Sunday, January 20, 2013



Normally when I get mail, it's pretty uneventful (for me at least) or downright depressing (bills!).

Zoe gets invitations to all her friends' birthday parties. M gets thank you notes from his alma mater saying how great he is for donating and volunteering. I get white and orange pages from AT&T saying, "pay up, sucker."

Because of this, and a general lack of time and energy most evenings, the mail can sometimes pile up for a few days before I sit down and open/sort it.

This week, though, a little envelope arrived with my name handwritten. It wasn't from my friend Chris who manages to brighten my mailbox several times a year with good old-fashioned postal fun. The handwriting was different. I was intrigued.

And then the cat barfed and Zoe asked a question and my phone rang and a dozen other things happened at once. It wasn't until later that I picked up the envelope and opened it.

What I pulled out sent me over the moon.

Last year, while at my shutter sisters photography get-away, I had a chance to roam and shoot with two wonderful women from different parts of Canada. We "went rogue" one day and skipped the planned nature trip in favor of gourmet cupcakes and great architecture and shopping for vintage baubles. We had a blast, and it became evident as our sisters returned from their sojourn that we had chosen wisely. The day of shooting aside, I got to know one of the women a lot better (the other I had bonded with the year before and she was my roommate on this trip). She shoots a variety or formats, including Polaroid. I love the look of Polaroid and got the chance to play with it while out there. It's a tricky medium...the light seemed elusive at times and overbearing at others and I struggled. My new friend, though, is a master. I loved watching her work, and I loved seeing the end result.

She had been bouncing around the whole trip making portraits of all the phenomenal ladies sharing our experience, and then one night I was grabbed, dragged over to a specific chair with a specific backdrop in specific light, and her Polaroid was aimed right at me. I was wearing a new-to-me vintage dress with bright colors that I had just found that day.

Normally I hate having my photograph taken. HATE IT. But I was so honored that she wanted to photograph me along with all these wonderful women that I couldn't refuse. She made my portrait and for once I didn't hate an image of myself. Then off she went and off I went and I forgot about the picture.

Until this week. She sent me my portrait, and a lovely handwritten note that brought all the spirit of our time together flooding back. It was just what I needed.

I continue to be grateful for the incredible experiences I have and amazing people I meet. I have no idea how I got this lucky, but here I am.


Post a Comment

<< Home