Caed & Adelaide

Meet some of my favorite people in the whole wide world, Caed & Adelaide.

thanksgiving

SPU Fashion Group: "Fall into Winter"

I love my boss.

Sarah and her husband Chris took me out to do a little photo session last week.
I'm not usually in front of the lens, so it was fun to try the other side of things. All I know is that I was laughing hysterically the whole time, so I have no idea how they managed to get these rad shots! (Meet the best photographers in the North West, that's how.)

Sarah and Chris are amazing photographers, but they're also incredible people. They've extended so much grace and trust to me, and have taught me not just about being an artist, but about being a person of strong ethics, confident talent, and convicted passion.

Its been really humbling to step into their lives as they patiently teach me the ropes of professionalism. I value their honesty and their kindness because it comes from of place of true concern for my development as a photographer.

We work hard, we laugh hard, we sing off-key and eat pizza pockets. I'm incredibly blessed.

Check out the shoot here

An Incomplete Manifesto For Growth.

I've blogged him before, but I find myself coming back to this page when I need a little reality check and a laugh.

My current fave:

1. Allow events to change you.You have to be willing to grow. Growth is different from something that happens to you. You produce it. You live it. The prerequisites for growth: the openness to experience events and the willingness to be changed by them.
[read the rest here]

October looked something like:

Gingerbread Bears!

I know it's early.

But it's also a tradition.

Come November, the bears must be made. (Usually with the help of Tyler and Brent, but seeing as they're overseas, Hannah and I had to hold down the fort.)

I think we did ok.

This week I will:

Create an environment for people to be the full version of themselves.

[That means I will listen- really listen- to what they're saying, give honest compliments and honest answers, and live quietly so I can love loudly.]

I think I got my dose of clarity for the night.

xo

Living Space

Our house is slowly coming together-- here's a peek of some favorite corners if you haven't been able to visit yet!

























And meet my roomies:
(they'd kill me if they saw this picture) ;)

(i miss it so)

Lesson Learned.

Sports analogies? Don't work so well with me.

It was a good guess-- most students nod enthusiastically when ethics of divine providence and freedom is explained via rules of baseball. But start listing athletic terminology and I'm like a deer caught in headlights.You didn't have me before, but you DEFINITELY don't have me now.

My ethics professor obviously didn't witness my 6th grade year of PE. If he had been there, he would probably try a different analogy-- maybe Oreos, Celine Dion lyrics, or Nancy Drew. Anything else.

6th grade was a rough year to participate in PE. The high jump was an obvious tragedy: the whole class stood in line, impatiently waiting for their turn while I ran towards the bar, stopped, and attempted to somersault over. The bar would then fall and everyone had to wait until Coach Evans set it up again. 140 kids, and only once did the bar drop.
The numbers were hard to swallow.

Then there was frisbee. Frisbee, right? Who can't throw a frisbee?
This girl.
Finding a partner was hard. Actually it was easy-- I usually got paired up with the coach by default. Uneven number of students? Nope. You do the math.The wrist flick just didn't come naturally to me. What did come naturally was catching the frisbee with my nose. I had a bloody nose by 1:30pm for 2 whole weeks. You can imagine my excitement when I learned that frisbee is a college-pastime. All motivation to graduate was gone with the wind.

Perhaps the worst of all was the idea to try out for the softball team. What could have been a more perfect match than the combination of running, catching, and holding a weapon while a ball flies at your face? Let's just say I liked the benches. I'm always surprised when parents get heated over their kids sitting the game out on the bench. Are you kidding me? That's the safe zone-- the magical strip where you can wear the cool uniform without everyone watching you duck as the ball comes at you. I know a good thing when I see it, and the benches are good.

See where I'm coming from now? You bring up sports and you're bringing up years of sweaty grey shirts stained with humiliation and medical excuses that I unsuccessfully begged my doctor to forge. Oh I milked the doctors office for all it was worth. I got out of soccer week over an ingrown toenail. I missed dodgeball week over a mysteriously reoccurring migraine. And It was "that time of month" all 3 weeks that we trained for running the mile.

Now I'm not entirely scarred by all of this-- somehow I managed to laugh it off and blame my lack of athletic ability on things like my Indian physique (have you ever met an Indian quarterback?) or my general disinterest in Gatorade flavors. But even years later, I know better than to join in a game of beach volleyball. They know not what they do when they offer to let me play. I'm not bitter about it by any means-- congratulations on your ability to spike the ball in a bikini and still look good. All I ask is that ethics be ethics, and baseball be baseball.

Trust me-- we'll all be happier that way.

Soggy Saturday

-Katty & I stayed inside to watch the Disney Channel while Seattle experienced a bit of a flood.
-I got new specs. Life looks sharp again.
-My phone died. I thought iPhones lived forever.
-Got a flu shot and made friends with an 8 year old in the waiting room.
-Did a fun little shoot with Danielle & Kyle this afternoon.

Dear Anonymous,

Next time you drop fan mail on the blog please do leave your name and address. I'd like to send a thank you card. (You're quite witty, and your vocabulary is impressively large.)

Xo,
Marissa

Gluten Intolerance

They would both be wearing purple, wouldn’t they.

Her bouncy bob suggests that she has a soft spot for children, while his Aviator shades suggest that they won’t be having kids anytime soon. She keeps snapping pictures of every inanimate object in sight, overwhelmed by her own creative ability to make a parking meter artistic.

I watch from my corner in the warm coffee shop as they nibble on scones and shmooze on the red patio furniture outside. I wonder how they aren’t freezing in the biting October wind, and then I remember that "true love" knows no climate. It suddenly dawns on me that this little, elevated booth I'm sitting in is my caffeinated encasement of judgment. I lead my eyes back to the soy latte on my table, in hopes of giving the matching couple a break. But my peripheral vision is in prime condition, and I can’t help but notice her feeding him bites of “airplane” scone—not unlike the way I feed the two year old I nanny for. Come on guys, now you’re just asking for it.

I come here for the soy lattes. Ben makes them like nobody’s business—with plenty froth on top in the shape of a perfect autumn leaf. I’m a firm believer in froth-art, so I support his work and he in turn designs with diligence. We both leave happy.
I’m also a fan of the picture-covered walls and angry chick music. There’s a grungy ambiance that attracts me on cloudy days like today, when the promise of rain lingers in the air and threatens to catch you without your Gortex underpants. I have no umbrella, but I have 80’s rock accompanied by the occasional profanity shouted from one of the baristas behind the counter. (They’re allowed to do that because they have gauged earlobes and combat boots. No questions asked.)

I also come here for the gluten-free, organic-vegan pastries. I pretend that my diet requires all of the above because it makes me feel healthy, liberal, and a bit elitist, actually. I come prepared in flannel shirts and my hair tied up in messy buns, because it’s an unspoken rule that in order to eat like an organic radical, you must first dress like an organic radical. I think I read that in the Seattle guide book I bought before moving here.

But mostly I come here for this booth. ‘Sinner’s booth’, I call it. It’s a little table pushed against the windows in the far corner of the coffee shop— just high enough to watch people walk by, but low enough to blend in with the other beverage drinkers. It’s my one chance to make up stories for the greater population outside. I usually end up projecting my own quirks and failures upon these innocent strangers, but some people are just asking for it when they look like they got married right out of the seventh grade. That’s why I call it the sinner’s booth—I’m doing the sinning here. I’m sure that this couple is actually quite sweet, and legitimately vegan. They probably donate $500 to a children’s charity each Christmas, and call their mothers once a month to see how the vegetable garden is doing. But I’m a skeptic when it comes to coordinating outfits, and so I drink my legal addictive stimulant and smirk from a safe distance.

I’m not sure what it is about glass that makes us feel so invincible. Why is the owner of the white Honda next to you picking his nose at the stoplight? It’s the glass. He thinks you can’t see him behind his windows. Too bad they’re see-through. Since I’m on the warm side of the window pane, I’ve fooled myself into believing that I’ve won exclusive judging rights to all who cross my path. But if this glass works both ways, then someone’s judging me too.

In all reality, I have no dread locks or tattoos, and my stomach is perfectly capable of digesting eggs. Any Seattle-native could sniff me out like a Bloodhound. And so I turn off my judge-o-meter, pull my hood over my less-than-average hair, and step out into the misty morning—leaving the sinner’s booth to someone else.

Probably another self-proclaimed vegan with too much time on their hands.

Jesse

Danielle

Katty

Kim & Dan: Anytime-sesh [Seattle]

Class Notes.

Need a good laugh?
Take a poetry class with freshmen.

This quarter I ended up in a lower division English class (through no fault of my own, mind you) and decided not to drop it for the sheer amusement it provides me with. Today I listened as they intently projected their life story upon every last word Robert Frost ever wrote-- a real treat for me, no doubt.

I assure you, I'm not mean spirited, nor do I think that my interpretation skills are divine. Still, it brings me strange joy to watch them compare "The Road Not Taken" to their high school prom date. As one student described:

"It's like that road was the guy, you know? The one I didn't pick? I should've picked him. That's what Frost is telling us not to do-- he's saying not to take our friends' advice. My friends had, like, NO idea who this guy was, and he would've been PERFECT for me."

If only they knew that poetry doesn't usually allow for such radical interpretation. I cringe a little every time one of them pipes up, raising their tiny voices with conviction and fervor, only to hear the professor respond with "No. That's not even close."

If only they knew that poetry is like a doctor dressed up in a large Oscar Mayer Wiener costume. He looks inviting-- he looks like he's calling your name, telling you to grab some ketchup and eat your heart out. But get closer, and he'll rip off his mask to reveal a tight-lipped expression. "Thought you could eat a sodium stick, huh?" He'll chide. "Try some veggies kid."

Poetry is deceiving by nature. It pretends to be mere art, inviting you to dig in and take from it what you will. But it's actually math, dressed up like Emily Dickinson. There IS a right answer. And your prom date's not it.


I do love freshmen.

Tom Says:

"College is like running madly-- wildly, through a dark forest, only to realize six months before graduation that there's a cliff at the end."

-comforting quote from the very dear Tom Amorose, English professor and lover of students at large

Jennee & Joe: E-sesh [Seattle]

Process.

Am in the process of:

-Getting ready for classes on Monday (Eek)
-Moving into our semi-unfurnished house
-Developing a friendship with our sweet little mailman who asks how I like my new house every morning
-Becoming a power team with the 2 neighbor-boys downstairs who are pushing to start a bowling league with us
-Editing a fun e-sesh that Tyler and I tag-teamed earlier this week.

Cheers to all the things you process today.
xo

Judith & Deepak

Hands down, one of the most exciting weddings I've ever shot.
Can I just say that? Mkay.
xo

Natalie

You might remember Natalie from a previous post-- she's a fabulous musician and a dear friend who has walked with me through some pretty big moments.

Natalie drove up from Portland to Seattle where I met up with her to play catch-up and have a little photo-sesh.
This woman just radiates love and joy like no one else I know.
The music industry is lucky to have her.
xo