For those of you that so faithfully follow my blogs (come on, you know you do), you may have discovered a few things about me:
1. I love my Bug.
2. I love all things Disney.
3. I love photography.
For my first Follow Friday, I reference my Bug while introducing you to his mama. For my second, we're going to look at the next two items on the above list: Disney and photography.
I made my first trip to Walt Disney World in 1979. I don't remember the trip (I was a year old), but my family says I've been obsessed and in love ever since. Even after moving away from Florida, my family continued to make yearly visits to WDW until 1999-2000. There was a small gap between trips, as I fully entered adulthood, and was responsible for paying for my own trips, but by the mid-2000s, my yearly trips were back on (or, as in the case of 2011, thrice-yearly visits).
I've been taking photos since I was a child, as well. I remember, at an early age, getting ahold of my dad's old 110 camera to take pictures while on vacation. By the time I was a teenager, I had a fancy 35mm. It was just a point-and-shoot, but at $235, it was fancy for me. Packed away in boxes, I have 1000s of images from various trips and events in my life.
In March of 2003, I was out of work, and stumbled into a job working in a private photo lab. That temporary position filling photo orders turned into an extended job printing orders, which turned into photography lessons, which turned into time behind the camera at real photo shoots, which turned into several shoots of my own, which turned into money to start buying my own professional photography equipment. I now do freelance work for a local newspaper, I still shoot for the company that taught me all I know, and I've started my own photography business.
One thing I've always wanted to do more of is take pictures at amusement parks, specifically Disney parks. I'm usually so enthralled in the aspect of just BEING there that I forget about the large, overly-packed camera bag on my back (I tend to bring everything. Including the kitchen sink. Actually, two of them). Then I get back to the house, and realize that I've got 30 photos to cover 10-12 hours spent at the park. A few months ago, I tried spending a day at the Magic Kingdom with nothing but my point-and-shoot. I definitely had more photos at the end of the day, but none of them were what I really wanted.
What to do.....?
Then, it happened.
In the course of browsing some of the many (and I do mean MANY) Disney websites, podcasts and blogs that I frequent, I stumbled across one I'd never seen before. A blog on Disney....and photography!
Tom Bricker is an amazing photographer who puts his talent strictly into the art of capturing moments at Disney theme parks (and all that go with them). He's also very good at explaining why he took that shot, how he took it, and whether it turned out the way he wanted. He gives tips, hints, advice and warnings with both knowledge and humor. He has, in the short space of about 2 weeks, become my photography hero.
Please check Tom out at Disney Tourist Blog. If all you do is look at the photos, you will have given yourself a gift.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Follow Friday - Thriftstorehoppin
A popular occurrence on Twitter is what we call Follow Friday. Or #follow #friday. Or #ff. It's a specific day when Tweeters suggest to the Twitter world some profiles they believe we should follow. It really is neat, especially when you're new to Twitter, and several people give you a #ff shout out. It can get you followers. It can give you people to follow.
I want to start doing my own version of the #ff right here on this blog.
If you follow any of my blogs, you've probably discovered that I am completely in love with a little boy named Bug. Well, Bug actually has a family, even though they don't get talked about as much - a little brother named Peanut, a mom (Bug's mama), a dad (Bug's daddy), and a dog named Tessa (or, in early Bug-speak, "good girl"). I truly love the entire family. Bug's daddy is my cousin. We've known each of each other since he was a small child, but have only really known each other since early 2003. We quickly became very close friends, and for several years, I spent as much time with him and his family as I did with my own (we only live an hour or so apart). In 2005, he rocked my world by expressing interest in - gasp! - a girl.
I know. Rude.
I tried really hard not to like her (ok, I really didn't try that hard). But I could see that she was around for the duration, so I slowly...slowly......slowly.....got to know her. They got married the next year. For the first year(ish), I visited other cousins in the area, but never specifically visit the newly married couple. In fact, I never saw their first apartment. I admit, I was having trouble adjusting to the new dynamic in my relationship with them. And then, one day, a Bug was born. And my cousins became Bug's mama and Bug's daddy.
I met Bug when he was just 9 days old, and knew my life would never be the same. I visited again several months later, and again a few months after that. And then, suddenly, I was seeing them every month or so. As I fell more in love with my boy, I discovered that I'd never really gotten to know Bug's mama. What a waste of the past 2+ years!!
As the next 2 years went by, I began spending as much (or more) time with Bug and Bug's mama than I did with Bug's daddy (not intentionally, but we no longer based my visits strictly on his work schedule). And Bug's mama became one of my best friends, and probably the one person that I am the closest to in this world (outside of my own mama).
The relationship was cemented that winter day when Peanut came into the world.
In the 14 months that Peanut has been on this earth, I have visited them 13 times. Bug now knows (and calls me by) my name. On my last visit, just two short weeks ago, Peanut was trying to say my name. When I visit, the boys know that we WILL watch Disney movies. We WILL wrestle and tickle. We WILL go out to eat somewhere. Cameras WILL come out, and pictures of anything and everything will be taken. And maybe the best part of all (well, maybe not better than the Disney movies, but close enough), thrift stores WILL be visited.
I come from a thrifty family. The women in my family LOVE shopping at thrift stores. I have never liked them. I don't know why, b/c someone one else can shop at a thrift store for me, and I'm fine with it. But I just can't shop there myself. However, in friendship, I tag along when visitiing Bug and his family. And over the weeks and months, I've discovered that I really like thrift stores.
In the past few visits, I've gotten several books (for pennies), unopened wallpaper border (enough rolls to decorate a bathroom, once I get my new house - for a few quarters), an argyle sweater vest ($3 - AND it's argyle!), and along with my own finds, I've helped in finding toys and argyle sweater vests for Bug and Peanut.
FYI, I love argyle sweater vests almost as much as I love Bug and Peanut.
And now, I'm sure you're asking, "She started out talking about Follow Friday, and went off on a tangent about the kid - he's cute, and all, but what does he have to do with Follow Friday?" Well, you see, as I've just explained, Bug's mama is the one that introduced me - REALLY introduced me - to thrift stores. She finds all kinds of treasures when she shops, and she comes up with all these great ideas just by looking at something on one of the store shelves.
And best of all, she has now started blogging about her thrift store adventures.
So, do yourself a favor. Check out Thrift Store Hoppin', and tell her I said, "Hi, Bug!" She'll laugh, and know exactly who sent you.
I want to start doing my own version of the #ff right here on this blog.
If you follow any of my blogs, you've probably discovered that I am completely in love with a little boy named Bug. Well, Bug actually has a family, even though they don't get talked about as much - a little brother named Peanut, a mom (Bug's mama), a dad (Bug's daddy), and a dog named Tessa (or, in early Bug-speak, "good girl"). I truly love the entire family. Bug's daddy is my cousin. We've known each of each other since he was a small child, but have only really known each other since early 2003. We quickly became very close friends, and for several years, I spent as much time with him and his family as I did with my own (we only live an hour or so apart). In 2005, he rocked my world by expressing interest in - gasp! - a girl.
I know. Rude.
I tried really hard not to like her (ok, I really didn't try that hard). But I could see that she was around for the duration, so I slowly...slowly......slowly.....got to know her. They got married the next year. For the first year(ish), I visited other cousins in the area, but never specifically visit the newly married couple. In fact, I never saw their first apartment. I admit, I was having trouble adjusting to the new dynamic in my relationship with them. And then, one day, a Bug was born. And my cousins became Bug's mama and Bug's daddy.
I met Bug when he was just 9 days old, and knew my life would never be the same. I visited again several months later, and again a few months after that. And then, suddenly, I was seeing them every month or so. As I fell more in love with my boy, I discovered that I'd never really gotten to know Bug's mama. What a waste of the past 2+ years!!
As the next 2 years went by, I began spending as much (or more) time with Bug and Bug's mama than I did with Bug's daddy (not intentionally, but we no longer based my visits strictly on his work schedule). And Bug's mama became one of my best friends, and probably the one person that I am the closest to in this world (outside of my own mama).
The relationship was cemented that winter day when Peanut came into the world.
In the 14 months that Peanut has been on this earth, I have visited them 13 times. Bug now knows (and calls me by) my name. On my last visit, just two short weeks ago, Peanut was trying to say my name. When I visit, the boys know that we WILL watch Disney movies. We WILL wrestle and tickle. We WILL go out to eat somewhere. Cameras WILL come out, and pictures of anything and everything will be taken. And maybe the best part of all (well, maybe not better than the Disney movies, but close enough), thrift stores WILL be visited.
I come from a thrifty family. The women in my family LOVE shopping at thrift stores. I have never liked them. I don't know why, b/c someone one else can shop at a thrift store for me, and I'm fine with it. But I just can't shop there myself. However, in friendship, I tag along when visitiing Bug and his family. And over the weeks and months, I've discovered that I really like thrift stores.
In the past few visits, I've gotten several books (for pennies), unopened wallpaper border (enough rolls to decorate a bathroom, once I get my new house - for a few quarters), an argyle sweater vest ($3 - AND it's argyle!), and along with my own finds, I've helped in finding toys and argyle sweater vests for Bug and Peanut.
FYI, I love argyle sweater vests almost as much as I love Bug and Peanut.
And now, I'm sure you're asking, "She started out talking about Follow Friday, and went off on a tangent about the kid - he's cute, and all, but what does he have to do with Follow Friday?" Well, you see, as I've just explained, Bug's mama is the one that introduced me - REALLY introduced me - to thrift stores. She finds all kinds of treasures when she shops, and she comes up with all these great ideas just by looking at something on one of the store shelves.
And best of all, she has now started blogging about her thrift store adventures.
So, do yourself a favor. Check out Thrift Store Hoppin', and tell her I said, "Hi, Bug!" She'll laugh, and know exactly who sent you.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Two Weeks in Hell
The Discovery Channel calls the US Army's Green Beret selection process "Two Weeks in Hell." Well, let me just tell you, the Green Berets ain't got nuthin' on me!
Two weeks ago, I posted my latest blog challenge entry. I finished the end of my work day. I sat around for an hour after work, watching Netflix on my office computer, while waiting for my younger brother to get out of his staff meeting (he's a staffer for the local University radio station - and since I work at said University, where he is also a student, we carpool. Thursday's are late nights). I was at the beginning of the final 24-hour countdown to Friday evening, and leaving for a long weekend in South Carolina, visiting my Bug.
I am so in love with that boy!
Anywho.
Friday afternoon, the clock reads 4:30pm. And the phone call comes. "Mark's been in an accident. They're taking him to the hospital by ambulance. We have no other details."
Mark is my brother-in-law. He drives a motorcycle.
I ran from my office to my car, which is farther than I've run in a LONG time.
The drive to the hospital, which is only a few miles from where I work, seemed to take an hour. As I pulled into the parking lot, I passed my sister-in-law just getting out of her truck; she informed me that she dropped my sister off at the emergency room entrance on her way in (sigh of relief; my sister did not drive herself into town). I find a place to park, and head in. My nephew and his wife meet me at the entrance.
Known injuries at the time: broken arm, broken collarbone, possibly broken nose.
No report on what happened, who was involved, or where it happened.
The emergency room vigil begins. The minutes pass in a blur of phone calls, people arriving, others leaving, updates and speculations. After about an hour, a hospital staffer comes and takes us all back to a private waiting room in the back of the ER, just around the corner from the bay they have Mark in. More people arrive, more phone calls are made. My nephew is doing an wonderful job of handling the swarm of people, and running interference on everyone who wants to go see Mark. After awhile, I ask him if I can step back for just a minute, to let Mark and my sister know that I'm there.
Mark is lying flat on a bed, with my sister holding an ice pack on his nose. He is alert and talking, albeit it softly and with much effort. My sister is much calmer than she was when she was on the phone. She wants to know what time I'm leaving for South Carolina.
Really? I'm at the hospital right now. For your husband. Who was just in a motorcycle accident. I may not even be going to South Carolina!
Back in the waiting room, friends bring us some supper. I'm surprised by how good the grilled chicken wraps from McDonald's are! But maybe it's simply that they were paired with McDonald's southern sweet tea, which I've not had in a month. Or maybe it's that I'm starving!
An hour or so later, Mark is finally moved to a room. At approximately 8:45pm, I make my way to his room. My family proceeds to kick me out, telling me to go to South Carolina as I'd been planning for so long. Part of me feels guilty for leaving, but part of me (the part that has already spent too much time in hospitals, the part of me that is thinking of my last emergency room visit when Daddy died, even the part of me that just simply craves a hug from a Bug) really wants to get the wheels on the road. With promises to check in frequently, and to return immediately if needed, I get in my car and head out of town.
While all of the hospital drama has been going on, another kind of drama has been making it's way East through the US. A massive stormfront has been moving through, leaving death and destruction in its wake. This is not an exageration.
As I hit I-85N, I turn my XM radio to CNN and listen to the weather reports. The system has entered GA, and Rome has reports of tornados. One of my best friends lives, with his wife, in Rome. I pray.
Now Dallas has reports of tornados. My friend's parents live in the area. I pray.
I'm approaching the South Carolina state line, and my weather radio goes off. I have codes for GA and SC programmed into it, and live smack dab in between several NWS branches. This is probably not a good alert.
Johns Creek and Cumming are under a tornado warning. My nephew just moved from Johns Creek; we all still have friends and family in the area. I pray.
At this point, I'm on SC 11, with only 10-12 miles left on my journey. All I want to do is reach the house before the storms hit, and without hitting any deer (SC 11 is a long, dark road through the mountains).
Five miles to go. My weather radio sounds again. I grab my phone and call my mom. "Are you home or still at the hospital?" She's home. " Did you know you're under a tornado warning?" Yes, her weather radio went off, as well. They're in the hallway. "I'm staying on the phone with you until I get to the house." But, of course, what do you say to someone who may be seconds away from taking a trip to Oz?
I reached Bug's house, talk to my mom a few more minutes, tell her to keep me informed, take a few seconds to just. stop. and. breathe. And I go inside to love on my Bug. Who is, of course, up way past his bedtime. But what can you do when you're under a tornado watch, and you have company coming in, and family keeps calling or stopping by (because, hey, there's a tornado watch, don't you want to come over to the house with a basement???)? You let the kid stay up until the ruckus dies down.
At one point, I worry that I've left my sunroof open (I worry about this a lot, even though I'm a bit OCD, and close/turn off everything in my car in the exact same order every time). Bug's dad goes out to check on it for me, in the pouring rain. He comes back in a few minutes later. He has closed my sunroof, and cleaned the water out of my front seats. This has not been my night.
For the next couple of hours, I snuggle (read: wrestle and tickle) my Bug, visit with my cousins, listen to the raging storm outside, get updates on Mark, and finally, around 2am, we all drift off to our various rooms and beds, and we sleep the remainder of the night. We have no tornados.
The rest of the trip was BUSY, but relaxing in its own weekend-in-South-Carolina way. The one dark cloud was the true telling of Mark's injuries: broken left collarbone, broken left shoulder blade, broken right arm, all of left ribs broken, some of right ribs broken, broken nose, partially collapsed lung, fractured vertebra, compressed vertebra. No sign of spinal or brain damage. It's going to be a long road to recovery.
By the time I return home, my neck and shoulder have tightened up, and I've got inflammation in my arm, shooting pains down into my elbow. I've got another week before I can get to the chiropractor. That week of days is spent working, going to the hospital, getting food for those staying at the hospital, updating friends and families, getting updates from friends and family, preparing for an upcoming Bible assembly, classes and workouts. Finally, Saturday arrives, and I head off to the first day of a 2-day Bible assembly. I'm ready for two days of spiritual refreshment, spiritual refinement, and spiritual butt-kicking.
I promptly walking into the assembly hall, turn, and tear cartilage in my hip. Again. Second time in a month. Third time in a year. I spend the next two days sitting in (formerly comfortable) auditorium seats, trying not to breathe anymore than I have to. The in my arm is now connected to the pain in my hip.
The stress of the past 10 days, the pain from my arm and my hip, and the act of being in a crowd of 1200 people (which, normally, I can handle at this facility, but with all the things talked about above....) all combine in one crashing wave, and I find myself, on several occasions, breaking down into tears.
Three days later (which adds up to: yesterday), I finally go to the chiropractor. A 45-minute massage is followed by some rehab, and then a wonderful adjustment which puts my hip back where it is supposed to be, evens out my leg length, corrects some facet placement in my neck, and realigns my ribcage. I bite the bullet and buy a new pillow while I'm there, something I've been thinking of doing, but really, who wants to spend $45 on a tiny pillow?
This morning, I woke up. Relaxed, refreshed, with no low back pain, no headache, and a much less-noticable throbbing in my arm.
I think my two weeks in hell are over.
I deserve a medal.
Two weeks ago, I posted my latest blog challenge entry. I finished the end of my work day. I sat around for an hour after work, watching Netflix on my office computer, while waiting for my younger brother to get out of his staff meeting (he's a staffer for the local University radio station - and since I work at said University, where he is also a student, we carpool. Thursday's are late nights). I was at the beginning of the final 24-hour countdown to Friday evening, and leaving for a long weekend in South Carolina, visiting my Bug.
I am so in love with that boy!
Anywho.
Friday afternoon, the clock reads 4:30pm. And the phone call comes. "Mark's been in an accident. They're taking him to the hospital by ambulance. We have no other details."
Mark is my brother-in-law. He drives a motorcycle.
I ran from my office to my car, which is farther than I've run in a LONG time.
The drive to the hospital, which is only a few miles from where I work, seemed to take an hour. As I pulled into the parking lot, I passed my sister-in-law just getting out of her truck; she informed me that she dropped my sister off at the emergency room entrance on her way in (sigh of relief; my sister did not drive herself into town). I find a place to park, and head in. My nephew and his wife meet me at the entrance.
Known injuries at the time: broken arm, broken collarbone, possibly broken nose.
No report on what happened, who was involved, or where it happened.
The emergency room vigil begins. The minutes pass in a blur of phone calls, people arriving, others leaving, updates and speculations. After about an hour, a hospital staffer comes and takes us all back to a private waiting room in the back of the ER, just around the corner from the bay they have Mark in. More people arrive, more phone calls are made. My nephew is doing an wonderful job of handling the swarm of people, and running interference on everyone who wants to go see Mark. After awhile, I ask him if I can step back for just a minute, to let Mark and my sister know that I'm there.
Mark is lying flat on a bed, with my sister holding an ice pack on his nose. He is alert and talking, albeit it softly and with much effort. My sister is much calmer than she was when she was on the phone. She wants to know what time I'm leaving for South Carolina.
Really? I'm at the hospital right now. For your husband. Who was just in a motorcycle accident. I may not even be going to South Carolina!
Back in the waiting room, friends bring us some supper. I'm surprised by how good the grilled chicken wraps from McDonald's are! But maybe it's simply that they were paired with McDonald's southern sweet tea, which I've not had in a month. Or maybe it's that I'm starving!
An hour or so later, Mark is finally moved to a room. At approximately 8:45pm, I make my way to his room. My family proceeds to kick me out, telling me to go to South Carolina as I'd been planning for so long. Part of me feels guilty for leaving, but part of me (the part that has already spent too much time in hospitals, the part of me that is thinking of my last emergency room visit when Daddy died, even the part of me that just simply craves a hug from a Bug) really wants to get the wheels on the road. With promises to check in frequently, and to return immediately if needed, I get in my car and head out of town.
While all of the hospital drama has been going on, another kind of drama has been making it's way East through the US. A massive stormfront has been moving through, leaving death and destruction in its wake. This is not an exageration.
As I hit I-85N, I turn my XM radio to CNN and listen to the weather reports. The system has entered GA, and Rome has reports of tornados. One of my best friends lives, with his wife, in Rome. I pray.
Now Dallas has reports of tornados. My friend's parents live in the area. I pray.
I'm approaching the South Carolina state line, and my weather radio goes off. I have codes for GA and SC programmed into it, and live smack dab in between several NWS branches. This is probably not a good alert.
Johns Creek and Cumming are under a tornado warning. My nephew just moved from Johns Creek; we all still have friends and family in the area. I pray.
At this point, I'm on SC 11, with only 10-12 miles left on my journey. All I want to do is reach the house before the storms hit, and without hitting any deer (SC 11 is a long, dark road through the mountains).
Five miles to go. My weather radio sounds again. I grab my phone and call my mom. "Are you home or still at the hospital?" She's home. " Did you know you're under a tornado warning?" Yes, her weather radio went off, as well. They're in the hallway. "I'm staying on the phone with you until I get to the house." But, of course, what do you say to someone who may be seconds away from taking a trip to Oz?
I reached Bug's house, talk to my mom a few more minutes, tell her to keep me informed, take a few seconds to just. stop. and. breathe. And I go inside to love on my Bug. Who is, of course, up way past his bedtime. But what can you do when you're under a tornado watch, and you have company coming in, and family keeps calling or stopping by (because, hey, there's a tornado watch, don't you want to come over to the house with a basement???)? You let the kid stay up until the ruckus dies down.
At one point, I worry that I've left my sunroof open (I worry about this a lot, even though I'm a bit OCD, and close/turn off everything in my car in the exact same order every time). Bug's dad goes out to check on it for me, in the pouring rain. He comes back in a few minutes later. He has closed my sunroof, and cleaned the water out of my front seats. This has not been my night.
For the next couple of hours, I snuggle (read: wrestle and tickle) my Bug, visit with my cousins, listen to the raging storm outside, get updates on Mark, and finally, around 2am, we all drift off to our various rooms and beds, and we sleep the remainder of the night. We have no tornados.
The rest of the trip was BUSY, but relaxing in its own weekend-in-South-Carolina way. The one dark cloud was the true telling of Mark's injuries: broken left collarbone, broken left shoulder blade, broken right arm, all of left ribs broken, some of right ribs broken, broken nose, partially collapsed lung, fractured vertebra, compressed vertebra. No sign of spinal or brain damage. It's going to be a long road to recovery.
By the time I return home, my neck and shoulder have tightened up, and I've got inflammation in my arm, shooting pains down into my elbow. I've got another week before I can get to the chiropractor. That week of days is spent working, going to the hospital, getting food for those staying at the hospital, updating friends and families, getting updates from friends and family, preparing for an upcoming Bible assembly, classes and workouts. Finally, Saturday arrives, and I head off to the first day of a 2-day Bible assembly. I'm ready for two days of spiritual refreshment, spiritual refinement, and spiritual butt-kicking.
I promptly walking into the assembly hall, turn, and tear cartilage in my hip. Again. Second time in a month. Third time in a year. I spend the next two days sitting in (formerly comfortable) auditorium seats, trying not to breathe anymore than I have to. The in my arm is now connected to the pain in my hip.
The stress of the past 10 days, the pain from my arm and my hip, and the act of being in a crowd of 1200 people (which, normally, I can handle at this facility, but with all the things talked about above....) all combine in one crashing wave, and I find myself, on several occasions, breaking down into tears.
Three days later (which adds up to: yesterday), I finally go to the chiropractor. A 45-minute massage is followed by some rehab, and then a wonderful adjustment which puts my hip back where it is supposed to be, evens out my leg length, corrects some facet placement in my neck, and realigns my ribcage. I bite the bullet and buy a new pillow while I'm there, something I've been thinking of doing, but really, who wants to spend $45 on a tiny pillow?
This morning, I woke up. Relaxed, refreshed, with no low back pain, no headache, and a much less-noticable throbbing in my arm.
I think my two weeks in hell are over.
I deserve a medal.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Day 15 – What are five things people don’t know about you?
1. I only have one kidney
2. I am an ordained minister
3. I want to compete in triathlons
4. I have 4 siblings (3 older, 1 younger)
5. This is the place where I used to put: I have never broken a bone. But I can't do that anymore. So, I guess it's "I've only broken one bone, ever. My big toe."
Yeah, yeah, I know. Boring! But I can't help it. If you know me, you know me. I don't hide who I am.
2. I am an ordained minister
3. I want to compete in triathlons
4. I have 4 siblings (3 older, 1 younger)
5. This is the place where I used to put: I have never broken a bone. But I can't do that anymore. So, I guess it's "I've only broken one bone, ever. My big toe."
Yeah, yeah, I know. Boring! But I can't help it. If you know me, you know me. I don't hide who I am.
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