomplished just that.

The news late last year that Polaroid would cease production for good in 2009 was not the happy kind for fans of the instant film, who were likely relieved this week when the company announced that it will re-launch the Polaroid One Step Camera and commission the Impossible Project to develop and produce a limited edition of Polaroid® branded Instant Films in 2010, starting with black and white film early in the year and color later on.

How do they plan to do this? Um, honestly, I have no idea, beyond their stated plan to make a more environmentally friendly, easier to manufacture instant film. If you'd like to try to figure it out where I have failed, go to the Impossible Project Web site, click on "7 Challenges", and "Team" (there are no direct links, sorry, and also, please, makers of the Web, don't do weird things with links!) and you will see that it's a much more detailed and scientific process than my abstract brain is capable for breaking down for you. Let's just say it involves diagrams and chemicals, and an all male (BOO!) team of engineers. Complicated.

I say good for them, aside from the all-male thing.

I haven't had a Polaroid camera for years, something that bothers me so I don't like to talk about it because I'm sensitive like that. I have not delved into the frightening (to me) world of online retailers to bid on one, frightened away primarily by the high cost of the rapidly dwindling supply of hoarded instant film, and my penchant for hitting the "buy" button whenever photographic equipment is involved without the budget to match. Plenty of people have been much more careful with their equipment and film supply, however, people like daily photo devotee Lori Hylan-Cho, who has been consistently posting her Polaroid work on Flickr. Lori has a way with signs. Check her out.

I learned about the wonderful work of "self-confessed Polaroid fanatic" Susannah Conway (@Photobird) through a tweet from storyteller Jen Lee, I believe. Check out Susannah's work on her blog, Ink on My Fingers. She is based in Bath, U.K., and teaches a photo course online called Unravelling.

A recent tweet from Susannah:

i don't think i have mentioned this in a while, but i freakin LOVE polaroids. Like, love with all my heart. Like, more than chocolate

That's love.

Aimee at Aimee's Petite Maison says "hurray for the Impossible Project."

I LOVE my Polaroid cameras, and can’t wait for the new film to come out so I can start using the medium once again. The idea of black and white instant film sounds amazing as well. And speaking of Polaroids, be sure to check out Polaroid Notes, a set of notecards which features a 2 photographs from my friend Jenny.

"Jenny" is Jenny Vorwaller, of the eponymous blog.

Chris Higgins at the Mental Floss blog wrote a nice post about the Polaroid return, with a link to a previous post about Jamie Livingston, a man who took a Polaroid a day, documenting his life up to and including his death from cancer. 

Briana at the Dizzy Pixie, who displayed her Polaroid work in previous posts, was happy to welcome it back.

Me, I cheat. One of my current photographic and iPhone app addictions is ShakeIt Photo, a ten-second short cut to what some people call "Fauxlaroids" and I would too if I could bring myself to do so. I'm going to try to get ahold of some film and a used real deal camera this time, but in the meantime I'm having a lot of fun with the next best digital thing.

Aimee, quoted above, is a ShakeIt fan, too.

And also, just because it’s fun and I love technology… there is an application for the iPhone that turns a photo that you take with the phone into a Polaroid style picture. It’s called Shake, after what we all do with the instant film. Of course, you don’t actually have to shake your Polaroids, but we all do it.
(No, the one at the top isn't real either, but you knew that, right?)

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites, and posts way too many photos on Flickr.

]]> Food and Family: What They Made for You - Making It Your Own http://www.blogher.com/food-and-family-what-they-made-you-making-it-your-own 2009-10-07T06:31:05-05:00 2009-10-07T06:39:36-05:00 lauriewrites  

My grandfather made the best chocolate chip cookies I've ever had. I am a cookie freak in a family of cookie freaks and they are my seminal cookie, the cookie to dominate all other undeserving cookies in the world. I can still see them stacked in careful waxed paper layers in the tins, perfect chip-to-dough ratio, just a bit harder than your average chocolate chip cookie, lovely and bumpy and exactly perfect mix of sugar and salt.

]]>  

My grandfather made the best chocolate chip cookies I've ever had. I am a cookie freak in a family of cookie freaks and they are my seminal cookie, the cookie to dominate all other undeserving cookies in the world. I can still see them stacked in careful waxed paper layers in the tins, perfect chip-to-dough ratio, just a bit harder than your average chocolate chip cookie, lovely and bumpy and exactly perfect mix of sugar and salt.

He also made one of the most horrible concoctions I have ever smelled and never ate, something he called Ringtumdiddy that involved cheese and tomato soup (and apparently a little bit of beer) that I could smell through the door to the point of dry heaves when I came home from school on the days that he made it. You know, just in case I give the impression that everything he made was awesome.

He left no specific recipe for either. I think he might have used the Tollhouse one on the back of the yellow chocolate chip bag, in fact, but I can tell you for sure that the times I've tried to duplicate it in years past have resulted in cookies that taste nothing at all like his. This could be because while I can cook fairly well, baking has always eluded me. I think that baking - and by that I mean baking well - is difficult. It requires specificity and attention to detail that I lack, and that my grandfather mastered. I can bake a pie and it tastes good but the apples turn out just a little too oozy. I could tell you the one about the exploding bread machine but just in case you have no IDEA how big dough can get, the answer is big, quickly, very big dough, exploding from machine. My brownies are decent but to borrow and slightly alter a catchphrase, even bad brownies are good brownies. Failed hunks of warm chocolate? Right, that's a problem.

We thought he invented Ringtumdiddy but Google tells me otherwise.

When I read Angela at Disnazzio's wonderful reflection on making soup that - while modeled after her father's and her grandmother's - became her own, I cried both because I am a sap who cries at things and also because I related on such a very specific level to several pieces of the story. One, I currently lack my own dedicated cooking space in which to even try to fail at baking, (long story) and two, there is something about the season changing solidly into fall that brings food and my family much more strongly into view. Fundamentally I am a warm weather creature and the SAD, it can get to me early, so the temperature dropping and the light changing send me diving for cover and for comfort. The accompanying drumbeat of the approaching holidays seals the deal. There will be Christmas cookies, for sure, but they will not be that cookie.

I can therefore take a page from Angela's cookbook and buck up:

And then I thought about my dad, how he started cooking food to feed a family when he was not much older than HALF as old as I am now; he was a boy.  And how he, and my Nonnie, and his own Nonnie (my, uh… Nonnie Emeritus?) all, I know now the way you know these things as you grow into yourself and your family, have the same fears and anxieties and need for perfection that I do.  But at some point, each one in turn lit the stove and hoped for the best.  And so I did, with – seriously – a lump in my throat from the anxiety.

She writes about this soup as a rite of passage, a claiming of a space in the family line that, while not exactly like the food of the very loved people who came before, is hers and that alone means more than enough.

I can see that too. Our lives as we live them are not like those of our loved ones who in some cases, like mine, are no longer living. We have different ovens - and in the case of cookies, I believe that the oven is the thing, really - in different kitchens in entirely different worlds. Given the epic symbolism of food and and family and feeding to love far beyond survival, this text box will not hold what a shortish Navy veteran standing at a counter in clashing plaids mixing dough and drinking beer while watching a black and white movie out of his peripheral vision meant to me.  When I think about it on the surface, I want the cookie back. As I write this I know what I want to see and have is him making them for me, stacking them in the tins, so much more than I care to duplicate his recipe.

I would even take him if it meant Ringtumdiddy every day, but we would still have to negotiate the Scrapple.

I won't get that, of course, so we make do. My sister is a great chef and a better-than-average baker too, who is studying food traditions as an academic and understands probably even more deeply than I do how important and ingrained they are. I can hold my own in certain kitchen quarters and can kind of fake his whiskey sour. My father doesn't cook often but when he does it's with the same attention to detail and generally delicious results. Just months after my grandmother died, our family vacationed together this summer - my grandparents' four sons, their wives, my generation of seven grandchildren and assorted significant others and now three great-grandchildren that he would be totally thrilled to meet. Most nights we made dinner in some collective fashion, which regardless of what goes on the table is the key that week. One day my godson, his youngest grandson, went up and made sandwiches and brought them down to us on the beach. He was born just months after my grandfather died and had no idea that this was his daily beach routine for years, and my heart exploded to the point that I didn't try to explain.

When we're together talking and eating, my grandparents come up a lot. More often than not there are Ringtumdiddy jokes, which I would detail but they would not be at all funny. Not only would you have to be there, you'd have to be us.  Chances are you have your "you" with its own jokes that would go right over my head too.

I might try the cookies again, someday, when I'm settled, although my sister has them covered and I can invite myself over to "help" when the December baking days roll around. She is also engaged to a man who makes me a peanut butter mocha cake from scratch for my birthday because he is nice and comes from an Italian family who bake together, so I might do just as well to focus on the whiskey sours. My mom has the barbecue and stuffed pepper recipes he actually did write down, splattered with ancient sauce stains, which are probably better for me given my greater talent for main dishes and adjustable spice situations. And thanks to Google, I might even try to see if Ringtumdiddy tastes as bad as I remember it smelled. Maybe.

Angela writes:

The soup did not taste like my dad’s.  It certainly did not taste like my Nonnie’s, which is the soup of all soups, and I almost don’t want to precisely recreate that one, because I feel about it almost the way I feel about the ocean (yeah, it IS that good).  It didn’t even taste the way I wanted it to (which was mildly irritating since for most of the afternoon, it smelled exactly the way I wanted it to taste).  Next time I will throw in a little more of this and maybe a little less of that, and leave it simmering a little longer.  But what matters to me today is that I want to do it again.  I didn’t get it exactly right, and that’s okay.  It’s actually kind of exciting.  It means that I couldn’t write it down for you, and I would have to, just as my dad has driven me mad for years by doing, walk someone through it, with instructions like “a little of” and “for a while,” and I would have to trust you to figure it out.

I miss him. I miss his cookies. I think he trusted me to figure it out, to try again until the dough doesn't explode. Somehow it all fits.

Other voices around the Web:

TW's read Love Song in a Foreign Language from Retro Food as part of the BlogHer 2009 community keynote this year and I think I was crying by the third paragraph although I wasn't sure why. Then she got here and I knew:

But listen to the tune…you know this love song. This is the dinner made for a mother with a newborn. This is the cake made to celebrate a son’s birthday…his favorite. These are the pork chops and potato pancakes counted on to bring a smile to her father-in-law’s face. These cookies sing holiday tunes with Mama in the kitchen with excited children. She tucks these memories away as she tucks the cookies in tins to give to her friends.

Here is video of her specifically, or you can scroll through the whole thing (which I strongly recommend.)

Lara Ferroni is a talented food photographer and writer who posted a wonderful entry at Cook and Eat about creating a family cookbook following the death of her stepmother. Family Recipe Central provides an electronic space to do this (and linked me to Lara, so thanks.)

Family and photography contributing editor Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites. She takes too many pictures of food, among other things.

 

]]> Co-Workers: family, friends, foes or no? http://www.blogher.com/co-workers-family-friends-foes-or 2009-09-08T08:31:04-05:00 2009-09-08T08:34:52-05:00 lauriewrites Today many of us who work outside of our homes who were fortunate enough to have a long holiday weekend celebrating the efforts of the American workforce will return to our cubicles, classrooms, construction sites or wherever it is we earn our living.

And chances are, whatever our place of business, we will not be alone when we get there, like it or not. Wherever you work, whatever you do, more often than not you do it with other people. 

]]> Today many of us who work outside of our homes who were fortunate enough to have a long holiday weekend celebrating the efforts of the American workforce will return to our cubicles, classrooms, construction sites or wherever it is we earn our living.

And chances are, whatever our place of business, we will not be alone when we get there, like it or not. Wherever you work, whatever you do, more often than not you do it with other people. 

I very rarely write about my job because I like it and I need it, but what I will tell you is that I like my co-workers. Shhhh....I KNOW. I am fortunate enough in the place where I am currently employed to have a number of people I not only like, but also consider my friends. These relationships range  from 9-5 work friends - the kind where you go to lunch occasionally or chat in the halls every day but never see outside the office - to people I choose to see when I'm not on the clock in a variety of settings, for an equal variety of reasons.

This has not always been - and is still not always, depending on the person - the case. Some people I've worked with I've been just as satisfied never to see again when the last bell rang. Some people I was close to in particular jobs but after they were over, life and time took us down different paths and we are no longer close.

What I do know is that I spend a lot of time at my workplace, doing my job. It helps both my mental health and my productivity if my relationships there are at least benign and civil, whether it skews in the pleasant or the apathetic direction. (Some people? No vibe, right? It's just the way it is.) But the relationships I've formed that run deeper than your average Girl Scout cookie purchase or chat around the mailboxes evolved because I at first liked and then discovered that I really dug the person that my job placed in my path. I connected with him or her beyond spreadsheets and meetings and quarterly reports. (Because honestly, I can't say I've ever connected with anyone over a quarterly report or any of these things for that matter beyond a hatred of all of them, pretty much.) I would have been friends with these people if I'd met them in my neighborhood or in school or through another friend, because our personalities clicked, we had things in common and we turned out to enjoy each others' company. I consider them a prize I won because of my job, not a guarantee of having it.

Because the deal is I'm careful when it comes to workplace relationships. If they work out on a more friendly level, great. That's a bonus. I just don't really go to work anymore expecting to find friends, or look to my workplace connections to fill my social or emotional needs. I have a pretty clear cut mission in my profession and a population I serve that takes a lot of time and energy and that's why I'm there. I've also been burned in the past because for years I was way too trusting and ended up in interpersonal situations that were less than stellar because I assumed people at work were my puffy-heart-I-can-tell-you-anything friends when really, they so weren't. Oh no. They were not.

The opposite of friendship at work is at its best normal human interaction and at its worst horrible conflict. Anyone who's been there can tell you that dealing with conflict and difficult personalities in the workplace is a trial that can reach seemingly unmanageable proportions, and spending multiple hours in the presence of people who don't bring out the best in us or vice versa often doesn't seem worth the paycheck. (Except, you know, when you need the paycheck, which I always do.) There are reams written about dealing with toxic workplace people and I won't rehash them here, except to say: when you have to, it's difficult, and I hope you don't.

This is not to say it can't be difficult to navigate friendships, much less romantic relationships (which I'm not even going to deal with in this forum) when professional lives are attached. If you're working with a friend on a project and disagree about how it should play out or have some other professional difference of opinion, that can create strange dynamics. I think it would be difficult to be tight friends with a supervisor or a supervisee. Professional stakes and interactions are, for the most part, quite different from the personal, and meshing the two can be tricky. And I can't say there haven't been times when people who are my friends - outside of the office, on a different level - have done things that I haven't found palatable at all, that, in fact have irritated me to the point where I can remember it still. (But that's no one I know now, right? I mean, just so we're clear.)

If the friendship matters to the two people involved though, hopefully the communication skills are there to hash it out, for the greater good of the organization and for their personal wellbeing.

And even though these things happen, snafus and misunderstandings and what have you, I'll take the risk, because for one thing you can't help it when you find people in life who are meant to be your friends, no matter where you find them, and it stands to reason that at least a few friendship-worthy people would turn up in a place where we spend a lot of time. And beyond that, I have to say it isn't so bad to have some (real) friendly faces either at your office door or on the other end of an e-mail during a stressful workday. The vast majority of the time - for me, anyway - it's worth any potential pitfalls.

Other voices around the Web:

Amber Hensely wrote a guest post in Grace Boyle's Brazen Careerist spot called How to Be Chummy With Your Co-workers Without Crossing the Line. Bottom line: proceed with caution, and I totally agree. Embrace the boundaries. Boundaries are good.

Working Girl Two in Chicago realized she had work friends when another colleague pointed out how much time she'd wasted talking to them on her first day back from vacation. She still thinks it's a good thing.

Kristina at Writing for (Y)Eu changed her mind about making work friends when she moved to Brussels to work for the EU. It just didn't happen in Estonia but in her new home, many of her good friends are also colleagues.

Katie at KC's Masterpiece misses her old work friends at her new job.

And just for grins, Marcia McCormick posted this list on the Workplace Prof blog of 20 strangest complaints hiring managers have received from across the country, according to CareerBuilder.com. Whereas I MAY at some point have agreed with "Employee's aura is wrong" and "Employee breathes too loudly," I have never experienced an "Employee smells like road ramps." Rest assured my best workplace friends would not be responsible for this: "Employee eats all the good cookies."

Photography and extend family contributing editor Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

]]> Photos Out of Focus: Embracing Bokeh and Blur http://www.blogher.com/photo-focus-sharp-bokeh-plus-they-finally-took-your-kodachrome 2009-09-03T22:58:45-05:00 2009-09-03T23:12:21-05:00 lauriewrites When I first started shooting photos I believed in the ultimate power of sharpness, of acuity, of an image unblurred. It's only over time that I learned to embrace what I now believe to be the beauty of softness, of what some might call imperfection in focus but I've reframed as just right for whatever image I happen to be making at the time. I almost excessively embrace the blur.

]]> When I first started shooting photos I believed in the ultimate power of sharpness, of acuity, of an image unblurred. It's only over time that I learned to embrace what I now believe to be the beauty of softness, of what some might call imperfection in focus but I've reframed as just right for whatever image I happen to be making at the time. I almost excessively embrace the blur.

Some blur is indeed on purpose. What many in Flickr and photoblog land call "bokeh," from the Japanese noun meaning "blur" or "haze," is really another term for the effects of shallow depth of field, and usually light that hits just right. It means you're setting your aperture wide enough if you're working manually (and therefore letting enough light in) that the object in the foreground is sharp sharp sharp and that which lies beyond is beautifully, atmospherically blurry. If you're in auto mode and you're close enough, this involves pushing the lens to its limits, most likely, naturally blurring out the background and bringing the front into focus. (This is a little more iffy, though, and if you're like me and insist on making the lens do the work you'll end up with lots more cast-off images to wind through.)It took me forever to ask what the HBW tag stood for on Flickr, and what it does is Happy Bokeh Wednesday, a weekly celebration of blurry backgrounds that never fails to blow my mind. Want more examples? There's Extreme Bokeh, Bokeh: Smooth and Silky, Bokeh of the Day and Bokeh for the Common Folk (that's a lot of bokeh.)

One of my favorite bokeh-style images, here you go: Metabirthday cake

Beyond her way with words, Yvonne from Joy Unexpected is also a Happy Bokeh Wednesday regular and may I say, her images are awesome. (All rights reserved on Flickr, please click through!)

I'd like to see what MaineMomma/Kristin deletes because I don't think she's capable of a bad picture. Please see this one, where she makes a fence look good, in a recent HBW submission. She also created this ferris wheel shot that may be my favorite of the summer, but I'm thinking she added the texture after the fact.

Other blur happens, with or without planning and care. Focus is a science, really, a science I tend to explain poorly so I generally leave it to people way more technical than I am. Basically the amount of light hitting the sensor or film (determined by the size of the aperture, the opening that lets the light through,) and the amount of time the light has to hit, determined by the shutter speed, have to be in sync. To get sharp photos, especially in lower light or with objects in motion, the aperture has to be small enough to focus and the shutter open long enough that the image isn't completely black. (Confused yet?) If you want intentional blur, to give the impression of wings flapping or waves crashing or legs in motion, playing around with the aperture and shutter speed is your best option.

My favorite blur, however, is always accidental. Sure it can be frustrating if you're really going for a money shot, but if the stakes are low and your willingness to experiment is high, you can get some cool things. The best blur? Capture a friend in mid-sentence or something weird out of a car window because you didn't know it was coming and you just got to your camera in time. Feet walking by on the sidewalk while you're sitting on the pavement at their level. Wine pouring into a glass. We live in motion, most of the time. The best blur captures that concept, or just a moody feel when you feel like it.

My favorite

I was happy at BlogHer 09, apparently. Grace Davis caught it. I love it. (And I don't even generally like pictures of myself.) This one was better out of focus. I didn't have to worry about details so much as I did a memory of what an incredible time I was having. I favorited it because I don't want to forget it.

I'd encourage you to lose the focus obsession, just for a little while even. Embrace the blur. I've never looked back.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites. Many, many photos are on Flickr.

]]> No Kids: What Am I Missing? http://www.blogher.com/no-kids-what-am-i-missing 2009-08-28T09:13:45-05:00 2009-08-28T09:23:57-05:00 lauriewrites Since Sassymonkey sent a link yesterday morning to a post called "Child-free movement: You say 'childfree,' I say 'childless'" by Kim Hays of the Orlando Sentinel Moms at Work blog, I've been trying to figure out why it bothered me to the point that I felt the need to call the author out on Twitter. (I am allergic to conflict and am therefore so not a Twitter caller-oute

]]> Since Sassymonkey sent a link yesterday morning to a post called "Child-free movement: You say 'childfree,' I say 'childless'" by Kim Hays of the Orlando Sentinel Moms at Work blog, I've been trying to figure out why it bothered me to the point that I felt the need to call the author out on Twitter. (I am allergic to conflict and am therefore so not a Twitter caller-outer. I'm a Twitter converser, no rage included on a regular basis.)

First, of Hays's point, a recap:

She has unnamed, unspecified commenters on her blog who prefer to be called "childfree" and not "childless" who "corrected" her (quotes not mine) related to the use of these terms. And maybe, I don't know, she woke up thinking about that the other day (which must have been a slow parenting news day, I'm just saying) and also thought, wow, I'll throw a little bit of contextless background in here about people who are nasty in their childfreeness and make a list of the things they're missing out on that I - as a mother - am not. And then she wrote a mostly warm and fuzzy list with a side dish of excessive quotations, bold font, and snide asides.

Just so I know, when I have nieces and nephews, that is not the same as having my own children, she'd have me know, which totally ruins my plan to pass those kids off as my own. And also there goes their inheritance.

I am sounding nasty to my own ears and I don't like it, but I am so tired of this discussion that I know I can't abandon. And let me state for the record that I usually would not take the time to dicker around with a premise as unclear as I find Hays's to be in this piece. I think certain things are written with the fallout in mind, and those are the ones I try to avoid. But something about the tone here, about the baiting, about the divisiveness in an era where I hear a lot about how there's room for everyone, how there is no reason we all can't get along, really got to me. 

I am tired of people being drawn into strange camps based on parenting status. Parenting choices and circumstances are among the most personal in our lives, at the same time the most obvious and the most difficult to explain. They're inextricable from our biology and our chemistry and our cultural identity, a point I'll argue all day long, because as a single, childless woman in this country I know things. Scary things. Upsetting things.

Walk with me to my office a few years ago, when the married with children colleague who knew my stance full well on all of this leaned in my doorway next to a pile of work she'd dumped on me and said, "Oh, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have people to go home to who gave my life meaning." True story. Continue on to Austin this March where a dad blogger told me in a terribly mean way that my opinion didn't count, that I would always be a child until I'd had children, a conclusion I'm guessing he was basing on his cohort that includes, exaggeratedly both real and fictional, John Edwards, the late Michael Jackson, Homer Simpson AND Peter Griffin, Tommy Lee (who I hesitate to call out because, well, we have a history, but still) and that guy I knew in grad school whose child never had decent shoes but he always had a dime bag.

And talk about evenings for which the old "bottle of red in a brown paper bag" image was invented. I mean, seriously. People say some really effective things when they're screwing with you sometimes.

So, whereas I am tired of having to state the following, I'm afraid people who can relate don't feel able to often enough because it's not fun to admit:

I will be 40 years old in a little more than a year. The only thing left that I haven't done that I wish to do in my life - the only huge thing, because I have a jillion other things on my to-do list, some of which even give me the will to get out of bed in the morning - is to be a parent. Sometimes this makes me sad. The end.

I call myself accidentally childless, when pressed. And I state this truth to the Internet in large part due to my fear that all people without children will continue to be judged on the same scale as people who join organizations with names like No Kidding and call children "rugrats" (I hate that term, sorry) and parents breeders, because in my world the Breeders were a band and I've never said it in any other context. 

I am not not a parent because of my career. I am not not a parent because I dislike children. I am not not a parent because I am selfish (at least I don't think so.) I am not not a parent because I can't imagine adjusting my schedule or my life or my nonexistent spur of the moment trips to Paris (hahaha) to accomodate the needs of another, smaller human being who depends on me.

I am not a parent because sometimes life doesn't give us what we want, sometimes the path is unclear and uncooperative and no matter what Mick says I'm not entirely sure we always get what we need either. (Now THERE'S a dad blog I'd read.)

This life is making me more joyful and more cynical at the same time.

Hays tried to clarify in response to my tweet and others, and to the 70 or so comments from other people that she was not speaking to people who could not have children or who did not due to life circumstances of the more grayish variety. She was going after the - again, unspecified - "judgy child free", as she responded in a tweet to Sassymonkey. Her comments, to my ear, sounded harsher in most cases than the original post. Case in point: "The child free have proven my point with their comments," although the majority did not come out as her intended audience of child-hating militants, in fact quite the opposite, and "I just want to make the point that there are certain intangible benefits that come with being a parent that someone without children cannot fully understand."

I understand. I understand super hard. I read thousands of words every month and see hundreds of pictures that tell the story. I see my amazing parent friends with their great kids. I so get it. (and here is where Kim Hays would probably tell me I don't get it and I'd have to take her at her word that in addition to lacking offspring I lack insight and empathy.) It's off the charts powerful. Parents see it from the inside, and no I can't feel it, but seeing it from the outside is pretty effective too.

Saying, as Hays is, that you're speaking to one faction of childfree people ignores the people who will read "Giggles, giggles and more giggles," and "Little arms reaching up and a plaintive voice pleading, 'hold you, mama,'" and get seriously bummed out because dude, when you're talking to those judgy people who would rather see snakes on a plane than your toddler in the seat next to them, you are also talking to me. And I'm the bleeding heart who will feel guilty the whole way for any judgmental thought that pops into my head about your child even though he's yelling in my ear for hours. You're talking to people who haven't been able to physically have children who stumble across this from a link from wherever. You're talking to people whose second adoption fell through last week.

And I'm not being dramatic, not at all. And call me crazy but if a person has gone to the trouble of pointing out that they're childfree, perhaps this list won't apply. If they don't like kids, how likely are they to find "tiny kisses on your nose while you're napping" to be a draw? I know some parents who wouldn't be down with that, quite frankly. Traffic aside, why do you need to address these people at all?

I support Kim Hays's right to say whatever she wants to because I love the First Amendment that much, and under a smaller umbrella I support her right to list off what she loves about being a parent. I probably would too, if I were one (although in a very different way, probably not numbered and everything, and also bagging the passive-aggressive part, but those are just style points.)

But putting the cute shoe on my other cute foot, I would not dream of sitting down and making a list of the ten reasons why my life is so much better than yours, for any reason, using any criteria, unless I had a solid reason but I can't imagine what that would be. There but for the grace of whomever go all of us, and some stuff just doesn't need to be listed to make me feel better about myself or to make you feel worse.

I feel like there's no conclusion here. I really wish for more highly-trafficked posts on the Internet that reflect conversations that I have with friends and family members who have no point to prove, who know my heart as well as I can know theirs, who can talk about their kids in a way that does not make me feel less-than, who can acknowledge what they've got and show some compassion for what I feel I lack. This seems the most humane approach to take, you know?

The conversation continued:

Sassymonkey wrote her own post in response, On Being Child-Free By Choice, wherein she makes her points and Kim Hays shows up again in the comments to say that she wrote her initial post for moms, not the people without children she was originally addressing, so we should just be quiet anyway. Paraphrasing, of coures. I am trying to focus here. It's difficult.

Sweetsalty Kate and Liz Gumbinner among others contributed comments to the original post. Read Kate's story. I try to, all the time, because of the way she tells it. Liz speaks to all of us, moms and non, always has, in my experience, and this is one of the reasons I so appreciate her.

I hear myself obnoxiously stating for the record lately that some of my best friends are mom bloggers (because some of them are, it's true.) and these ladies are examples of allies and proof that - guess what - we don't have to share parenting status in common to find common ground as human beings and women. This shouldn't feel like a revolutionary statement. I'm glad they popped up somewhere in this discussion.

Melissa Ford was one of my role models for the written and spoken word long before she read her piece at this year's BlogHer community keynote but that three or so minutes clinched it. She wrote How Talking About Childfree or Childless Made My Head Explode yesterday.

To answer her question, as a mother, I would tell the child-free that I'm grateful that they write their blogs
so I can walk in their shoes and try to understand their world because
it is a person's unique life that makes the world a beautiful and
interesting space and I am just thankful that everyone else has not
conformed their life to match my own. And that my heart goes out to
those who are unable to build their families and I will always support
you and take your lead in how you are resolving your infertility and
continuing to live life.

You will find many, many more great blogs in the comments on Sassymonkey's and Melissa's posts. Please check them out. It's good when we talk to each other and at least try to understand.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

]]> Blanket and Beyond: What's Your Nickname? http://www.blogher.com/blanket-and-beyond-whats-your-nickname 2009-08-22T13:32:48-05:00 2009-08-22T13:41:34-05:00 lauriewrites My given name is Laurie (rhymes with "sorry", technically) to most
people, much to the horror of the priest who baptized me and my third
grade teacher Sister Patricia because although I was not named after a
Partridge Family character it's still not a saint's name so basically
to them I was Laurence. It's "Yo" and "hey" and increasingly, horribly,
"Ma'am" to many more. Some people in a far off land I occasionally
inhabit call me "Professor," that is when they're not calling me "Yo."
Go ahead. Laugh. I do.

]]> My given name is Laurie (rhymes with "sorry", technically) to most
people, much to the horror of the priest who baptized me and my third
grade teacher Sister Patricia because although I was not named after a
Partridge Family character it's still not a saint's name so basically
to them I was Laurence. It's "Yo" and "hey" and increasingly, horribly,
"Ma'am" to many more. Some people in a far off land I occasionally
inhabit call me "Professor," that is when they're not calling me "Yo."
Go ahead. Laugh. I do.

And some people call me lauriewrites. It's like I told them to or something. 

Speaking more personally, my name was switched up to Lou Ann by my
grandmother who was the only person ever allowed to call me that or who would likely have a reason to. I was called "baby" almost exclusively for years by a man I'd kind of still like to kick in the knees on the rare occasion that I wear closed toe shoes, to the point that I rarely remember him saying my name. My cousin sticks with my name but called me LaLa for years because that was all she could say when we started out talking and it still comes out sometimes as a joke or an aside. I am ever Laurie Anne to my uncles and aunts and LDub - my personal current favorite - to a few of my closest colleague friends at work, who all have shortened versions of their names from me as well.

What do the people who love you call you? What do you call the people you love, and I'm only talking about the nice things, not the mad things. 

Keep that in the back of your mind, while I spin out and remind you that Michael Jackson died this summer. And although it was and remains a weird spectacle of family strife and drugs and nannies and Jermaine hosting benefits with Shawn King, wife of Larry, I still only care because in addition to the fact that I was a 70s and 80s kid and Michael Jackson died, as in permanently, I was and remain straight up fascinated that his youngest child, Prince Michael II, is called Blanket, both allegedly within his family and in the news media. 

Blanket. Prince Michael Jackson II aka Blanket Jackson, so named because of the blanket his father used to put over his head when he had to go out in public. (And yes, weird things frequently fascinate me.) 

At first I thought Michael was turning the media idiocy on its head and making friends with the enemy, as in "Make me feel like I have to hide my kid under a blanket and I'll show you. That's what I'll call him. I'm owning this one, bitches."

But maybe not, because I read on several marginally reliable sites (WikiHow? What?) that Michael allegedly said this: "It's an expression I use with my family and my employees. I say, 'You should blanket me or you should blanket her', meaning like a blanket is a blessing. It's a way of showing love and caring."

Which is probably the truth, although I'm not sure. Doesn't that sound like it would be the truth, though? Because look who we're talking about here. And whether it's true or not, what is true is that if Blanket's family wanted to call him Blanket, that was kind of up to them.

Names are important. Names matter, and I am unusually interested in
them. Your name is how the world knows you and to some extent it's how you have to know yourself so you can do important things like endorse checks and get driver's licenses and fly on planes and pick up carryout orders. (Although for that? That last thing? Making up names is a small creative exercise if you're bored.)

Nicknames are important too - terms of endearment, shortenings of given names or inclusions of middle names in the interest of familiarity, affection, or maybe just laziness if someone's name issuper long and a couple of initials will do the trick just fine. 

Although Blanket sounds as really, really random as I really believe it is, things that are not actually names do indeed become people's names. People get called HalfPint and Homeslice and Scooter and Puddin and Tootie and Pookie (Seriously. The last two have turned into everyday names for cousins of mine who were never called Mary Jo or Dorothea unless they were in some serious trouble, I'd bet.)

My grandmother's name was Marie Louise but as is often the case with siblings her brother and sister called her Sissy and she was Sis to everyone in her life for 80 years (80!) except official business types. And it was weird when she moved into long-term care facilities and the myriad nurses and social workers and aides switched her back into a Marie in her last years, when she was always a Sis. She shared her name with her mother, also a Marie Louise in an unusual female senior/junior kind of situation.

My grandmother, tall and silver-haired, no-nonsense and obsessed with yard work and taking care of children, looked like a Sis, as I often believe people turn into a reflection of their names, as they come to look like how we know them, as they come to look like themselves. Sis looked better Magic Markered on a bowling bag, or on the underside of a Tupperware container at church. It made sense. Marie was her big girl clothes, her high heels, as pretty a name as it is. Sis and still sometimes Sissy were her everyday kicks. They fit better. 

Come to think of it, my mother's mother called her Sister too, the middle girl with three brothers, although my Southern Virginia-influenced  Grandma said "Sista." I have a little sister so it's surprising that I didn't fall in the same line. 

To be clear, all of this in no way means that if your brother calls you Jackass you should embrace it. Bad, unrequested nicknames are terrible and can and should be summarily rejected. There are exceptions to every warm and fuzzy rule, because there are people who will call their brother Jackass, even without provocation, and these people ruin good times and still send e-mail chain letters too. 

Laurie is what I need to get things done and answer questions and get my paycheck, that sort of thing. But LDub makes me smile, just like Laurie Anne pulls me back to the center of gravity when I'm with my family. I couldn't have predicted this when I started out, because as planned and protracted as formal name choices are for parents, the very best nicknames are organic. We earn them. They come about in everyday back and forth with people who usually see the most of us and know us the best and who therefore see us at our best and worst.

I gave Lou Ann back earlier this year. No one will ever call me that again and really that's for the best because no one could rock that less than awkwardly except my grandma. So I put it in my archive and know that someone loved me enough to make it up while we were hanging out around the house when I was a baby. That's gold. You keep that stuff forever, and take it out when everything else feels particularly underwhelming and it should help at least a little. 

I'll stop myself from thinking that his name may be the least of his concerns and say anyway that I don't know if Blanket will stay Blanket or even Prince or go the Zowie Bowie route (also? Not a nickname. Totally on purpose.) and switch himself up to Tom or Bill or, more appropriately, Mike. His life - and the people in it - will help figure that out for him.

Nicknamey Stuff Around the Web: 

I am (now) openly blog-stalking Disnazzio who is a new find for me and conveniently happens to be writing more lately. I Just Wanted to be Sure of You, a post about her friend Bucko and why their mutual nickname has a lot to do with their relationship, made me cry tears of relatedness. It's quite beautiful. 

 Jess at Du Wax Loo Lu likes the options for nicknames in her own name and is thinking about how to handle naming her children.

If you're feeling neglected, name yourself. Shaquille O'Neal does. Shaq Fu? Shaqquie Robinson? Go for it. 

Joanna Goddard talks terms of endearment specifically on A Cup of Jo. 

Victoria at Victoria is Only a Wee Bit Crazy gives people nicknames so she'll remember who they are. No kidding.  I'm trying desperately not to wonder if anyone has ever done this to me because it's so not about me. I may be failing. 

My favorite online Half-Pint tweets Laura Ingalls Wilder-style.  

Family and Photography Contributing Editor Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites and shares this post in honor of the best kind of happy accidents.  

]]> Your Child, My Life, Our Family - at the Beach and Everywhere http://www.blogher.com/your-child-my-life-our-family-beach-and-everywhere 2009-08-13T15:05:42-05:00 2009-08-13T15:16:46-05:00 lauriewrites "Laurie, why did God put all that water out there?"

She spread her three-year-old arms out wide to the ocean, with which she was precariously making friends, running down and teetering on the edge of the water til the baby waves splashed over her feet, then quickly running back, countless times. It wasn't getting old.

]]> "Laurie, why did God put all that water out there?"

She spread her three-year-old arms out wide to the ocean, with which she was precariously making friends, running down and teetering on the edge of the water til the baby waves splashed over her feet, then quickly running back, countless times. It wasn't getting old.

Oh. Wow. Is that multiple choice? Be fast with the thinking, woman.

"I don't really know how it happened, sweet pea. But I guess he needed something to balance out all the earth and sand? Does that make sense?"

And um, there is matter, and the matter is in different forms, and this water matter came up out of the earth and oh wow, I'm so bad at science. It wasn't like I was actually painting my nails in class, although there were the multiple sub-par attempts at geology in college.

"Yeah."

"Okay? I'm sorry I don't know more."

"Yeah. I still like it."

"Me too."

And that was that. It may be bad to admit in response to such a heavy question that you have no idea, but I often don't know what else to do besides turn them into a discussion because me, what the hell do I know, so let's just be partners in not knowing. Solidarity - especially in wondering about things - is cool. And one of the bigger rocks of my life is that if I don't know the answer I say that. And in this case, out of deference to her parents' theology, I left the premise of the question alone completely. I'd been asked to be a godmother of sorts. Some things even I don't argue.

**************************
The day before, her mother, my cousin and oldest friend, stood in the hallway of our beach place in a sun hat and asked me if I was going to come out and play in the sand - with her, mind you, not her child.

Building sand castles was big business for us as children spending a week together on this same vacation every year. She was into form and structure, whereas I've always specialized in the wet sand drippy variety given my challenges with both of those things. Her asking me this dead seriously at 38 in the same words she probably used at 8 meant I needed to pretend to need something in the other room so I could really just wipe tears away with a beach towel.

"I was wondering when you were going to come out and play with me," she said.

It's like oxygen to feel so valued, and you don't know you're suffocating til you get it sometimes. I am six months older. Our fathers are brothers. Our path together has been long and not always smooth, but she's on my I'd-take-a-bullet shortlist, because I get all girlified Clint Eastwood sometimes when I love you. And when it comes down to important things like a day at the beach, we all still need to play - we need the people who do it with us to be people we trust, who are fun, and in some cases who have been there for a long time.

The people in my life are generous in sharing their children with me. And it occurred to me a few times in a week lived by an immense body of water - did I mention it goes all the way to Europe, hello - with two little people I care about that one of the only good things about not having my own children might be the preservation of my remaining nerves. Even watching kids I love who are still in no way my own, I'm an overseer who makes up funny nicknames and makes stupid faces and basically keeps them in comedy routine mode for days, but the whole time, I'm watching you, ocean, so back off because I'll cut you. I'll cut...water. That's right. And I'm grabbing the three-year-old's hand although she's all, LET ME GO I'M OKAY and yelling obnoxiously at the seven-year-old to go against the current to swim back a little, before he's pulled halfway to the pier and can't find his way back because he's not paying a bit of attention to where anyone or anything is and WHY IS NO ONE ELSE NOTICING THIS TRAGEDY IN WAITING HERE? WHERE ARE YOU ALL? I AM ONLY ONE PERSON WHO IS NOT A STRONG SWIMMER.

It's so (honestly) blessed frightening to me to see those tiny little arms and legs trusting water that can sweep them out to sea or just to a bottom where no one can see. Raised by a mother who feared water, that's why I throw myself in now, but that's just me so it's okay. When it comes to the babies, hell no. Life vest? Seventeen big lifeguards? (The lifeguards at this beach look a little frail, I'm just saying.) Grade-A floaty things with extra flotation ability? Never enough. You can never. have. enough.

But it's clear that you also cannot let them see you panic, so you have to sing a song or just scream a name again like you're just naturally counting heads when your heart is caught by a really big huge wave. It turns out that all of this behavior is really exhausting.

***************************

By the last day, she was running in fearless with her big brother, racing him from tide pool to shoreline, laughing out loud, Dora bathing suit easy to spot because it was hot pink and well, the big Dora face didn't hurt. It was all really beautiful to see. I calmed down. Some.

On the sand someone who loves me and her talks to me about adoption, about options. She makes it sound easy, and in theory it kind of is. There are children who need homes, there are people who need help, she says and I'm just the person to give it. I have the compassion. I have the desire. But my mind races and midway through the conversation I kind of want to scream and I start to feel agitated and overwhelmed and not really in the right place to discuss these choices.

People want to fix things for me, all the time. They want to fill in my blanks, settle me down the way they know I need it, and this is why I'm lucky because I am so loved. But it's not that simple. It's just me. I'm not sure if they get that part? How could I afford it? What if I got sick, who would step in? What if what if what if?

Also, if I'm honest? Do I want to handle a rack of front-loaded needs on my own? Do I have to? Is that even fair, to you or to me, as fragile as I can be some days, as in need of help myself, obviously or not? I know so well that I'm not a selfish person, I know that I can give until it hurts. And in some ways that's the problem.

And as much as I know they mean well, the overlay of "You can do this, because you do these things" makes it sound too easy, adds a subtext of "you should, because you can." I don't know. It's fairly easy to walk the beach and watch out for the safety of a child in a most temporary way. It's easy - for me - to build that relationship of humor and trust with her. At the end of the day, I'm not responsible (something else that's pointed out to childless people on occasion - the supposed bliss of that lack of permanence. People should think twice before they throw it out as a positive with some of us. Again, just saying.) I don't know if I can swing it, and it's the one thing in life I'd least want to - could afford to - screw up.

I ended the week existentially cranky and a little sad, not wishing to discuss uncomfortable things with people who cared about me, preferring to blame it on hormones or a personality flaw, whatever. It was harder this year to go back to a life that while it is in no way solitary (really, so many people, where did you all come from, hi!) has a hole that I dance around, that I often can't identify, that after years of screwing up by racing to fill, I just let lie and sometimes that's difficult but it's all I know to or if I'm being honest can do at this point.

I do not know what I'll choose. I do not know what life will present to me, or what will make sense to pursue. I'm making friends with moving forward in a rational way. But I do know that there is an ache real and finally permissible when I stand and watch a life that isn't and may well never be mine, when I stand temporarily in someone else's shoes, when at the end of every day I, one of the most social of animals I know, am fundamentally alone.

This is hard to write and may be hard to read. Truth sucks, even partially, sometimes. I refuse to varnish over it, in spite of my knowledge that I try to make the best choices, and the choices that would have possibly made me a mother so far have been quite the opposite.

It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It doesn't mean I'm not confused. It doesn't mean that sometimes I don't look back and chastise myself for the too-many years spent in this train wreck or that. It doesn't mean that tossed off suggestions that are meant to solve this dilemma for me don't piss me off even though I love the suggester with all my heart.

It also doesn't mean that I'm not at a happier, fuller place in my life than I've been in years, because I am. Conundrum. Paradox. I have it covered.

It's a weird, strange beach, this life, and someone did put all that water out there, surrounding it. And like anyone's, it has moments of happy and moments of unbearable sadness that pass and then there's just you on the sand, watching a little girl who has a lifetime ahead of her jump in waves that won't kill her because you'd die first. And sometimes it matters who she belongs to, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it matters what you've got, but mostly it doesn't. It was, this summer, a mix of sad and happy tears. It was a lot like looking into the sun.

Around the Internet, women writing about life without children, and with family, in some form.

Because I could have written something very similar, and because it made me cry, The Fine Art of Giving, from red-haired Blondie at Tales From Clark Street. (Note: in a moment of BlogHer Conference-induced joy, I texted my sister and said something like "You need to come next year because Rita Arens brought her sister and I think you'd like it too." To which my sister replied, "Who's Rita Arens?" My family has no idea what I do here, bless their hearts, but clearly I assume everyone knows who Rita is, and this is that sister I was telling my sister about. Just FYI.)

So I started bawling in all of my hacking, coughing, snotting glory. I called my parents, and they swooped in to pick up their 32-year-old broken baby. I went to their house for dinner and cried, "Some day you will be gone. Who will take care of me if I am sick?" That has always been my worst fear. That I am old and alone with no one to check in on me.

So we sat together on the couches and talked and talked and talked. Ma came up with a huge list of her friends who could bring me soup. While we were talking, a friend of mine texted to see if she could bring me anything. So I was reminded that I do have a support system already in place. I have aunties and uncles and cousins and friends and my parents' friends. They won't let me fall. They will extend their hands.

I just have to remember they are here. I just have to quit looking in the wrong direction for that kind of love.

Melanie Notkin at Savvy Auntie writes about happiness on her own terms at 40.

Julie Cole at the Mabelhood writes about her son's love for Mondays because of the time he spends with her sister Mare.

Photography and Family contributing editor Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites, with lots more photos on Flickr.

]]> Tattooed You at BlogHer 09 http://www.blogher.com/tattoed-you-blogher-09 2009-08-01T15:36:44-05:00 2009-08-01T15:51:34-05:00 lauriewrites I got my first tattoo when I was 25, and I still love it.

]]> I got my first tattoo when I was 25, and I still love it.

25 was a very different place and time, which meant an ex-boyfriend designed it and I got it in a small shop outside of Dayton, Ohio, from a very large man named Jimbo. I chose the design because, while not a firm believer in horoscopes, I've always identified with Capricorn symbolism, including a ruling planet of Saturn and the sun for my Leo rising sign. I knew this was something about me that would never change, and as tempting as it was to get an Eric Cartman bobblehead on my bicep, I figured I'd go with some stability and earth planet symbolism. Good call.

Me: "It's not going to hurt, right?" 

Jimbo: "The hell it won't." 

And that was accentuated by literal screaming from a girl getting pierced a few chairs over, so that was nice. I also asked him to make my planet "iridescent colors" and he translated that into seven shades of Juicy Fruit (c) gum, which for me works out fine just fine.

Here it is. And yes that is skin. No it is not obscene. You could see this in a bathing suit, but you won't. LUCKY. 

I knew I wanted another tattoo soon, but I didn't really know when it would happen and my plans to mark 35 with one got lost in a shuffle of life stuff and it's just as well because I like it better on the other side. I'm not calculated about much, apparently not even permanent body art. But when Shannon aka Mr. Lady put a plan together for people to get inked this year in Chicago during the BlogHer Conference, I knew immediately that this is where it would happen. And it did, on the last day.

There are a lot of reasons for why I wanted to make this happen here and most of them are aggravatingly mushy. First of all, I can go on and on about how much this conference and overall BlogHer experience mean to me, which made the time and place perfect. Second of all, I knew I had some memorializing to do with this piece, which ended up including a claddagh symbol (Irish crown, heart and hands for loyalty, love and friendship) and the initials of the greatest woman to ever touch my life, who had the nerve to go and die on me this winter.

And there was also the 20 percent discount and the free t-shirt. I'm not a total idiot. 

My BlogHer roommate Genie Alisa tells the story of how this came to pass from a different angle than I do, and includes photo and video as well.  The final design came about as haphazardly as she describes, or as I like to call it "organically" because that makes me feel better. And to this I say, "Do not do as I do!" And that especially true if you're a first-timer. I had these ideas floating around in my head for months, and I knew I would be happy with them. I always sort of knew I'd do the one I ended up with, just because, and I knew it would turn out ok. But if you're a more nervous sort about this kind of thing - i.e., if you're sane and don't believe your intuition should always be driving the car - take the time. Get the drawing done ahead of time.

Here are a few other hints, tip and trick kinds of things. They are solely my own opinion, so feel free to completely ignore me (but don't, especially for 1, 3 and 4. Those are important.): 

1. Know what you're doing, and why. Do not get a tattoo because you think it'll look cool or your friend is getting one. Yes, I might be in my late 30s, but I can still be impressionable. Get one because, after mulling it over for a period of weeks or maybe even months, you really, really want one. I get mine to mark time. Some people, like Mr. Lady, create family portraits.  We all have our reasons, it's just good if they're solid. 

2. Go with something original. The flash art on the walls is fine for some situations, but mostly for idea jogging. If you're going to get a design drilled into your skin, it's nice to know it has a personal touch, and yeah, that it won't be the same design a million other people have. 

3. Do not be afraid to work collaboratively with the artist. Dave Dillon at Tattoo Factory was excellent. I loved him immediately because when I came in I said I'd heard that Beth, one of the female artists was great, hoping he'd pass me to her. "We're all good," he said, and that was that. The first drawing he showed me, I wasn't crazy about the placement of the initials. I am also a people-pleaser and it's hard for me to tell someone to try again, but in this case this is going on my body so it is my - and your - right to be appropriately assertive. He drew it again, this time was the charm, and I think he got what I was after in the first place. So speak up. You might be able to adjust these designs, but not without effort and expense, and a lot of times it will never work right if it didn't the first time. It's your body, your money. And when all was said and done, we had a great, relaxing time watching Spike TV. And also, and this might be my pain threshold, it really minimally hurt. 

4. Take care of it. About.com has a nice guide, but it's really simple. Keep it clean, put some basic antibiotic or petroleum jelly on it, don't break your neck contorting yourself to see it in the mirror, the basics. I don't bleed a lot but I've seen some people do. Just use common sense and a basic care kit your artist will probably give you and that's that.  

5. Enjoy it. You got it. Show it off. I was a naysayer who didn't understand the allure of tattooing for a long time but now I really enjoy my body art just like I would any other thing that's a part of me - albeit a permanent part.

I haven't been prepared for some of the reactions I've gotten, and in fact don't understand the investment of others in the body modification of other people. How you decorate yourself is none of my business. I may never understand elf ears, but I do not have to get them. And I learned long ago from my number of pierced and tattooed friends that it says absolutely nothing about lifestyle habits or personality. The softest heart I know is inside the body of a 300-pound man who has full sleeves and leg work, who rarely drinks and doesn't touch drugs, which is the opposite of what I've seen people assume about him based on his body mod choices. It's a personal choice and a cosmetic commitment, but again, the reasons vary widely. The thing is, I rather enjoy the concept of being an 80 year old woman with a tattoo. There will be a lot of us running around. 

Other BlogHer tattoo sorts of things

Brittany at the Perks of Being Me got the Little Prince on her foot during the conference.  Contrariwise - Literary Tattoos is one of my favorite sites, with all kinds of fun and interesting images. Were I a serious Harry Potter head I'm sure I'd go for the stars. SO MANY Harry Potter tattoos. Amazing.

Kelli at South City Confidential went with her friends Stef and Kelly to get tattoos at Tattoo Factory between sessions.  I can't tell whose is whose but they're all in her Flickr stream, and I'm hoping one or all will jump in here and claim them. 

Oh, wait, I found at least one. Kelly at Sounding My Barbaric Gulp got the fork and knife/Bon Appetit design. Which means I probably want to go to Missouri for dinner.  

Melissa has a plan to collect the tattoos of BlogHer in a photo essay. If you've got one and want to play, send it her way.

Here's Mr. Lady getting her work done at the Tattoo Factory, with Nick. 

Anyone else get one? Got one you love? Here's your chance to share it here. I know I will. 

Now.  (And please please please check out Genie's shot of the best temporary tattoo on a pregnant woman's stomach, ever. I have so hit the jackpot with friends from the computer.)

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites, where the story will soon be told of how her mother indicated that this, while quite attractive, should really be her last tattoo. To which she replied, "Right. This year. And also I'm 38." 

]]> Fallen Princesses: Art Imitates Real Life http://www.blogher.com/fallen-princesses-art-imitates-real-life 2009-06-26T05:00:00-05:00 2009-06-26T05:41:58-05:00 lauriewrites When Diana, Princess of Wales, died in a car crash in a Paris tunnel,any remaining illusions I had of charmed lives for princesses did too. I was a teenaged Anglophile, one of the millions who woke up extra early to watch her wedding day on tv, and felt real sadness - whether I should have or not - in the years after as that initial
fairy tale story crumbled.

]]> When Diana, Princess of Wales, died in a car crash in a Paris tunnel,any remaining illusions I had of charmed lives for princesses did too. I was a teenaged Anglophile, one of the millions who woke up extra early to watch her wedding day on tv, and felt real sadness - whether I should have or not - in the years after as that initial
fairy tale story crumbled.

There it was. Princesses - at least one,anyway - marry people who don't love them all that much, or at least not enough to cut ties with his ex-girlfriend. She gets an eating disorder and never quite gets over her parents' divorce. She goes through a series of bad relationships and then ends up unthinkably dead in a traffic tunnel. And this when it seems, only just seems, that she might be beyond the worst part of the learning curve.

I'm tempted to sugar-coat this as some kind of life lesson but I fail miserably at that, which may be why Dina Goldstein's Fallen Princesses photo series remains very much on my mind, a week after I saw it for the first time on the JPG Magazine site.


Even Cinderella's coach breaks down in a sketchy neighborhood. All images brilliantly shot by and courtesy of Dina Goldstein. 

Goldstein takes princesses - the Disney versions, this time - and depicts what may have happened after the closing credits.  Cinderella's hitching because she got drunk in a dive bar. Snow White looks miserable with a house full of children. And in the ones that hurt me to look at the most, Rapunzel holds her wig of long braids during chemotherapy, and Belle lies on an operating table during a plastic surgery procedure. 

As a strictly in-the-moment shooter who knows and chooses not to take on the work that goes into studio photography, I'm impressed with Goldstein's work on a technical level and also of any use of photography to intentionally comment on larger issues. It's one of its most important uses, I think.. In Goldstein's words on JPGMag.com:

As a young girl, growing up abroad, I was not exposed to Fairy tales.
These new discoveries lead to my fascination with the origins of Fairy tales. I explored the original brothers Grimm's stories and found that they have very dark and sometimes gruesome aspects, many of which were changed by Disney. I began to imagine Disney's perfect Princesses juxtaposed with real issues that were affecting women around me, such as illness, addiction and self-image issues.

Now, despite what any Facebook quiz would have me think, I am not any kind of Disney princess, unless upcoming releases include Princess Who Swears-a-lot, or @Laurie of Twitterlandia. I grew up in the generation after the classics were released - Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Cinderella, and they really didn't work for me. I was honestly freaked out even at an early age by the recurring theme of women needing to pass out for indeterminate periods of time in order for things to get better. No thank you. I was way into 101 Dalmations and Mary Poppins, stuff like that, and if anything really scarred me for life it was Bambi.

Real life has not been princessy either.  Issues, I have issues. Externally, weight gain, a congenital facial scar, eyeglasses, unfortunate spiral perms. Internally, a crazy penchant for overanalysis and an occasional attitude problem. You name it, I got it. For more appropriate pop culture references, I was Winona Ryder in Heathers, minus the Christian Slater killer boyfriend, or Janeane Garofalo to my best friend's Uma Thurman in the Truth About Cats and Dogs. I maybe passed out sometimes, but there was no guy standing over me at the end crying. (And if there was, he needed money for the tab.)

Now that's just a cheap parenthetical joke. But the truth is, I've been jealous of women whose lives have appeared to be more charmed, more princessy than mine, at least aesthetically. I've thought that real-life girls who were popular, and pretty, and consistently boyfriended, were better off than me.

That's the truth. Sometimes I thought it because they strongly insinuated it, or because social interactions made me feel that way. Or maybe I thought it because of music videos, or movies with impossibly happy endings that looked nothing like my life (or to be honest, anyone's I knew, but we all kind of live in our own head until jarred out of it.) Even last night, watching a rerun of The Office at the gym, I was all, "Look how cute Jim is. Where's MY Jim? Pam's life is AWESOME. I'll just keep doing this here elliptical exercise for thousands more hours and some day, my Jim will come up to me in the parking lot with Dwight who will hand me things to photocopy!"

I said there were issues, right, just so we're clear? Now, I know and you know that Pam is not real, and in most cases I would not indeed like to be a paper company receptionist in Scranton, Pa., (unless Jon Krasinski really did work there, oh my word) but this is what happens to my brain while watching closed-captioned sitcoms while exercising. I have no real desire to fly around with a guy on a magic carpet Jasmine-style, or dance with talking tea cups and butter dishes waiting for a beast to transform in some creepy castle. I would not have argued, however, if Lloyd Dobler showed up in the Malibu. Alas, the person I mistook for him showed up in a trashed Jetta for which he paid $1 and moved into an undergraduate dorm five years later at an advanced age, leaving me behind with a stack of books about letting go Buddhist style and an assortment of irrational behaviors.

Would a princess have better luck? I don't know, because I haven't met any. But life proves to me frequently that real life is not charmed really, for anyone. Happiness is fleeting and weird. Princessy people are happy or sad depending, just like average people, whatever that may mean. I know people who I believe to be very attractive who pick themselves apart worse than I ever have, who are not happy with their internal or external selves. Beauty pageant winners are dethroned, while it is considered remarkable that Susan Boyle can sing at all given her physical appearance, and when she opens her mouth the world pats itself on the back for its enlightenment until she gets second place and ends up hospitalized (there's a Disney theme for you.) And you know, while I'm on the uplifting tip: nobody gets out alive. 

Like my co-contributing editor and brilliant blogger Rita Arens wrote about the Fallen Princesses, happiness is relative, and hard-won: 

In real life, happiness is the time spent being thankful you aren't
going through hell anymore.  In real life, we don't know happy unless
we've been sad, really sad, or really angry, or really sick. Once we've
been all of those things, we learn to appreciate moments when nothing
is wrong --- and see them as happiness instead of the status quo.

If Rita's right, I should be accompanied by bluebirds 24/7, and even though I'm not currently bursting with joy, what I'm learning to identify as happiness in her terms is simple contentment, best experienced by not comparing other peoples' experiences and circumstances with mine. This may be why I choose not to watch the Real Housewives of New Jersey. 

A larger aim of Goldstein's set might be to realize the very obvious and basic truth that is nonetheless easy to miss when you're caught up in bibbity-bobbity-boo and whatnot: I don't decide happy for princesses and their ilk any more than they ought to decide it for me, no matter what the zeitgeist says. And if I think for a minute that anyone is immune to common suffering like disease, addiction, lost love, or body image issues - no matter what slice of princess life we've seen in movies or through the media lens - that misconception is mostly on me.

As another well-known BlogHer, co-founder Lisa Stone wrote on Surfette in response to Rita's post: 

Amen. We live, we learn, we grow up, we are thankful, we learn to find our happiness.

Unless, for some reason, we don't.

Other reactions: 

A Cup of Jo finds the series "genius and heartbreaking."

Kelly at DesignCrush liked "seeing the flip side of the typical fairytale."

The Queen of the Quarterlife Crisis was "enthralled" by the images. 

My friends and I have been saying for years that it's really the
fairytales we heard as children that actually fucked us up. These grand
illusions of men climbing up a girl's braid to "rescue her" can really
give a girl a COMPLEX. Anyhow, the artist here replaces the "happily
ever after" with reality that addresses current issues such as war in
the middle east, addiction and self-image.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites, with many photos to be found on Flickr.  

]]> Have Books, Will Travel - Reading Road Trip Across America http://www.blogher.com/have-books-will-travel-reading-road-trip-across-america 2009-06-09T02:47:44-05:00 2009-06-09T02:47:44-05:00 lauriewrites One of the greatest things about reading is that it can take you virtually anywhere without ever having to leave your house (or library or park bench or wherever you happen to find yourself.) An equally great thing is to be inspired to go and see the places described in books - to use them as inspiration for seeking out these places beyond their pages.  

]]> One of the greatest things about reading is that it can take you virtually anywhere without ever having to leave your house (or library or park bench or wherever you happen to find yourself.) An equally great thing is to be inspired to go and see the places described in books - to use them as inspiration for seeking out these places beyond their pages.  

Long ago, before reading anything in a moving vehicle made me sick, I tore through books in the car just like I did everywhere else. I read constantly, and being on the move didn't stop me. The last book I remember reading completely on a road trip was Anne Rice's The Queen of the Damned on a trip to Disney World with my family in 1990. Parts of it do take place in Florida, oddly enough, and having no interest in visiting the underworld unless and until I absolutely have to, I was probably more taken with the descriptions of London than I was anywhere else in the book. 

Last week, Twitter friend Janine tweeted about Sandra Foyt of On Living by Learning and her plan for a Read Across America road trip with her kids.  it sounded great to me, so I clicked over.

I’m planning a road trip across the USA.  Just me, two kids, an old Chevy Suburban, backpacking gear, and a stack of books.

Usually, I pick a location, pack a few guide books, and go.  I can’t
do that this time as there are time constraints to consider: setting
aside time for visiting friends in California; and arriving in time to
meet my husband at the airport when he flies in.  Nevertheless, I’m
determined to immerse my family in a variety of American adventures,
despite having to limit the length of our stops.

Their stops will include Hannibal, Missouri - home of Tom Sawyer; Channel Islands National Park in California, inspired by The Island of the Blue Dolphins, and one of my personal childhood dream spots, DeSmet, South Dakota, home of the Ingalls family and their legendary daughter, author Laura Ingalls Wilder. They'll be listening to audio versions of the books, and discussing them as they go. 

(Not DeSmet, but Mansfield, Missouri, where Laura eventually moved and lived the rest of her life. Photo from Ingalls-Wilder archives.) 

Foyt says her inspiration for this and other travel-related reading is Storybook Travels: from Eloise's New York to Harry Potter's London, Visits to 30 of the Best-Loved Landmarks in Children's Literature by Colleen Dunn Bates and Susan LaTempa. (This Parenthood.com review highlights several of the destinations in the book and the books that inspired them.) She also includes links to several online resources she's using to plan her trip, as well as other books about road trips. Her son, a budding paleontologist, just wants to look for fossils. For him she'll bring Cruisin' the Fossil Freeway:An Epoch Tale of a Scientist and an Artist on the Ultimate 5,000 Mile Paleo Road Trip. For her daughter, "a connoiseur of the weird and unusual," she'll have 101 Places You Gotta See Before You're 12.

I travel without children, but as a book lover and avid traveler I find this idea just as appealing. And it doesn't matter who you've got in the car with you - or certainly if you're on your own.  Since I discovered this idea I've been thinking of cities and regions I love that have amazing literary history, that have inspired me to seek out the voices writing about them - New Orleans, San Francisco, New York, London (I'm an Austen fan - I could go for a country tour, no problem.) Hemingway made me see and taste Europe almost like I was there, and when I go back, I should probably bring A Moveable Feast for a re-read. KantoGirl probably would too.

There are many others. I loved Linda Ellerbees memoir of food and travel, Take Big Bites: Adventures Around the World and Across the Table. I've even listened to the ultimate head and road trip book, Jack Kerouac's On the Road, while I was driving back to Ohio. I know it's  love or hate thing for the most part, but if you're in Denver and have a thing for the beats, check out the Beat Poetry Driving Tour. (Of course.) 

What books could inspire you to road trip? What would a road trip inspire you to read?

For now, I'm stuck on Foyt's DeSmet idea, and completely openly jealous of Wendy McClure's recent trips to visit Laura's final home in Mansfield, Missouri, while researching her upcoming book The Wilder Life.  I'd be totally fine with starting in Wisconsin this summer and working my way west, because that's just the kind of geek I am. I already feel like I've been there, knowing these books as well as I do - this would just bring it all nicely full circle.

What would you bring? Where would you go?

(Image from Ingalls-Wilder archives.)  

Related road reading: 

Catherine Pond of the Cupcake Chronicles connected with Wendy in Missouri, and Wendy's shots of the real "little house on the prairie" in Independence, Kansas. 

Violet Crush's reflections on Island of the Blue Dolphins, with pictures. 

Road Trip Book Reviews from RoadtripAmerica.com.

A road trip through literary New England, from Sheri at Roadtripsforfamilies.com.

Jessica Coleman of Both Eyes Book Blog writes about reading The Willoughbys with her family as part of their "new tradition" of reading during road trips.

Beyond this continent, Michelle at Fluttering Butterflies gives a literary tour of her home county of Berkshire, United Kingdom. (Here's your Jane Austen fix if you'd like one.) E-How posted How to Take a Literary Tour of Britain. 

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites. 

]]> 10 Summer Vacation Photo Commandments http://www.blogher.com/10-summer-vacation-photo-commandments 2009-05-31T18:32:10-05:00 2009-05-31T18:41:54-05:00 lauriewrites The summer solstice puts the actual season a few weeks away, but the May and June proliferation of graduations, weddings, beach trips and barbecues mean summertime even if the calendar hasn't yet caught up. Since so many events often mean much capturing of memories on memory cards (and film? Yes, please?), it seems like a good time to make a little list of Ten Entirely Subjective Commandments for Successful Summer Photography.

Let's shoot, shall we? (Sorry.)

]]> The summer solstice puts the actual season a few weeks away, but the May and June proliferation of graduations, weddings, beach trips and barbecues mean summertime even if the calendar hasn't yet caught up. Since so many events often mean much capturing of memories on memory cards (and film? Yes, please?), it seems like a good time to make a little list of Ten Entirely Subjective Commandments for Successful Summer Photography.

Let's shoot, shall we? (Sorry.)

1. Get your gear in gear. Find your battery chargers. Um, actually, find your camera. Then make sure it works. Then make sure it's charged. It's sad to head out the door to a highly photographable, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime event and find out last minute that the pictures aren't happening due to preventable technical difficulties - like I did, at my sister's graduation last week, when I walked out the apartment door with the battery still in the charger, on the wall. DUH. Besides, even if you're not that spaced out, summer is a great time to scan photo sales if you find you're in need of an upgrade, and hopefully you'll have until next year when all the new models come out and your sweet camera is obsolete. The new crop of ever-cheaper, powerful point and shoot and entry level DSLR options is seemingly endless, if a little overwhelming. The digital camera space on Cnet.com is my go-to for comparisons and reviews. 

2. Make friends with your camera, if you haven't. Read - at least skim - the instruction manual, preferably the part about what the different controls mean on the main dial. Yes, this might hurt a little, and I don't want to underestimate anyone's skill level, but at the nature photography classes I teach, almost to a woman the students are terrified of their cameras beyond "auto" mode, and this gets worse as the manufacturers pack more power and picture quality into basic point-and-shoots. You don't have to be a techie to learn a thing or two about what you can make this little machine do, but if you pick up a few pointers it will show in your photos. Does your camera have a "fireworks" option? Maybe. Do you need to understand how it works? Not necessarily, but if you even just know to click over to it your 4th of July pictures will rock. And the best thing is you never have to tell. 

3. Work out your shooting rhythm when traveling and/or attending events in groups. My family is used to the fact by now that I'll always be lagging behind because I'm taking pictures, and I am very skilled at spotting the backs of their heads in the distance. Good thing I'm a fast walker who likewise knows when to step up my game if we're behind schedule. It means a lot to me that they don't nag me to hurry up - much - and I think they enjoy the results of my work enough now that they leave it alone. 

4.  If you're always the photographer, get in the picture, even if it's one, even if it's just to say you were there. If you have "I hate photos of myself" issues (which I clearly understand) maybe this is the season to work with them a little. If you don't, and it's just because you're always the one with the camera, that's even more of a reason to work your way in the frame at some point. On our recent trip to California for my sister's graduation, a picture-taking friend was along who shot one of the nicest pictures ever of us with our parents. My Facebook friends were shocked to see me in a picture that wasn't self-snapped in a ladies room (hey, whatever works), and I'm glad to have a memento of the occasion to frame for my parents and for us. Win. 

Here we are, courtesy of Holly, aka blogblossoms, parent of one of my sister's classmates. Thanks again, Holly. We really appreciate it (especially me, because one Christmas present in a better-than-average frame? Done! And no, the wine glasses will not be cropped out. Tastees, they were tastes! Thank you, Temecula, California.)

 

 

5. Only two of you, siblings, spouse, bffs?? Ask someone close by to snap your photo. I know, I know it's tempting to stick with the arms-length couple self-portrait, and I'm all in favor because they can be fun, but sometimes you want to both be in the frame without your arms freakishly outstretched. Also, return the favor. I offered to take the photos of two different families in California
last week so they'd all be in the picture, and it was almost
embarrassing how grateful they were. Scoping out passersby for a
potential photographer can be awkward, so offering puts people out of
their minor social misery and also restores a little bit of faith in
humanity. Again, win.

6. If you're traveling, dump memory cards every day if you can. If you can't, either because you lack a laptop or another storage source, alternate cards and leave one in the room. If the card goes wonky or worse yet, the camera is stolen, better to lose only part of your vacation shots than all of them. I typically split trips up on a few 4GB cards, with one 8GB in my bag for video. 

7. Use your mobile phone to shoot in addition to or in the absence of a camera. Some parts of my trip to San Diego last week were not conducive to lugging the big camera around, and sometimes shots happened when I wasn't prepared with anything other than the iPhone. I'm here to tell you - some of these shots are some of my favorite of the trip. Add in my obsession with the ShakeIt app that allows iPhone photos to "develop" on the screen like tiny Polaroids, and yes - I'm sold, for the 1.99 cent cost of this little gem. (Thanks to Aimee at Greeblemonkey for that tip.)

The plumeria, they're everywhere in Ocean Beach! I'd pay money to take the gorgeous smell home with me, but the photo is the next best thing. 

8. Edit and upload (or even print, remember that?) as the summer rolls along - and selectively, especially if you're short on time. It's tempting to wait until you've got a chunk of time to deal with the hundreds of Grand Canyon shots, but the deal is that if you do wait, you'll end up with a family wedding, kindergarten graduation and the first crab feast to deal with too, and that will all feel even more daunting. On Flickr, less can be way more, and better to document the best of what you've got than wait for the whole shebang. And the best will stand out when you skim, trust me. You know this.

9. Speaking of mobile phones, upload to your Flickr, Facebook, Twitpic, etc. on the go. Pick your online social networking and/or photo storage spot, plug the contact information into your cell phone, and rock it out. It's the easiest way I've found to practice my moblogging skills, which is a good thing considering my current lack of frequency in even updating my Flickr stream, much less my poor little blog. I am not (unfortunately) paid to shill for Apple, but my iPhone is my favorite and my favorite thing about it is that I can slap stuff up on Flickr and, increasingly, Facebook when I feel like it. Want to make your friends and family jealous that you're sitting on a beach and they're sitting at a desk in the suburbs? Go ahead. I do. I don't care who thinks I ought be reading my book instead of geeking out on the beach. I'm making my own visual, digital archive and I love it. I can even post to Typepad - my blog platform - by putting the contact information in my phone or using my phone's Web browser if I'm feeling particularly ambitious. 

10. Finally, just take - and print! - the picture. Have fun. Walk the beach. Skip posed and go candid at family events and vacations. "Good pictures" are relative, and what works for someone else may not for you. Growing into photography has literally made me see the world differently, and it's gotten to the point where I don't have to buy a bunch of souvenirs when I travel or worry I'll forget special events as time passes. My digital photo record is one of my most prized possessions and it's even better when I can share it with my family and friends. Making sure some of these shots make it to print is a bonus, especiaily for gift-giving and surrounding yourself with meaningful, hopefully beautiful, images on a daily basis.

This is the shot that I'm going to hang on my wall and put on my desktop at work, so when things are getting rough I can remember walking the glorious Sunset Cliffs National Park, feeling better than I had in months. Happy summer! 

 

Related:

Geek.com's round-up of the "Best Cameras for Summer 2009."

All about Facebook Mobile, from Facebook.com.

Keep your summer photo mojo going with Photojojo's (that was completely unintentional) very fun time capsule. Hook up your Flickr account with their Web site and twice a month you'll receive photos from that time, a year before. I love it. 

Sheri J's photoblog entry from last year: A Few Reasons I Miss Summer.

Shutter Sisters has news about an awesome National Geographic contest. The prize is a trip to the Galapagos Islands. 

Check out the Flickr blog for constant inspiration, including 5 question interviews with the likes of Barbara Fischer. 

20 Photography Twitters Worth Following - and the Five Best Waterproof Compact Cameras - from Popular Photography magazine. 

Laurie White, Contributing Editor for photography and family, writes at LaurieWrites and has way too many photos  (as Rubyshoes) on Flickr.

]]> Jon & Kate Plus 8: What I (Really Don't, Probably) Want to Know About Your Family http://www.blogher.com/jon-kate-plus-8-what-i-really-dont-probably-want-know-about-your-family 2009-05-27T16:06:18-05:00 2009-05-27T16:13:52-05:00 lauriewrites Before last night, I had watched Jon & Kate Plus 8 once, and vowed to never watch it again. And except for following the most basic of information in Tweet exchanges with my friend Jodi, I did not.  Until last night. Right.

]]> Before last night, I had watched Jon & Kate Plus 8 once, and vowed to never watch it again. And except for following the most basic of information in Tweet exchanges with my friend Jodi, I did not.  Until last night. Right.

I mean, why not? As a voracious consumer of both trash and treasure online, I have been bombarded by images of these people since news broke of Jon's alleged affair and then Kate's maybe-affair with the bodyguard and the rounds of the trash entertainment shows as I have been by the pre-emptive strike death coverage of both Patrick Swayze and Farrah Fawcett (who have not passed away, either of them, but when they do it will feel to me a little bit like they already did, thanks to Access Hollywood, closed captioned at the gym.)

There are allegedly 20 unforgettable Jon & Kate moments, Entertainment Weekly says, but I can't name more than a few and those happened last night in one miserable episode, which has left me thinking, I'll admit it. It drew 9.8 million viewers, more than any other TLC episode ever, so clearly I'm not alone. I'm thinking mostly, why do I care about this family? And do I really care, or is it just the power of utter media bombardment and blog chatter? And perhaps more to the point, why do they want me to care about them (except for Jon, who after five years appears to have woken from his slumber and realized he doesn't want me to, apparently?) Is it all about the money? Were the birthday party kids real or were those paid extras?

Most importantly, what about the Plus 8? What about the children, Jon and Kate? They're so cute. They're so young. They seem very bright. They still seem to like you. Is this the point where you're filming their birthday parties while pointedly not speaking to each other when you decide that maybe that kind of interpersonal drama - that intimately involves them - ought not to be shared on national television? Because even though I'm not a parent, I'm 99.9 percent certain that's what I'd decide (although I'm also that much certain that I'd never allow my family's life to be broadcast for public consumption. Just not my thing.)  

There is absolutely no reason for me to care, other than the horrible human draw to drama and real time train wrecks that makes some of us talk about people like this like we know them, like we're entitled to have an opinion about them and the choices they make as parents and family units. I have enought to do, what with my own family with its various issues and my ton of friends whose families I care about and it's just family family everywhere up in this joint. I didn't and still absolutely don't want to care about Kate Gosselin's (horrible, omg) hair or Jon's slack-jawed expression or the girl in the car (you've heard about the girl in the car, right? And the bodyguard? Sordid little story, the lot of it, really.)  I don't want to have my head invaded by images of and stories about a reality tv family from Berks County, Pa. (Right up the road, a couple hundred miles, not even, maybe! I wonder where they live? See?) who had sextuplets and twins and put those six littlest babies on television lickety-split right out of the womb.  

Even in this age of pre-fab reality, of people racing around the world for prizes and working out with trainers in insane fitness challenges, most of the shows are still about people living in houses and watching the drama unfold, let's face it, with a variety of strange twists thrown in. Jon and Kate aren't much different. Except now they're not doing well in the aftermath of her schlepping around the country to speaking engagements while he stays home and minds the farm. Now there is a huge big season premiere that interspersed awkward "KATE RULES THE WORLD" party footage (sample dialogue from Kate, pre-photograph: "Take your sunglasses off, Jon.") with very serious off-camera interviewer counselors. 

But who really knows? The stories conflict. Tonight didn't answer a whole lot,  especially for someone like me who's seen the show once, and never wanted to see it again until I, like probably thousands of unwitting souls, just wanted to see what the fuss was about.

With all I know about the cult of television reality and its mega-production and editing and basic untruths, one thing can't be denied - these are real, related people. These are parents. And although I want very badly not to have an opinion, it turns out in the light of day I do. I can't imagine a time in my life, assuming that my life magically had children in it that it currently lacks, where I would broadcast them to the world in the shadow of my disintegrating marriage to their father, where I would drag them into my ugly van in an awkward trip to Target while I bitched to the cameras that I was planning and executing the party all by myself. Or, for that matter, where I would sit on a couch that the tv network i had contracted with paid for and sullenly state (hi Jon) that this was "no one's business" when I signed on the dotted line and made it the business of the tv-watching public. 

Hey, if he's ready to get out of this, stand up. Get out. One of my most deeply held beliefs is that you can work your stuff out however you want, as consenting, hopefully competent adults. But when it comes to the children you made together, you'd better have your stuff together for them, because they didn't ask for their lives in general or their lives on TLC. And when it comes down to it, Jon can sit on the couch and be morose all he wants. People can feel for him for being married to a woman who only bemoans crying on tv because it will "ruin her makeup" and who bitches about filling 30 gift bags for a party for six kids and yells at him to the point where he looks anesthetized and angry at the same time. He married her. She married him. They chose to reproduce and ended up with eight human beings under their care, and then they went on television. Deal with it, both of you. And put your (reality tv) money where your "my children are my life" mouth is, and take them off the air if it's that bad. Take yourselves off the air. Take your family off the air.

Unless you don't want to, and we'll all be left to deal with the question of why the lives of other families interest us, especially when they get messy and challenging, especially when they involve drama on this absurd level. (Please note that I'm speaking in the universal "we" and "us" here, of course, because I know this doesn't interest everyone.) And especially why are they interesting in cases when the redeeming value of "there but for the grace of God go I" or a reflection of a higher ideal  that we could learn something from is missing, when it's just about watching how messed up peoples' lives can be when they go to unexpected, uncomfortable places. And in that case, I really just want the "8" left alone, as much as that's my business too. Jon and Kate will be just fine, I'm quite sure. 

These questions are rhetorical - feel free to weigh in, because truly, I've almost always got enough to sweep on my own doorstep that I should be embarrassed about paying attention to anyone else, no matter how in my face they are. Don't you? 

Liz at Mabel's House, as self-described fan from the beginning, says Goodbye, Jon & Kate Plus 8. 

And I’m here to tell you… children are aware. They are intelligent and
they are constantly listening. And the Gosselin kids are aware that the
paparazzi stalk them. They are aware that their parents don’t like each
other. And they are aware that every moment of it is on camera.

I
love this show, so when I say that I’m boycotting it; it’s not an easy
decision. But I personally refuse to be part of the media hype leading
to this disaster. And I certainly hope Jon & Kate have put together
some healthy trust funds for the kids. Those poor little guys are going
to need it to pay for their future therapy sessions.

There is a Jon & Kate Plus 8 Without Pity site, yes there is. 

Backseat Cuddler has opinions about this, oh yes. 

Chicken Heart corrects Kate's grammar (my personal favorite was "I'm dying of freezing" but I'd probably say something similar so I'll be quiet.) but she still hates to see "their love fall apart."  

Us Magazine quotes Kate's sister-in-law urging people to give the children privacy by not watching the show. In Us Magazine. 

DadCentric has some harsh words for the whole shebang. 

Simply, the show needs to shut down. Then, the two of them need to get into counseling ASAP to see if they can pull it together for the sake of their eight kids. 

It is up to us, as fellow parents, to make it happen. We must stop being their enablers. 

No more tuning into watch the train wreck. No buying (or even viewing for free online) the tabloids that are following their every move and whine. Avoid all books written by or about these people (Kate is currently pushing some cheesy photo album of the kids and seems to have a cookbook on tap for October.) And for God's sake, if you see Jon hanging in a bar at 2 a.m. with some hot young things, smack him upside the head and tell him to get back to the bed he's made at home and deal with it.

Just in via Twitter: BlogHer CE Sweetney wrote an excellent piece on the premiere over at MamaPop.  I'd quote you some but it's all good. Check it out.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites. 

]]> Awkward Family Photos http://www.blogher.com/awkward-family-photos 2009-05-18T11:19:05-05:00 2009-05-18T11:24:05-05:00 lauriewrites Say "awkward family photos" and the first thing that comes to my mind is my grandmother's house, any Thanksgiving between the years of, say, 1978-2004. We were all forced to gather around one end of the table in a too-small dining room, while she tried to operate a camera that always - always - malfunctioned (Disc cameras, even, for a few of those years. Remember those? See Boing Boing's "Bad Old Days: Kodak Disc 4000 Camera" for a refresher and then give your PowerShot a big kiss. )

]]> Say "awkward family photos" and the first thing that comes to my mind is my grandmother's house, any Thanksgiving between the years of, say, 1978-2004. We were all forced to gather around one end of the table in a too-small dining room, while she tried to operate a camera that always - always - malfunctioned (Disc cameras, even, for a few of those years. Remember those? See Boing Boing's "Bad Old Days: Kodak Disc 4000 Camera" for a refresher and then give your PowerShot a big kiss. )

Anyway, pushing the correct button on a camera that was typically low on batteries just in time for a special occasion required intervention from people who had to leave the shot to "help," much bickering and forced-smile-holding, possibly standing next to someone you weren't incredibly fond of for minutes that seemed like hours, my grandfather yelling "ROBERTA THE FOOD IS GETTING TOO DAMNED COLD" and then a do-over with her in the shot. Then a do-over with just her and my mother and her brothers. Then the grandchildren. Then we all did shots straight out of the turkey.

One of those things didn't actually happen. Salmonella risk, you know - although I've been told the alcohol makes it entirely safe. 

Ah, holidays. Ah, family. Ah, photos. What price memories, no matter how weird or painful or poorly dressed? 

Two guys who will identify themselves only as Mike and Doug set up a blog called Awkward Family Photos in late April to maybe answer this question, but mostly to make you cringe and laugh and think, mostly "There but for the grace of God go I" or "There without it I went," depending. You really need to hit the link because it's impossible to explain it adequately. Just go.

Everyone else has, anyway, so no harm in being a bandwagon-jumper when the results are this awkwardly awesome. As of May 13, the site had 800,000 hits and dozens of photos submitted in categories like Awkward Sibling Photos, Awkward Engagement Photos (brutal. Just brutal), Awkward Family Holiday Cards (only two so far, when millions of these exist, you know it, people) and my favorite, the Awkward Pose of the Week. Last week's was "The Lean." Beautiful. 

Like most good ideas whose time just comes, this one started with a conversation. Mike said in a Time article that he and Doug were trading family stories when they hit upon the universal awkwardness of relatives, and decided to collect photographic evidence.  They went home, found this shot on Google, and it was on. 

(Photo courtesy of Awkwardfamilyphotos.com. Their copyright notice lives here. See something that's yours, sounds like they'll probably take it down.) 

See? I cannot embellish this stuff. Also can't make stuff like this up, truth is stranger, etc.  And there's apparently nothing like some good old fashioned family awkwardness to get the blogosphere rolling. Here they went: 

Alana Edmunds at the Pursuit of Techyness wants to spread the awkwardness. 

There’s nothing like a little bit of awkwardness to keep me going through a tough week.

Whether it be through a super awkward pickup line from a guy (or your dentist trying to set you up with her son, in my personal case), or through a more favorable (and less awkward for me) version… family photos.

A few words on the site from Suburbia Steph at Scandalous Housewife: 

Perhaps
after viewing this website, it will just give you a boost about your
own family portraits! Some of these should stay in a box way waaaaay at
the back of the closet to never be see the light of day ever again
though!

I love love LOVE the shot Tina Roth Eisenberg posted at her site, Swiss Miss. Take that, Olan Mills.  (Oops. Is that ok to say? I mean that in a semi-ironic, long-suffering-child-of-the-70s way, just to clarify.) Joanna at A Cup of Jo liked it too.

Dear Alison featured the American flag/heart/pleather outfits - prom photo, perhaps? Dear. Heavens. Above. Anyway, thanks Alison, because I missed this one.  And please click that link. You won't be sorry, except for the part where your eyes are.

Beautifully Flawed, Divinely Chosen submitted her own photo, Creepy Indian Dad.  (Hey, she said it, I didn't.)

What makes this photo awkward, you may ask?

Two words: my father.

Become a Facebook fan and/or follow Awkward Family Photos on Twitter. Submit your very own awkward photos here. Please. 

Not pictures, but solidly in the awkward family files all the same, is the beautiful Postcards From Yo Mamma, the creation of Slate.com editor Jessica Grose and New York Observer reporter Shafrir. Look for more on this next week. 

Not a BlogHER, but I liked what Burstein had to say on Laughing Squid: 

Still, there is something charming about the Awkwardian Era, Awklord of the Rings, and even that infamous godawful Christmas photo.
The appeal lies in the naked exposure of each of us in our dorky glory
when we are not trying to be anything beyond being happy with our
family.

And as Mike said in Time, "There is something kind of cathartic for people about sharing the
oddness of their families. And that's what we hope the site will be — a
communal celebration of awkwardness."

In that spirit, finally, these people belong to me. One of them is, in fact, me. I could tell you why we do this, but then, yeah, I'd have to kill you, blahblahblah. And also don't tell them about this post please because I like having people around to pose for my awkward photos. We've come a long way since the turkey shots, that's all I'll say about that - but probably not very far after all. Still, I have my limits, and I can rest easy knowing that while you may see me making like a lemur at Jazz Fest, you will never, ever, see me posed with 20 other people on the beach in contrasting pastel golf shirts. Child, please.

 

Laurie White is relatively awkward on a daily basis, sometimes at LaurieWrites, a lot of the time on Flickr (as indicated in the photo above), and pretty much everywhere else in real life.

 

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