It's the dead of winter here in the Windy City, and I've been daydreaming a lot about our upcoming spring break to New Orleans, hence the new sleeveless dress.  Cadence loves the excellent twirl factor, and both she and I can't wait until she can actually wear that outside.

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This is the photo I shared on Kimchi Mamas today as part of a new monthly photo share over there.  Feel free to pop on over there and share any images you have from your every day lives.

This is cross posted from Shutter Sisters today:

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You cannot convince me not to love this photo.  And yet, this was one of those shots that I almost deleted the  moment I captured it without even looking at the result because I had not meant to take a 1 second exposure.  When I finally saw the image for the first time on my monitor at home, however, I was instantaneously smitten.  Yes, it's blurry and partially blown-out and not anything like what I thought I wanted to capture, but upon first sight, I knew it was perfect.

Was it merely good luck or a happy accident that produced this photo?  Perhaps a little of both.  Nevertheless, I prefer to see it as the Universe's way of whispering 'I Love You' to little old me.   It's probably not evident to anyone else, but what I recognize in this photo is the fluttering of my heart as I witnessed beauty unfolding before my eyes, the beauty I am woven into as part of my little community of love and faith.  In between the blur and fuzz, I see grace and hope embodied in the bended knees of people I cherish dearly, people who bow their heads in love not to ideology or religiosity or unexamined faith but to the humble task of leaning on one another and carrying each other's burdens.

The Universe knew I would never think to take a long exposure, and so she intervened on my behalf and left me this little love note, and for that I am ever so grateful.  It is personally more powerful and more meaningful than any image I could have captured with my own human eyes.

I'm very excited to have 3 of my photos in the Mom 2.0: Defining a Movement exhibit starting today through February 21st on display at FotoFest, an international non-profit organization promoting photographic arts and education in Houston, Texas.  This exhibit is in conjuction with the Mom 2.0 Summit happening in Houston the middle of this month.  A private viewing party for conference attendees will take place at FotoFest on the evening of Friday, Feb. 19, at which a silent auction for the photographs will be held to benefit earthquake recovery efforts in Haiti.

Here are some photos of the framed images on the walls in the gallery space by one of the exhibit's curators, my Shutter Sister Tracey Clark.  I wish I could see it in person!

Also, don't forget that bidding on items in To Haiti With Love ends midnight on Monday, February 8th!

Here are some items I'm loving on there:

Just what my neck needs for winter by Pip Robins

The photographic and written goodness of the amazing Jen Lee

This gorgeous image by the talented Kate Inglis that makes me want to seek out this cafe

Beautiful prints and book illustrated by two of the boys living in St. Joseph's home in Haiti which was destroyed in the earthquake

A Momma Zen gift pack from the wonderful Karen Maezen Miller

Set of Motherhood Journals for the expectant and new mom by the multi-talented Tracey Clark

Lovely paper goods by Paperina

This delightful original drawing by Sydney Smith, the illustrator who brought to life Kate Inglis's The Dread Crew: Pirates of the Backwoods

And don't forget about my photos too!

These are the images that I am donating for an online auction that is raising money for Broken Wings, a Canadian relief organization that supports St. Joseph's Family of Homes in Haiti. Check out the auction here: To Haiti With Love.

The auction ends on February 8th.  You can see my entries here.  There are a number of talented people donating their goods and services, including a number of my Shutter Sisters.  Please take a look and bid generously if you can!

I have a favorite dress.  It's vintage and handmade and fits me so well that I can't help but wonder for whom it was originally made.  What stories has this dress been a part of?  What paths has it walked down?

I daydream about replicating this dress someday, when I buy myself a working sewing machine (and learn how to use it).  And maybe, when I'm old and grey, I'll donate that dress to a thrift store and wonder about who will wear it next.

This is a photo I've treasured ever since I took it during our Central Michigan adventure with Rudden's family.  It was a moment of tenderness caressed by just the right morning light, and I never want to forget it.  I would not be the mother I am today without Amy. 

I think it's the perfect shot to accompany this post because I am so stoked to have my photos included in this beautiful video essay about motherhood by the talented Katherine Center.

In case you're at work and can't turn up the sound, here's the text of her essay:

WHAT I WOULD TELL HER:  (If I knew what to say.)

You are a miracle.

And I have to love you this fiercely:  So that you can feel it even after you leave for school, or even while you are asleep, or even after your childhood becomes a memory.

You’ll forget all this when you grow up.  But it’s okay.

Being a mother means having your heart broken.

And it means loving and losing and falling apart and coming back together.

And it’s the best there is.  And also, sometimes, the worst.

Sometimes you won’t have anyone to talk to.

Sometimes you’ll wonder if you’ve forgotten who you are.

But you must remember this:  What you’re doing matters.

And you have to be brave with your life so that others can be brave with theirs.

The truth is, being a woman is a gift.  Tenderness is a gift.  Intimacy is a gift.  And nurturing the good in this world is a nothing short of a privilege.

That’s why I have to love you this way.  So I can give what I have to you.  So that you can carry it in your body and pass it on.

I have watched you sleep.  I’ve kissed you a million times.  And I know something that you don’t, yet:

You are writing the story of your only life every single minute of every day.

And my greatest hope for you, sweet child, is that I can teach you how to write a good one.

- Katherine Center

I was stunned to hear news yesterday evening that Howard Zinn died of a heart attack while traveling in California where he was scheduled to speak in the near future.  His book A People's History of the United States lit a fire in me that continues to burn. 

"Revolutionary change does not come as one cataclysmic moment (beware of such moments!) but as an endless succession of surprises, moving zigzag toward a more decent society. We don't have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in the process of change. Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world. Even when we don't "win," there is fun and fulfillment in the fact that we have been involved, with other good people, in something worthwhile. We need hope.

An optimist isn't necessarily a blithe, slightly sappy whistler in the dark of our time. To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places--and there are so many--where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don't have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory." - From the essay The Optimism of Uncertainty by Howard Zinn published in The Nation, Sept 2, 2004.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

A weathered wooden bench covered in green and gold lichen, facing the expanse of a lonely winter Great Lake...there's something about this image that makes me pause and ponder.  Maybe because it reminds me of how much I enjoy solitude when I aim my camera with intent, and that bench--to me--has solitude written all over it.  It beckons me to gaze upon its constant view and to let the scene wash over me before I walk on to the next vista.

The winterscape on Lake Michigan can be quite unusual.  I have to admit that I don't make it out there quite often, as close as we do live to the lake, because quite frankly, it's usually pretty darn cold.  Yesterday, though, was perfect winter beach weather.  It must have been a balmy 40 degrees out there.  I took advantage of the thaw (and being locked out) and visited not one, but TWO beaches that I've been familiar with since my teen-age years.  This one is at Gillson Park in Wilmette, right by the Baha'i Temple.

I'm not a beach person as in someone who likes to go there on sunny summer days, but I do enjoy going there at times when not many other people do, like late at night or in the winter.  My kind of beach will always be the grey, misty kind, preferably decorated generously with craggy sea stacks and faded driftwood.  Yesterday's beach came close to replicating the mood for me, though.