Professional Family Photos

 We had organized family photos taken twice that I can remember while growing up; once at the fire station and once through Olan Mills. My sister had strep throat in one set, and I had pick eye in the other. I think that is why my mother never found it necessary to take annual family photos; they were never worth the money. 

As a parent I’ve made the poor choice to try to get family photos taken each fall. I don’t know why I do this, as I already have 1,027 photos of my children on the iPhone in my pocket. There is just something about getting the family cleaned up, out of barn clothes, hair combed and smiling. But let me tell you: it ain’t easy. 

 

You put a camera in front of Cyrus, 2, and he has as much personality as a celery stalk. He doesn’t smile, he scowls. He doesn’t show you his beautiful blue eyes, he glares. He doesn’t even prefer to stand, he must be held. We’ve always said that Cyrus is an 80-year-old man in a tiny body: he walks like he needs a hip replacement, talks to himself, prefers to eat by himself and generally acts grumpy just so people leave him alone. Add “thinks family photos are ridiculous” to that list. 

On the other end of the spectrum, Caroline, 4, was born for family photos. She encourages props (this year it was a stick horse she insisted on including). She poses. She takes direction quite well. She asks if her hair bow is visible. She tries to act as Cyrus’ smile coach which only irritates him further. 

Cody simply rolls in from the farm two minutes before the photographer is to arrive, washes his hands, combs his hat hair, puts on the clean jeans and shirt I’ve laid out for him and asks, “Why are we doing this, again?”

 

“For Christmas cards,” I remarked, trying to get Sharpie marker off Cyrus’ chin.

 

“My mom used to just sign some and mail them. There was never a photo,” he continued, tucking in his shirt. 

 

I didn’t even acknowledge his passive protest and stories of a simpler life long ago on the Kansas plains. This was no time for happy stories…it was family picture day. I just needed everyone to smile once. Preferably at the same time.

 

My job is to ensure everyone is fully dressed, and the beads of sweat running down my face - earned from squeezing into a pair of jeans I haven’t worn since quarantine started – aren’t visible. That’s tougher than it sounds. 

 

We had our family photos taken in October and have yet to see a single result. 

“What do you think it is taking so long to get our pictures back?” my husband asked last week. "I thought you were sending Christmas cards."

 

“She’s probably Photoshopping a smile onto Cyrus,” I responded without hesitation. He seemed to agree. 

 

Don’t let the perfect photos you see on Facebook or in Christmas cards this year fool you. Just remember: Behind every great family photo you’ll see this holiday season, there was one husband who would rather be doing anything but this, 45 tears cried inside the house because someone was missing Sesame Street for all of this nonsense, 2 pieces of Halloween candy melting in pockets used as bribery and a mother growing frustrated that it is seemingly impossible for everyone in the family to appear happy on the same day. 

 

If you don’t get a Christmas card, please don’t be offended. I’m just trying to protect the family reputation. 

24 Frames

Prom season just passed and I’ve never seen so many beautiful young people in sparkling dresses dotting the rural landscape posing in front of cleaned up cars.

At least, not since last year’s prom.

The saturation of prom photos on Facebook (this is not a complaint, I truly enjoy seeing the photos) had me reminiscing just a bit about the days of old when I was one of those young kids in a sparkly dress moving more with the likeness of a newborn calf walking on ice than a beauty queen. The good old days…of which I have no desire to go back.

Something has disappeared since I was young and impressionable (ha!) and I believe the disappearance of this fundamental venture has created a generation that is missing out on a lesson in patience. Today we demand:

Faster connections

Promised promotions

Instant success and gratification

What did we have to do that today’s young adults know nothing about?

Wait at least an hour 

to get film developed into photos.

I remember Wal-Mart being the first morning-after stop following any dance, event or special occasion. We would gather the cameras – disposable or not – and take them to the back of the megastore for development.

Then we would wait.

Wait to see how many turned out.

Wait to see if the dress fit like you hoped.

Wait to see if the photo with so-and-so is a keeper.

Wait to see how that little glimpse of your life unfolded, in 24 frames. 

There were a few benefits to film development that go far beyond having proof for your grandkids that you did exist:

Momma always kept film in the second kitchen drawer. Each time she loaded a new roll into the camera, she’d stand in the kitchen, face south, and click a couple photos until she was sure the film was loaded properly. Inevitably, after waiting at the very least an hour to flip through the stack of hot-off-the-press photos, the first two (four if we got doubles) would be of the oven. There were always 24 frames on a role of film; 22 after Momma took her obligatory oven pictures. Can life be remembered in 24 frames? Definitely, if you make your days count.

Lesson: Days are not disposable. They are to be built upon, used with purpose and enjoyed. Do not squander them thinking you have another roll in the second drawer. The older you get, the faster the roll ticks down: 5-4-3… You can’t re-shoot and film over the bad parts. What you “shoot” today, you’ll have to view tomorrow. Or, whenever Wal-Mart says your photos are ready.

I had a childhood friend that had a hard time keeping her eyes open once the disposable flash fired. Without fail, the bright lights made her squint, squirm and blink. It was obviously a natural reaction. Do you know what we did with this friend during field trips, dances, special events and last-day-of-school photos shoots? We included her. With the understanding that she would look like a smiley sleeping person standing up, we included her in every one of our photos. It was her trademark move, though she wanted so desperately to not be that person.

Lesson: Include others and recognize all of the uniqueness they bring to your circle.

And let it be known: Blinky went on to have the most beautiful senior photos of our entire class. Gorgeous, really.

I have a friend who lost a dear family member unexpectedly just weeks ago. In an effort to preserve the man’s memory, my friend has begun sorting through film negatives to make prints of photos of years gone by. The man left behind a 10-year-old son; the photos will help preserve a legacy that perhaps the son doesn’t yet understand. Thank God they kept the negatives. Today we keep photos around just long enough to 1) post online or 2) delete when digital storage gets low. But we forget about the power that lies in the negatives. The negatives – thin strips of exposed film - can be used over and over again, like life’s teachable moments.

Lesson: When we view the negatives as lessons, we can gain multiple uses from one frame: learn from it, keep it around, and come back to them when needed.

We live in a time where everyone wants a quick turn-around.  

Instant results.

Fast changes.

The ability to know if things “turn out”.

The digital age has done that to us.

While these things are signs of the time, proof of advancements and forward-thinking, there is also great value in thinking back to the things that taught us lessons while we actually waited in line with great anticipation.

Sometimes, even, with bobbypins still in our hair.

This is part one of two. 

Come visit next Wednesday to get the rest of the story, would ya?

Through The Lens: March in Indiana

I follow Nebraska Through The Lens on Facebook. I don’t know why I do so, or even how I found the page, but it is interesting to see what people deem photo-worthy and in what part of the state the shots hail from. Nebraska is a wonderful place where a lot of our friends call home. The work on the page is beautiful and inspiring and brings a certain light to Facebook that is generally lacking.

Snap back to real life.

This week I decided to emulate their inspiring NebraskaThrough The Lens example, dust off my camera and get out and enjoy the warmer weather.

Home Through The Lens, I thought I'd call this weeks blog.

I changed out of my work clothes and heard the weather guy on TV talk about the breezy evening we were experiencing.

Breezy?
I couldn’t even get out of the house because the grill had blown over, blocking the screen door, a patio chair had landed on top of it and the snow shovel was stacked as the cherry on top. I guess “breezy” was the PC way of saying windy as heck. I used one hair tie and seven bobby pins to get the mop outta my line of sight.

Once outside, I walked around the house and tried to find images of spring.

Home Through The Lens

In search of  beauty.

Inspiration.

Light.

Beauty? No. 

Inspiration? No. 

Light? No. 

Snap back to real life. Sometimes there aren't enough filters in the world to dress up this life. 

When I really started to study our place, all I found was a long list of things that need attention.  

This is what happens when you forget to store the summer rockers:

This is what happens when your house is lacking bleach water and some elbow grease:

I think this is my year to run the bucket loader.

And this is what happens when you have absolutely crazy neighbors:

Let me back up.

Saturday afternoon I was watching the IU basketball game (it was that or Dateline re-runs and you know I can’t watch Dateline alone) and folding laundry upstairs. Only minutes after watching IU win, a slow moving vehicle caught my eye outside. I watched our neighbor - we'll call him "Mike Craig" -  slowly pull his SUV through the hayfield gates that sit directly across the road from our house, and drive east through his field.

What in the world is he doing out there on a Saturday afternoon? I thought. Like any good/nosey/bored rural neighbor, I continued to watch.

Mike then got out of this vehicle, squeezed between his fence and the long row of wrapped hay bales that line the highway, and began shaking a can.

And then the red graffiti started.

I squinted, watched and began recording video on my cell phone as I slowly realized what he was doing. (I have since removed that video from this blog; my language wasn't suitable for ears belonging to young, impressionable people or my grandma.) He was intentionally spewing Pro-IU trash directly into my line of sight.

I opened the window and yelled across the highway, asking him to stop. I could hear his laugh from our second floor bedroom.

There was no turning back. He was adding exclamation marks to his art at this point. 

Now this Sweet 16 jargon is the first thing I see every day.

Living proof that March in Indiana is cut throat.

And I didn't even have a dog in the fight!

As it turns out, his creative graffiti was just the beginning.

The community must really like Mike’s “art” because since he painted the bales, vehicles have honked non-stop. In fact, on Sunday afternoon I laid down to take a much deserved (ha!) nap. Every time I was seconds from falling asleep, some idiot would lay on the horn as they drove by. Cody was out of town and I expressed my frustration with the constant support of the IU wall that had been built across the road from our property.

 

When Cody got home one evening this week he calmly told me that he may have figured out why so many people – cars, vans, semis, implements - were honking as they drove by our farm since last weekend:

I hadn't seen this portion of Mike's "art",  far enough down the highway that I couldn’t view it from our bedroom Saturday afternoon. Positioned precisely so that once people read this, their honk is perfectly timed directly in front of our place.  I'm going to lose my mind.  Is March over yet?

Maybe next week the wind will calm, my blood pressure will lower, the honking will stop, IU will lose and this place can get back to some sort of normalcy. I have legitimate concerns about what Mike will do to the landscape if IU wins again, but we can address that can of crimson spray paint when we get there.

March in Indiana: There is nothing like it.

Thank goodness, for the sake of Purdue alumni and fans everywhere, 

it only comes once a year. 

My evening wasn't a complete waste.

A couple shots of our beloved (depends on who you ask)  Shorthorn herd in it's entirety: