Sees

Okay, okay. I am going to be completely honest... Auto-focus is mostly on cruise control for me, and I usually tweak my photos' coloring on my editing program. However easy it may seem, it is all to recreate the "beauty that I find in the ordinary every day".

So when my highly intellectual cousin questioned my beloved art of photography, I told him that exact statement above.
"Photography is the lazy man's art," he said, "anyone can press a button, and then edit it to make it look perfect. I wouldn't say you have to be talented to do that..."

Little did he know, but those words deeply bothered me for quite some time. Am I really an artist? Is photography really an art? How am I special if anybody can make a pretty picture?
It sure took me a long time to answer the thousands of questions in my head, but I finally did it. And here is my answer:

Photography is much more than a pretty picture. It's true- anyone can do that. Photography, however, is the magic found in an exchange of good mornings, the soft sheets woken up to every day, an afternoon drive to soccer practice, a child's playdate, carefully drawn sidewalk chalk murals on the driveway, the touch of a loved one, an overpacked minivan headed to the beach, the irony of an out of place conversation ...

A true photographer is different because

a true photographer sees.

**To answer some questions:
I do almost always shoot on manual modes (mostly Av) , and I sometimes use manual focus, but auto-focus is the most common because when I see something I want to capture, it is the best to use because I don't want the moment to go by.

Forever

She was a sweet girl.
She would walk barefoot in the dirt, then wash her hands as her mama called her in for supper.
She loved to catch lightning bugs, and loved babies.
She and her sister would make Barbie houses out of old video tapes and play for hours.
She called her little brother her baby boy, just as if he were her child.
Her American Dolls slept with her every night, had a reserved seat at the dinner table, and were showered with kisses and baby powder.
She had a five star restaurant in her back yard where she sold countless meals to her siblings through the window of her playhouse.
She would swing in the backyard before dance class, careful not to rip her pink tights.
She loved to read, and Nancy Drew was always on her bedside table.
The Dixie Chicks were her favorite band; following closely behind was Shania Twain.
Hopping on the four-wheeler with her grandaddy and riding around the farm made her feel very special.
She loved to dance, and always wished her hair was long enough to put in a proper "ballet bun."
She could spend hours in the pool, until her little fingers and toes resembled raisins.
She was very sensitive, her feelings were hurt easily.
While watching PG-13 movies with her grandparents and eating butter popcorn and chocolate milkshakes, she felt like a grown-up.
Red was her favorite color.
She loved college football games, even though she would be very upset when the poor referees were "booed" by the crowd.
She was determined to read the whole Bible through in a few weeks, and very disappointed in herself when that deadline was not nearly met.
Being with her family was the best thing in the world.
She loved to sing, and believed she was the next Britney Spears. Her parents were glad when that dream never came true..
She watched every episode of Full House at least twenty times each, and countless freckles resided on her cheeks.
She grew up slow, and would cry when she thought time was moving too fast.


The sweet girl now waits... for that blink-of-an-eye moment when it will all be gone. Her childhood-

forever.

Spring has got me going wild...

...I have even stepped up to videos. Wow, I love this time of year.

*Yes, that is me playing the piano... Another one of well-kept secrets from you guys.

Sam

My best friend.
My therapist to listen to all my problems.
My pillow.
My warmth on chilly nights.
My laughter.
The root of an unclean house.
My protector on dark nights when I am home alone.
The addition to our family Christmas cards.
My portrait model that never whines or complains about smiling too much.
My spoiled rotten baby.

Sammy, I love you ole boy. You make Mama proud.

Sunday afternoons warm my soul.

30 miles. 74 degrees. Rolled down windows and warm air. Full bellies and bright faces. Train, Uncle Kracker, Five for Fighting, and Rob Thomas on the radio with out-of-key voices joining in. Cell phone pictures that are dear to my heart.

This is what happiness looks like.

Have a happy week.

Perfect

I have grown up in a wonderful world full of dinner parties, next-door cocktails, china plates, Sunday school dresses, neighborhood bike rides, white picket fences and golden retrievers. I have lived the Southern stereotypical lifestyle of knowing everyone in town and leaving doors unlocked… and I love it so dearly. I have always had a vision of my future: working in a successful marketing agency in a thriving city. Having the top-notch designer brands in clothing (something I have never had the luxury of experiencing.) My apartment being decorated to perfection and a place where clutter ceases to exist. Going out on the town at night where I would eventually meet the man of my dreams. We would date for approximately two years, get engaged, and then have the wedding of anyone’s expectations. We would then settle down into a small suburb where my small-town tendencies would fit in perfectly. Our house would be either white-washed brick or pale-yellow wood. And yes, a white picket fence would be in tact… complete with a terrier on the front steps. We would wait about a year before we had kids ( I would want the married-life experience, of course..) He would commute to work, and I would start a photography business from home once we started to have children. Our children would consist of two girls and one boy. They’d grow into successful adults and we would sit in our rocking chairs sipping tea, looking back on it all with so much pride… the perfect life.

But now I am trying to teach myself to let go of it all. Not to criticize people in my mind for not having my own fake ambitions of a “perfect” life. I am now learning to let my life fold out as I go. Not to care if I am living up to anyone’s darn expectations, but my own. Trying to learn who I am, not what I imagined I was. I am opening my mind to others’ ways of life, and looking at it with a positive frame of mind… attempting to engrain in my mind the importance of being happy. No matter what I do, who I end up with, where I am, whatever salary gets thrown my way… that is all that matters.

Ohhh I have a lot to learn and experience, and believe me, I know it.

How I love the Simple Things..

homemade chocolate truffles.
going to my siblings' basketball games (the cheerleader comes out in me.. loudly) - they are also much more athletic than I am..
my dad staying up til the wee hours of the night proofing and editing my history papers..with master quality.
pesto and basil slathered on wheat rolls.
soap operas with the girls.
the weekend is only... 3 days away now.
watching my brother save up to buy a "candy gram" at school for his new girlfriend.. it reads "Happy Valentine's Day! Me + You forever." I also might add that his beau is an older woman- she is in the 5th grade while he is the fourth. I always knew that boy was a lady's man.
my plush bathrobe that is currently covering my worn-out jammies.
trees outlined in a lovely sunset.
freshly cut grapefruit on an old wooden board.

I hope your life is generously filled with simple things that make you beam.

go here for more simple delight..

-suzyQ

I'll go with love.

this picture used here as well.


the pain in Haiti- I'll go with love.
the look of a hurt soul- I'll go with love.
a trembling hand- I'll go with love.
a cry of help- I'll go with love.


the smile of a stranger- I'll go with love...

love isn't limited to hurt and sadness... I'll go with love- always.

won't you join me?

Unmasked

We were sitting next to him on the wooden pews. His face was hardened, almost unapproachable. He had his hands crossed in his lap while we quietly chatted with him... After some mumbled small talk, he bluntly said “ I have 26 brothers and sisters".. we were taken a little off guard. We just sat there waiting for him to continue; we had never even heard of anything like that before. “Yeah, my dad’s like that. I don’t know half of them. And it‘s not okay.”

Will was his name. Past the hard exterior, Will had a huge heart who loved his mama. He was a lover and a giver. He had an incredible faith that stood strong even through everything that had happened to him. He was good to his women and he knew "how to treat em right." He was very smart and had big dreams. He planned to break away from the mistakes of his family and move forward on his own.

Will didn’t try to impress us with a grand knowledge of all things pop culture or the latest trends.
He was just----

there… himself…unmasked.

Away in a Manger

Merry Christmas, dear friends.

-suzyQ

little did she know

He worked next door to her... the girl with the auburn curls and rosy cheeks. She lived in the big white house with the navy shutters while he cleaned the grease off the stove and took out the trash next door. Her maid, Bee, had raised her since she was born. Her dresses were always crisp and bright. His trousers were slightly wrinkled and covered in soot. He would often sit out on the back porch and he would hear her music... it would come from the front room in the big house. He gradually would make his way to sit under the big oak tree and sit by the hydrangeas beneath the window and listen as her fingers glided up and down the piano... it was so peaceful. Sometimes, he would glance up without her noticing. When she played, she would tighten her lips and squint her eyes, almost as if they were closed. He saw a joy and a serenity in her as she played... he could tell it was her escape. Often she would look out into the distance as if seeing something far away, but then she would start right back playing again. She would repeat this for hours... sometimes he wondered if she even had a family inside that big house. He would almost be asleep under the oak tree when he would hear Ms. Wilkins whistling for him in the kitchen- another load of garbage waiting for him.... at night, sometimes he wouldn't even go home to his empty house full of soda cans and old magazines. Sitting under the big oak, knowing she was somewhere in that house- that was where he wanted to be.

Sometimes they would see each other at school. She would usually have four or five girls decked in plaid skirts and twin braids hovering around her to soak in the radiance.. she would always do the same thing she did at the piano- glance into the distance, as if searching for something... except here at school, she didn't snap back into the moment... the girls crowding around were almost a buzzing in her ears.

Little did she know that he was always there. Always in the background, always there to catch her if she'd fall. Around him, she wouldn't need to stare into the distance- all she had been searching and grasping for had always been right there under the big oak with the dirty hair and the greasy jeans...

Little did she know...

Silence

Sometimes silence is the only road to the soul. . .

wait...

When you make it to the top,

wait for me.

I dream.

I dream...

of fields, white with a blanket of snow...

of taxis gliding down busy streets on a rainy day...

of black and white movies topped with happy endings...

of sunny days spent outdoors...

of crafting snowmen and making snow angels...

of my whole family together, our backs warm and cheeks pink from the fire...

of walking down a French street in a summery frock, holding fresh vegetables and bread in hand...

of butterfly and eskimo kisses after bedtime stories...

of driving for hours with nowhere to go...




of wishing with all my might in a field of dandelions...

It's the simple things... (a few days late)

Steaming apple cider in the chilly mornings.
The smell of rain...
My moccasins.
Brushing the hair out of my brother's sweet eyes.
Staying inside all day watching Christmas movie marathons- I love this time of year.
The smell of chili throughout my home- making me anxious for tomorrow's supper.
The fact that Thanksgiving is arriving...
Scribbling the beginnings of Christmas lists with my sugar-filled siblings.
The heat from the fire that is warming my toes at the moment...
The preparations for a pumpkin pie.
The freckle-nosed little girl smiling up at me in the choir loft at church this morning.
Going to sleep every night with the comfort of having my sister beside me throughout the night..

and the beautiful kitten that curiously watched the crazy teenager going camera-wild at the sign of leaves...

go here for more simple things.

Much love,
suzyQ

on and on...

We were thirteen, on the brink of high school. Everything would soon be changed- our friendships, our schoolwork, our shoe sizes, our teachers, and our lives. But on that warm, humid summer night down by the dock with the crickets humming us a tune and the fish quietly splashing in the pond beneath us, nothing mattered- nothing mattered at all. It was just the four of us; me, with my braces and sun-kissed cheeks, the two boys- 12 feet and battle scars between the two of them, and my best friend, with her sandy feet and over sized t-shirt. Fishing poles in hand, casual conversation, and bubble gum that lost its flavor the hour before; this is all that was on our minds that night. Our palms were sticky, the bonfire was dying down, the fish were long asleep... but we didn't mind. We sat out there for hours with no light but the moon.

On that summer night, the world's end wouldn't have bothered us. That night, on the cusp of young adulthood with our scraggly hair and torn blue jeans, a special, everlasting bond formed between the four of us... those clumsy country kids will never disappear...

no matter what.

and the crickets hum on and on...


-suzyQ

"The Battle of the Internal suzyQ"... stay tuned for next week...

Writing.

Oh, the freedom it brings to my life.
But, oh, the anxiety that follows close behind.

Does that sound like I envisioned it would? Correct grammar? What should I write about next? What if I run out of things to write about? Am I getting the point across that I have agonized over the last hour? What can I do to inspire and touch my readers? What is the purpose of this blog?

(Can you tell I have an analytical side?)

So, then my psychiatric side must quiet and console my endless thoughts.
She tells them:

"As long as you are making yourself happy with what you write, nothing else matters. Never worry about running out of things to say- life happens, and when it does, your story will unfold along the way. No matter what, your words will somehow touch someone out there- end of story. Now, only you can reveal the purpose of your blog- think about it."

After much consideration, I answer, "Well, I started it as a creative outlet and a place to showcase some of my amateur photography. But, it turned into a place where I express my thoughts and it has taken me in many directions unimaginable. It is a confidence builder, friendship maker, and much more. My blog never ceases to listen to everything I have to say, without the slightest complaint. I guess that the purpose of it would be to challenge and uplift my own life, and hopefully lighten the load of some other people's lives as well. I want my readers to arrive here and feel at home, and for the stress and worries of their everyday lives to dissolve... knowing that anyone has received any kind of inspiration from my words gives me the greatest satisfaction I can ever have."

"Well, suzyQ, there ya go. Next time those crazy thoughts start buzzing again, tell them they will have to mess with me."

I love my psychiatric side.

One.

Every Sunday we come together.
Communion is my favorite part of the service.
The lights are dimmed. The prayers are said. There is a single glow from the flickering candles. Hands are held. Eyes are dabbed. The soft music is playing. We all go down to the front to partake in the bread and juice. It is silent. Peaceful. Magical. Warm. Inviting.

It's at this moment that we are whole; gathering for one reason.
We are friends.
We are family.
We are happy.
We are loved.

We... are one.

Like mother like daughter...

"Good night, Mom," I said. Then I stealthily snuck into the kitchen and cut a generous piece of a brownie cake that we have. I then walked upstairs and attempted to fall asleep... but the craving for one more meager crumb kept me awake. So I crept back downstairs to polish up the last bit of the cake... but, to my dismay, the cake polishing had already occurred. And as I looked into the deep, dark shadows of the pantry, I spotted my mother licking her greedy fingers.

Like mother like daughter.

-suzyQ

Friday Night Lights

One of the things I love most about high school: Friday night football games.

Wet, mushy, perfectly groomed sod. Enthusiastic mamas and nervous daddies. Little girls donned in their homemade cheerleading uniforms, cheering along with the "big girls". Our coach's famous speech made at the end of every ballgame in a huddle on the middle of the field, with players and fans surrounding. Roasted peanuts and cokes. Candy-filled children screaming for their role models on the field. Gnats...everywhere. Bright lights. Hair ribbons and pom poms. Rub-on tattoos plastered on pink cheeks. Familiar cheers ringing through the whole complex. Sore throats and hoarse voices. The feeling of having the whole school together rooting for their boys.

This makes me love high school life. This makes me feel at home. This, I will never tire of.

And this, I will most certainly miss in a few years.


-suzyQ