Monday, November 30, 2009
Studio 1948 | Blog It! Set 3
Oh, how I love this Blog It! set – BIG thanks to Studio 1948 for sending us these samples! (don't you just love their name and logo!!!) They said,
We LOVE how pulled together and unique this templates make our blog posts look now! Just used them for the first time, and it was super easy.Check out the ring pop . . . hilarious!
The Man Who Forgot to Die ~ Short Story
A warm blanket covers me, breathing in cold morning air in a quiet room. “Another day”, I say to myself and then get out of bed and put on blue slippers.
First thing—pee. Second thing—wash face, and next brush teeth. Staring in the mirror is such an unusual thing for me each morning. Gazing at the reflection and trying to figure out who is looking back. Who does this reflection belong to?
“The reflection belongs to me”, I say out loud; “You are the man who forgot to die.” That is what the neighborhood kids have dubbed me; The Man Who Forgot To Die.
That’s the question in my head, that same repetitive question that will not go away. It will always wake me at exactly 7am. I never need the aid of an alarm clock. I have always gotten up at exactly 7am since the incident. What is up with that? Who gets up with a haunting repetitive question in their mind every day? Me, I acclaim, the man who forgot to die.
Monday 7am, the third of December I awake to the question of Existence. Not the question of ‘do I exist’ but the why and how of the longevity of my existence.
This is what I think about at 7am under a warm blanket, breathing in cold morning air. My long existence…
My existence has been mundane at best, not at all a great reality, nor a horrible one either. In all truth it has been a boring life, mostly.
I am the man who forgot to die…in hindsight it is a peculiar thing to put out of your mind, but forget I did. In truth, I did not forget to die. It was more like I didn’t remember that I was supposed to die.
It seems only natural to think about your death. Far as I know there is no cure for that condition called birth. If you are born you will die. Harsh, nonetheless true. Death has no cure.
This is the oddity of all the oddities…if you are born you will die. In between the light of birth and the darkness of death you get to think about it. On some random day for a haphazard reason you will die and there is nothing you can do to stop it. If that wasn’t bad enough you get no control over the how, why or what of your looming death. There is suicide for the control freaks, but that is a bad choice for those who have been baptized.
The compelling subject of death has missed my thoughts; I question my existence and speculate about what purpose it has. Bloody hell there is so much rubbish in my head. Truly maddening, repetitive and worthless…I need coffee, lots of it.
I turn off the running water, flush the toilet and go down to the kitchen.
Seven twenty two AM. Black coffee and toast, this is my same breakfast…mundane…isn’t it? I do use different jellies to break up the humdrum of it all.
On my kitchen table I keep a large yellow legal writing pad. In the morning with coffee and toast I like to write about myself, at least what I understand regarding my way of life. I hope that keeping lists, notes and casual whatnots about my life will help. It is my intention that these words may be of use to somebody some day. I feel bad for the poor bastard who needs these words.
Today’s page is titled ~
The Man Who Forgot to Die
~ I did not cheat death but forgot, so I remembered later, much later
~ No supernatural gifts or powers that I know of
~ No special diet or exercise program, in truth I am a slovenly lad
~ No fountain of youth or magical elixirs
~ Not a vampire
~ Not cursed, that I know of
~ Not blessed, that I know of
~ I do not pray or meditate or talk with the dead
~ Never studied on how to sustain long life
~ I did buy a juice machine off of a late night infomercial, maybe that had something to do with it? Probably not. I only used the juicer twice. Beet and celery juice is dreadful…
~ Spent a long time in a coma or hibernation or deep suspended sleep. The doctors never did agree on what to call it
*****
Twelve years ago I walked out of Saint Clair Memorial Hospital with three Kurt Vonnegut novels, two Beatles CD’s and the complete Pittsburgh Steelers decade of champions history of the 1970's in my head and not much else.
I knew how to tie my shoes and how to find my way home. I knew where I kept the coffee and how to find the post office. I even remembered my way through the local woods and short cuts to get across town.
What I couldn’t remember was:
~ My name
~ Age
~ If I had parents
~ If I had siblings
~ If I went to school or held a job
~ Was I liked or was I a self-absorbed wanker
~ Did I know love, did I break hearts or have my heart broken
~ Indian, Thai or Italian?
~ Why on earth my closet was filled up with tie-dye t-shirts, black skinny ties and a large woolly sweater with leather patches covering the elbows?
~ What was disco?
Nobody was quite sure how long my stay in Saint Clair Memorial Hospital was or even how I got there.
When I arrived at Saint Clair’s their record-keeping system consisted of hand-written notes on 3x5 white index cards that a nurse would type up in some meaningful order for the next physician to use.
When I left, patient information was readily available on something they called smart-phones that had no resemblance to a phone at all, more like a hand-held calculator with no numbers. A flat screen that gave you information when you touched it, as far as I could tell it responded to your thoughts and finger’s needs.
A doctor would walk into my room pull out this tiny black plastic gadget, wave his fingers over it and tell me that my vitals are looking good. Next the black-plastic-calculator-looking gadget would ring or chirp or play music and that was the warning sign that the doctor would say good-bye to me and walk out of the room.
With the switch from the pen to wireless technology my medical history was lost, the majority of it anyway. Dating my stay in the hospital it would appear that I have been here at least 23 years, best guess.
For the past seven years I had the same nurse; Dolores.
Dolores filled me in on much of what happened. She was the one who would read me the Vonnegut novels and play the Beatles music for me. Dolores felt sorry for me that nobody ever came to visit. Those novels and music were her son’s favorites during the wars that he was in.
Wars? What did I miss?
Dolores told me about how her son gave his life for us in a war and how the world has fallen into a world of terror, sac-religion and worst of all you can watch it all on the tellie.
So, Dolores would sit with me and mourn her son. Trying to comfort me with some of his favorite things even though I was sleeping. Dolores the Kind Nurse.
One day I awoke in Saint Clair Memorial Hospital with Dolores the Kind Nurse sitting next to me.
I was refreshed, strong and ready to go. I could bend over and touch my toes, I could do push-ups, was not sore or achy. My muscles should have been atrophied and deteriorating, but they were not. I had energy.
The explanation that the doctors had for me was that I was in a different state of consciousness during my long stay at the hospital. I was neither awake nor sleeping or dreaming. I was in an “alternate state of consciousness” was all they could figure.
They diagnosed it this way because apparently my heartbeat and brainwave activity continuously stayed the same. Neither slowing down nor speeding up. I am told that when you’re in a coma or asleep you will still have changes in brainwave activity and heart rate. I did not.
The comparison they gave me was that my brainwave activity and heart rate could be qualified as a marathon runner, running at peak condition that never altered pace or thoughts, for 23 years non stop.
To the doctors I was neither man nor angel or demon. I was unexplainable. This alternate state of consciousness left me ageless.
I aged but less; I grew strong during my absence.
I had some gray hairs on my chin and flecks of gray in my hair but I was muscular with little to no body fat. I had no wrinkles or age spots on my skin. I stood tall, well built with good posture and bone structure.
The experience should have left me decaying; in reverse it made me trans-human.
Three days after my awakening, with clarification from Kind Nurse Dolores, a barrage of questioning and tests from the medical staff, I walked out of Saint Clair Memorial Hospital with 3 Vonnegut novels, 2 Beatles CD’s and a hug from Kind Nurse Dolores.
Shortly after leaving the hospital I found out that I had become some sort of media-medical-celebrity. Everybody recognized me from the tellie, newspapers and Internet hoopla…but no one remembered me.
What type of blimey bastard must of I been? Twenty-three plus years in a hospital with no visitors and now all this media-medical-hype and still no one remembered me. I left this world and went to sleep and nobody missed me…
Over the next few years people began to think of me as this strange trans-human-being. People would walk up to me and ask all sorts of questions about my alternate state of consciousness. I favored calling it my “long-afternoon-nap”, but nobody seemed to care what I preferred.
Questions regarding the afterlife, heaven, hell, purgatory; they would want me to lay hands on them or they wanted to touch my hair for good luck. They would ask for my blessing over them or to heal their sick.
I had no answers for them. No gifts of wisdom to give them.
“Surely that occurrence must have had existential meaning to it”, they would say, or “What did you see” or “What did you learn”, they would ask of me.
Sorry to report—no visions, no knowledge, no memory…
It was disappointing to see their faces when I told them the only truth that I knew, which was “Sorry, I can not help you.”
After a while of not being able to stand all the disillusionment that I was causing in the masses, I decided to start giving one blank statement to all the hundreds of questions; Be Nice.
Be Nice ~ that was it, that was all I could come up with. Not much of a curbside prophesy but I figured with a statement like that I could do no harm.
Just like that I became “The Man Who Forgot To Die”, walking the streets telling people to “Be Nice” to one another. It looks as if nobody was listening at any rate. No wonder why I took my-long-afternoon-nap.
*****
Passing a church bake sale I could smell fresh apple pies. I remembered that I liked apple pie but I could not remember if I ever held a job or went on a date. Go figure.
I walked down into the church basement and heard my name spoken out load for the very first time and at that moment it all came back to me, my existence, my purpose, and my name.
I nun falls to her knees in front of me and said,
“Dear God”.
“Yes”, I answer.
First thing—pee. Second thing—wash face, and next brush teeth. Staring in the mirror is such an unusual thing for me each morning. Gazing at the reflection and trying to figure out who is looking back. Who does this reflection belong to?
“The reflection belongs to me”, I say out loud; “You are the man who forgot to die.” That is what the neighborhood kids have dubbed me; The Man Who Forgot To Die.
That’s the question in my head, that same repetitive question that will not go away. It will always wake me at exactly 7am. I never need the aid of an alarm clock. I have always gotten up at exactly 7am since the incident. What is up with that? Who gets up with a haunting repetitive question in their mind every day? Me, I acclaim, the man who forgot to die.
Monday 7am, the third of December I awake to the question of Existence. Not the question of ‘do I exist’ but the why and how of the longevity of my existence.
This is what I think about at 7am under a warm blanket, breathing in cold morning air. My long existence…
My existence has been mundane at best, not at all a great reality, nor a horrible one either. In all truth it has been a boring life, mostly.
I am the man who forgot to die…in hindsight it is a peculiar thing to put out of your mind, but forget I did. In truth, I did not forget to die. It was more like I didn’t remember that I was supposed to die.
It seems only natural to think about your death. Far as I know there is no cure for that condition called birth. If you are born you will die. Harsh, nonetheless true. Death has no cure.
This is the oddity of all the oddities…if you are born you will die. In between the light of birth and the darkness of death you get to think about it. On some random day for a haphazard reason you will die and there is nothing you can do to stop it. If that wasn’t bad enough you get no control over the how, why or what of your looming death. There is suicide for the control freaks, but that is a bad choice for those who have been baptized.
The compelling subject of death has missed my thoughts; I question my existence and speculate about what purpose it has. Bloody hell there is so much rubbish in my head. Truly maddening, repetitive and worthless…I need coffee, lots of it.
I turn off the running water, flush the toilet and go down to the kitchen.
Seven twenty two AM. Black coffee and toast, this is my same breakfast…mundane…isn’t it? I do use different jellies to break up the humdrum of it all.
On my kitchen table I keep a large yellow legal writing pad. In the morning with coffee and toast I like to write about myself, at least what I understand regarding my way of life. I hope that keeping lists, notes and casual whatnots about my life will help. It is my intention that these words may be of use to somebody some day. I feel bad for the poor bastard who needs these words.
Today’s page is titled ~
The Man Who Forgot to Die
~ I did not cheat death but forgot, so I remembered later, much later
~ No supernatural gifts or powers that I know of
~ No special diet or exercise program, in truth I am a slovenly lad
~ No fountain of youth or magical elixirs
~ Not a vampire
~ Not cursed, that I know of
~ Not blessed, that I know of
~ I do not pray or meditate or talk with the dead
~ Never studied on how to sustain long life
~ I did buy a juice machine off of a late night infomercial, maybe that had something to do with it? Probably not. I only used the juicer twice. Beet and celery juice is dreadful…
~ Spent a long time in a coma or hibernation or deep suspended sleep. The doctors never did agree on what to call it
*****
Twelve years ago I walked out of Saint Clair Memorial Hospital with three Kurt Vonnegut novels, two Beatles CD’s and the complete Pittsburgh Steelers decade of champions history of the 1970's in my head and not much else.
I knew how to tie my shoes and how to find my way home. I knew where I kept the coffee and how to find the post office. I even remembered my way through the local woods and short cuts to get across town.
What I couldn’t remember was:
~ My name
~ Age
~ If I had parents
~ If I had siblings
~ If I went to school or held a job
~ Was I liked or was I a self-absorbed wanker
~ Did I know love, did I break hearts or have my heart broken
~ Indian, Thai or Italian?
~ Why on earth my closet was filled up with tie-dye t-shirts, black skinny ties and a large woolly sweater with leather patches covering the elbows?
~ What was disco?
Nobody was quite sure how long my stay in Saint Clair Memorial Hospital was or even how I got there.
When I arrived at Saint Clair’s their record-keeping system consisted of hand-written notes on 3x5 white index cards that a nurse would type up in some meaningful order for the next physician to use.
When I left, patient information was readily available on something they called smart-phones that had no resemblance to a phone at all, more like a hand-held calculator with no numbers. A flat screen that gave you information when you touched it, as far as I could tell it responded to your thoughts and finger’s needs.
A doctor would walk into my room pull out this tiny black plastic gadget, wave his fingers over it and tell me that my vitals are looking good. Next the black-plastic-calculator-looking gadget would ring or chirp or play music and that was the warning sign that the doctor would say good-bye to me and walk out of the room.
With the switch from the pen to wireless technology my medical history was lost, the majority of it anyway. Dating my stay in the hospital it would appear that I have been here at least 23 years, best guess.
For the past seven years I had the same nurse; Dolores.
Dolores filled me in on much of what happened. She was the one who would read me the Vonnegut novels and play the Beatles music for me. Dolores felt sorry for me that nobody ever came to visit. Those novels and music were her son’s favorites during the wars that he was in.
Wars? What did I miss?
Dolores told me about how her son gave his life for us in a war and how the world has fallen into a world of terror, sac-religion and worst of all you can watch it all on the tellie.
So, Dolores would sit with me and mourn her son. Trying to comfort me with some of his favorite things even though I was sleeping. Dolores the Kind Nurse.
One day I awoke in Saint Clair Memorial Hospital with Dolores the Kind Nurse sitting next to me.
I was refreshed, strong and ready to go. I could bend over and touch my toes, I could do push-ups, was not sore or achy. My muscles should have been atrophied and deteriorating, but they were not. I had energy.
The explanation that the doctors had for me was that I was in a different state of consciousness during my long stay at the hospital. I was neither awake nor sleeping or dreaming. I was in an “alternate state of consciousness” was all they could figure.
They diagnosed it this way because apparently my heartbeat and brainwave activity continuously stayed the same. Neither slowing down nor speeding up. I am told that when you’re in a coma or asleep you will still have changes in brainwave activity and heart rate. I did not.
The comparison they gave me was that my brainwave activity and heart rate could be qualified as a marathon runner, running at peak condition that never altered pace or thoughts, for 23 years non stop.
To the doctors I was neither man nor angel or demon. I was unexplainable. This alternate state of consciousness left me ageless.
I aged but less; I grew strong during my absence.
I had some gray hairs on my chin and flecks of gray in my hair but I was muscular with little to no body fat. I had no wrinkles or age spots on my skin. I stood tall, well built with good posture and bone structure.
The experience should have left me decaying; in reverse it made me trans-human.
Three days after my awakening, with clarification from Kind Nurse Dolores, a barrage of questioning and tests from the medical staff, I walked out of Saint Clair Memorial Hospital with 3 Vonnegut novels, 2 Beatles CD’s and a hug from Kind Nurse Dolores.
Shortly after leaving the hospital I found out that I had become some sort of media-medical-celebrity. Everybody recognized me from the tellie, newspapers and Internet hoopla…but no one remembered me.
What type of blimey bastard must of I been? Twenty-three plus years in a hospital with no visitors and now all this media-medical-hype and still no one remembered me. I left this world and went to sleep and nobody missed me…
Over the next few years people began to think of me as this strange trans-human-being. People would walk up to me and ask all sorts of questions about my alternate state of consciousness. I favored calling it my “long-afternoon-nap”, but nobody seemed to care what I preferred.
Questions regarding the afterlife, heaven, hell, purgatory; they would want me to lay hands on them or they wanted to touch my hair for good luck. They would ask for my blessing over them or to heal their sick.
I had no answers for them. No gifts of wisdom to give them.
“Surely that occurrence must have had existential meaning to it”, they would say, or “What did you see” or “What did you learn”, they would ask of me.
Sorry to report—no visions, no knowledge, no memory…
It was disappointing to see their faces when I told them the only truth that I knew, which was “Sorry, I can not help you.”
After a while of not being able to stand all the disillusionment that I was causing in the masses, I decided to start giving one blank statement to all the hundreds of questions; Be Nice.
Be Nice ~ that was it, that was all I could come up with. Not much of a curbside prophesy but I figured with a statement like that I could do no harm.
Just like that I became “The Man Who Forgot To Die”, walking the streets telling people to “Be Nice” to one another. It looks as if nobody was listening at any rate. No wonder why I took my-long-afternoon-nap.
*****
Passing a church bake sale I could smell fresh apple pies. I remembered that I liked apple pie but I could not remember if I ever held a job or went on a date. Go figure.
I walked down into the church basement and heard my name spoken out load for the very first time and at that moment it all came back to me, my existence, my purpose, and my name.
I nun falls to her knees in front of me and said,
“Dear God”.
“Yes”, I answer.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
NikonSniper Photo Reprints Available
OK, It’s TRUE! My mother dropped me a lot as a child. In fact, I was in the backseat of my parent’s car when I was almost a year old when my mother drove around a corner in the city of Chicago. The back door of the car flew open (I think it may have been intentionally left partially open) when turning the corner on a downtown city block. Centrifugal forces threw my then tiny body out the door and onto the city street/sidewalk into a snow bank. A black woman picked me up (saw I was not worth keeping) and approached the car asking my mom, “Is this yours?” Who knows how far my mom would have drove away to get rid of me if she was not approached. I wish I could find that black woman to give her a kiss. My life has almost been normal since then. Not really on the normal life part!
So anyway, I told everyone a few months ago about the photos being available through Erin Carey with Uppercase Living. Being retarded, I did not give the appropriate details to make such an inquiry easy. I have been deluged with questions of rather basic variety and this proves my elevator does not go to the top floor. So, I want to say pricing for these photos is designed to be very affordable. Let’s just say I am not quitting my day job. I would rather that you were able to afford the photos displaying God’s handiwork than for me to live in an artist’s dream world.
That said, … the photos are printed on a removable (without damage) and reusable vinyl substrate which is very durable. You should keep the backing paper which comes with each photo in order to reapply the photo for storage. In other words, if you want to have a wall scene of fall leaves or pumpkins for the fall season … you could remove that photo for storage and replace it with a snow scene in the mountains for the winter if you choose. This is very cool … and might I say sassy!
General prices and sizes are as follows:
16” x 24” = $ 46
32” x 48” = $ 68
40” x 60” = $ 106
48” x 72” = $ 118
64” x 96" = $ 160
These prices INCLUDE all taxes and shipping to your USA address. Sorry, there will be some additional charges to those of you who live outside the USA. BUT don’t feel bad … the USA dollar is pretty stinking low right now … so let us know if you need pricing to North Korea.
BUT WAIT … there’s MORE!!!
If you think all my photos STINK, I am still cool with that. Perhaps you have a photo that is far more valuable to you than any of mine! AND rightly so! The prices above apply to any photo you wish to submit for printing. Hey, I told ya I wasn’t quitting my day job AND just to prove that I am too cool for school … you can get your own photos for the same price.
SO … please keep in mind I am just a photographer and I can’t afford the time to chase these orders, though I am thankful for your kind interest. You will need to contact Erin Carey with Uppercase Living.
When you order, she will need to know the name of the photo on the NikonSniper website, your mailing address, e-mail address and a phone number just in case it’s needed to make sure your order is correct. Don’t worry about your information being around. It won’t be because I hate having that happen to me and there is no way I would do that to anyone.
Uppercase Living will invoice your email address so that you can pay securely online through their credit card provider (propay) and submit the order as soon as I receive an email stating that you have paid.
If you are interested in NikonSniper photos or have any questions you can Contact Erin Carey directly. These photo prints are great quality and can be used and reused for years!
You can learn more here about Uppercase Living.
So anyway, I told everyone a few months ago about the photos being available through Erin Carey with Uppercase Living. Being retarded, I did not give the appropriate details to make such an inquiry easy. I have been deluged with questions of rather basic variety and this proves my elevator does not go to the top floor. So, I want to say pricing for these photos is designed to be very affordable. Let’s just say I am not quitting my day job. I would rather that you were able to afford the photos displaying God’s handiwork than for me to live in an artist’s dream world.
That said, … the photos are printed on a removable (without damage) and reusable vinyl substrate which is very durable. You should keep the backing paper which comes with each photo in order to reapply the photo for storage. In other words, if you want to have a wall scene of fall leaves or pumpkins for the fall season … you could remove that photo for storage and replace it with a snow scene in the mountains for the winter if you choose. This is very cool … and might I say sassy!
General prices and sizes are as follows:
16” x 24” = $ 46
32” x 48” = $ 68
40” x 60” = $ 106
48” x 72” = $ 118
64” x 96" = $ 160
These prices INCLUDE all taxes and shipping to your USA address. Sorry, there will be some additional charges to those of you who live outside the USA. BUT don’t feel bad … the USA dollar is pretty stinking low right now … so let us know if you need pricing to North Korea.
BUT WAIT … there’s MORE!!!
If you think all my photos STINK, I am still cool with that. Perhaps you have a photo that is far more valuable to you than any of mine! AND rightly so! The prices above apply to any photo you wish to submit for printing. Hey, I told ya I wasn’t quitting my day job AND just to prove that I am too cool for school … you can get your own photos for the same price.
SO … please keep in mind I am just a photographer and I can’t afford the time to chase these orders, though I am thankful for your kind interest. You will need to contact Erin Carey with Uppercase Living.
When you order, she will need to know the name of the photo on the NikonSniper website, your mailing address, e-mail address and a phone number just in case it’s needed to make sure your order is correct. Don’t worry about your information being around. It won’t be because I hate having that happen to me and there is no way I would do that to anyone.
Uppercase Living will invoice your email address so that you can pay securely online through their credit card provider (propay) and submit the order as soon as I receive an email stating that you have paid.
If you are interested in NikonSniper photos or have any questions you can Contact Erin Carey directly. These photo prints are great quality and can be used and reused for years!
You can learn more here about Uppercase Living.
Erin Carey can also email you a weblink showing how to apply these photos to a wall and remove them for storage. Just send her an inquiry. It is a very simple process but seeing the video is always more reassuring!
Thanks to all of you who support this website. Your comments are much appreciated and I think you are the coolest bloggies in bloggieland. Have a great Christmas season!
NikonSniper Steve
Erin Carey
Uppercase Living Independent Demonstrator
Order online! here ----> http://erin.uppercaseliving.net/
Click here for the Catalog Link
Thanks to all of you who support this website. Your comments are much appreciated and I think you are the coolest bloggies in bloggieland. Have a great Christmas season!
NikonSniper Steve
Erin Carey
Uppercase Living Independent Demonstrator
Order online! here ----> http://erin.uppercaseliving.net/
Click here for the Catalog Link
Things maybe not to try in a portrait?
Since I mentioned portraiture in my last post, I thought visitors here might enjoy a smile -- or even a chuckle -- at an attraction at the AOL homepage (which I believe is accessible to even non-members). It's a photo feature on poses that families might want to avoid when sitting for a formal portrait.
On the other hand ... perhaps if you have a family in which ALL of its members have great senses of humor (and/or absolutely no shame), one might look at these and applaud the raw nerve they had to allow these to be permanently recorded!
I'm torn between the all-mullet look and bunny ears as my favorite, although ... the no-smile duo at the end and the Lost in Space motif certainly are contenders! Oh ... make sure you read the smart-ass captions under each picture; they're half the fun.
Click on the link below ... and enjoy:
Awkward family photos
On the other hand ... perhaps if you have a family in which ALL of its members have great senses of humor (and/or absolutely no shame), one might look at these and applaud the raw nerve they had to allow these to be permanently recorded!
I'm torn between the all-mullet look and bunny ears as my favorite, although ... the no-smile duo at the end and the Lost in Space motif certainly are contenders! Oh ... make sure you read the smart-ass captions under each picture; they're half the fun.
Click on the link below ... and enjoy:
Awkward family photos
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Donna Frank Photography | Blog It! Set 2
Thank you so much Donna of Donna Frank Photography for sending in this gorgeous sample of the blog it templates in action. I love the processing of these pictures – so dreamy! Combined with the elegant logo in the logo bar, this makes a beautiful display. I could just look at those images all day. . .
Donna said,
Donna said,
This is my first project. How cool is it to have a ready-made template. That saves a lot of my time. :)
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Portraiture ... Engagement
It's good to have family who are willing to pose for the camera so you can log some inexpensive, but valuable, experience chasing the kinds of photography you want to improve.
Portraiture is one of those areas for me.
My daughter is engaged; her wedding will be in spring. She and David honored me by asking me to take some photographs of them to serve as a sort of engagement shoot. For the longest time, we couldn't find a day and time where the three of us could make this happen. Finally, we found a small window of opportunity -- an hour or so -- three Fridays ago in the late afternoon, about an hour before dark settled in.
I'd have liked to have had more time, and Elizabeth knew I was a tad uneasy. But ... she trusted me to get this done, and she wanted to get something done soon. Afterward, we informally agreed to try and find another time to do more when we weren't so rushed.
These images are from that shoot.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Kellene Maynard | Classic & Blog It!
Wow! Kellene of Bella Lucia Photography has been putting her templates to WORK! The first samples are from the Classic album – a beautiful couple, beautiful wedding . . . and check out that shot on the last spread of the reception tent, gorgeous!
Next up, and I love this – she used her Classic templates to create a 40th wedding anniversary book . . .
Here are some samples of Blog It! Set 2 in action. What a BEAUTIFUL beach wedding. That starfish cake is too cute!
Here's that beautiful couple from the Classic album sample again, lovin' that sexy second pic!
Oooh, get those peepers ready for the sweetest little baby. . .
and last but not least is the ultimate collage of cuteness . . .
Next up, and I love this – she used her Classic templates to create a 40th wedding anniversary book . . .
Here are some samples of Blog It! Set 2 in action. What a BEAUTIFUL beach wedding. That starfish cake is too cute!
Here's that beautiful couple from the Classic album sample again, lovin' that sexy second pic!
Oooh, get those peepers ready for the sweetest little baby. . .
and last but not least is the ultimate collage of cuteness . . .
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Artsy, fartsy interlude ...
Just some shots I took on a recent outing seeking something "different" ...
Saturday, November 21, 2009
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