I’ve heard it said by people who grew up in New York City that they didn’t appreciate what they had around them, but I never felt that way. It’s true that as a child I longed for open space and more green, but I think I understood the amazing-ness of what I had in my ‘backyard’. High school, for me, meant weekends spent in Central Park and subway rides to The Village. Museums and galleries were common activities and the food, oh, the food. My mother will read this and remind me how much I wanted out, and she’s right. I couldn’t wait to leave. But it wasn’t because I didn’t love it. I just needed more space. Even now, when I visit, my chest tightens in the crowds, and I breathe easier when I step out of the car in my driveway at home—42 miles north. But I do love to visit. Especially in the fall. It’s something to take your child to playgrounds that you played in as a girl and walk through fields you hung out in as a teenager. There’s a visceral pang of lost youth watching your child climb on the same statues you did, his small body supported by the same strong hands as mine once was. How is it that thirty plus years has passed? When my first son was born we lived there. He played in those places. He learned to walk in those meadows. A whole lifetime ago and just a few years passed. He started eighth grade last month. And his brother. No longer a baby. Visiting my parents always makes me consider time. It’s all so close, but so very very far away.

If you’ve been visiting this place for any length of time you’ve probably been around for some changes. Seems nothing ever stays the same for long (good thing too). You probably know a few things about me—maybe you know that I studied photography as an undergraduate at the University of Maine, or that I threw over the idea of shooting professionally in favor of, what I thought was, a more secure career path. Maybe you know that I started blogging originally as a way to connect with others who were knitting and soon after that, quilting. Some of you have witnessed a single mom blend a family, and a nine year old boy become a brother. More recently you might have read about my full-circle return to a career in photography and some personal questions that went along with that. I’ve wondered (more than once) out loud about this place, and it’s purpose. For a time it seemed most practical to keep personal and business separate (in real life as well as on the blog). But it’s become clear to me that updating two sites has become a chore—no longer the labor of love it was from the start.

One of my arguments for keeping two sites active was that potential clients didn’t need to hear about my personal life. I feared that I would shy away from the issues that have made this place powerful for me—the ones that connected you and I in the first place—and that the self promotion which goes on at a ‘business-blog’ would turn friends away.

But I keep coming back to something a wise friend once told me. She said that she was her business and that branding it meant sharing herself with her clients. And I’ve always admired that attitude. So, after nearly four wonderful years spent here with you all, I will be retiring this space. I will be blogging at TheSoulshineBlog.com and it’s my plan to continue talking about the things that matter to me over there—to share my life and my work. If you’ve liked it here, I’m hoping you’ll like it there too. I invite you to click over and subscribe and follow along with the next steps on this journey. I wish to thank each and every one of you who have made this experience what it has been for me. The connections I’ve made, the encouragement I’ve received, the expanding of my world—all are of untold worth in my life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

beginnings and endings and everything we make of the time in the middle. the days go by, filled with alarm clocks and appointments, schedules and deadline and endless meals to prepare. laundry and playdates and kitty litter and gas prices and weather forecasts and illness and oil changes.

life.

i photograph the details as an exercise in being present in it. all of it. of course there’s the technical benefit of shooting every day, no doubt. but the real lessons started to come when i stopped rushing through my days and started looking for things to see. the faces of the strangers in line at the market became beautiful and their stories drew me in. the rain stopped being a nuisance (mostly) and instead—transformed the grass into refracted light—ripe for my camera. seasons never slip by me without notice anymore.

savor is the word that hangs on my tongue.

on this day, the last one of the fifth month of this project, my eldest completes yet another milestone. he grows just a little farther from my nest and i feel the need to look back and savor. during the course of the past 151 days we have moved forward and laughed. there has been light. oh so much light. and many colors. so many vibrant and beautiful colors. there have been moods, all of the moods. and skies of all sorts. there have been friends and family and, yes, lots of cookies. we’ve had snuggles and arguments and a little time away. we’ve struggled and persevered and learned. we’ve been tired and we’ve played and we’ve tried new things. we’ve succeeded and failed and we’ve started again. and tomorrow we’ll do it all again.

this life of ours.

(best viewed with the setting set to 720p HD and full-screen)

I’m basically cold from October until May (and most evenings in the summer). It’s just me. I wear sweaters and wool socks in July and bring blankets to the beach. Whatever. It’s exhausting – always trying to keep warm. But none of it matters when it snows. Soft, quiet, lovely snow.

Everything stops. That, I know, is what kills most people. But it’s what I love the most. No, strike that. What I love the most is how muffled everything gets.

And how it feels to come inside after playing in it. Cheeks all burning with cold and body all warm with exercise. I never love my house more than when I’m in it during a storm. And the kids. Their excitement is contagious.

They’re calling for more later this week. I say, if it has to be winter, bring it on.

Stopping in for a minute to let y’all know that I haven’t met with some untimely demise. Not exactly anyhow. We’ve hit a patch of rough air here at the commonplace household and I’ve had to return to my seat with my belt fastened tightened securely around my lap. I’ll be back when I find a comfortable cruising altitude—or if I can find the words—even sooner.

Thank you for your email messages and phone calls checking in on me—they mean everything.

If you like to receive my blog feed directly into your feed reader would you mind clicking HERE to subscribe? I’m having some issues with an older feed of mine from way back when and I’d like to get rid of it—but I don’t want you to miss any posts—so have a look and SUBSCRIBE would’ya please?

Love,

Amy

I’m so glad you’re here. February was a bitch this year and you’re a sight for sore eyes.

I love you because you always bring me liberation. The extra daylight you give is a much needed dose of anti-depressant and the knowledge that full-on spring is near helps me breathe easier. Passover falls within your days and it always helps to officially close the door on winter and usher in the new season.

So far since you’ve been here I’ve:
started swimming classes with my two year old
visited with my brother (who lives on the other coast)

taken my boys on a tour of some of their mamma’s childhood landmarks

spent hours trying to remove Vaseline from my eleven year old’s hair. (Don’t waste your breath leaving me comments with your suggestions as to how this can be accomplished. I promise you if it’s a ‘trick’ for removing Vaseline from your hair, I already know about it.)
sorely neglected my dear blog
started designing three new website projects
attended the inaugural meeting of the NYC Metro Mod Quilter’s Guild
had lots of fun searching through overlooked photos to play along with ‘For the Love of Color’ week on Flickr

Before you leave I hope to:
photograph a dozen sunrises

put away my wool socks (until October)

watch my son in his first middle school play (guess what: It’s Grease. The Vaseline thing starting to make sense now?)
launch a new collaborative photo project with a friend
travel somewhere warm and tropical with my family
procrastinate about finishing a few lingering projects

paint my toenails pink.

Thanks for everything March.

Love,
Amy

I’ve been quiet here because things are noisy at home.

Two boys. ‘Tween and toddler. No school. Cold weather. I was overwhelmed at the thought of it before it began so I enlisted some help. A few hours of babysitting. An extra set of hands. A luxury to be sure. But one we allowed ourselves this week. I believe it’s good for my kids. To be able to say goodbye to me for an hour. To learn that I’ll come back. To feel secure without me for a short time. (Or at least that’s what I tell myself.) And that it’s good for me, goes without saying.

And it’s not like we haven’t made the most of our time together—

A day spent in New York City. (It never stops being strange to be a visitor in my hometown.)

An unexpected snowfall.

Old friends are new again.

Breakfast in bed at the hands of my eldest.

Hours spent camping out in the living room.

Just your average commonplace February week.

If you’ve reached this site and it doesn’t look right – it’s cause there are big changes going on. Please check back later to see the finished product and my apologies for any inconvenience.

There’s a conversation a parent has with an adolescent. I know because it was had with me and I’ve now had it with The Older Boy. In a moment of sheer (pre-)teenage angst one looks around and thinks he/she sees everyone else having an easier time. Remember? Everyone else seemed to have more friends? This conversation is the one about how you’ll be lucky in life if you have two or three real friends—that anyone who appears to have more is just collecting acquaintances.

Recently while imparting this motherly wisdom it occurred to me (and not for the first time) how truly lucky I am in this regard.

I’m often caught in amazement in the wondrous women in my life. Mothers, friends, sisters, daughters, earners, homemakers, creative, talented, thoughtful women. And while I know that I’m blessed with them and thankful for the knowledge that I’m deserving of their friendship there’s still a moment occasionally when I can’t believe my good fortune.

I have friends who will bring me food when I’m sick. I have friends who will bring me food when I’m not sick. Friends who drive long distances to see my children. Friends who partake in my family gatherings. Friends who inspire my senses. Friends who teach me things. Friends who can be called at all hours. Friends who tell me the truth. Friends who feed the cat. Friends who know my secrets. Friends who share their secrets. Friends who have been there for absolutely ever. New friends who only know me as a mother. Friends who ask for difficult favors. Friends who surprise me and friends who make me laugh.

For all the parts of one’s self that get side-tracked or altogether fall by the wayside when one becomes a mother, I have never ever not been fulfilled by the women in my life. And so in the spirit of this month of giving thanks I thank you, the women in my life for what you give to me every day.