The End of An Era

This post is the last one for Bonnie King Photography: As I See It.

My passions have changed, encouraged by medical issues - both mine and my husband's. A torn tendon in my ankle has had me limping for over a year. Physical therapy and a brace have certainly helped, but the thought of chasing little ones around a park or being on my feet for an all day wedding assignment is no longer enticing. I will continue to do special events and favors for those who pull on my heart strings, but other than that, the business is closed.

Scott is now occupying my in-home photography studio. It gives him better access to his hobbies, walk-in bathtub and me. I spend so much time now in front of my office computer in the next room, I'm just a whisper away. That's a good and bad thing. He's addicted to national news shows and politics in particular. I'm getting it all - and there's still a year till elections! Shutting the door doesn't help.

The past year, as they all seem to do, flew by. The remodel of the kitchen, upstairs bathroom and utility room took months. Getting an expensive dining room table with a butterfly leaf to work also took most of that time. Ridiculous, but I do love the results now that it's fixed. The whole upstairs looks great. Now, if I could just get Scott back upstairs to see it!

Courtney, Ron and Ben moved to Montana in March (she dabs at her tears), and Kendall, Jon, Micah and Gracie settled in nicely in their new home in Bonney Lake. While I'm seeing far less of grandson Ben (have only seen him three times since they left), I'm seeing more of Micah and Gracie. Kendall's working part time for a university, so I'm babysitting one afternoon a week. Love it.

The passions that now have my interest include Friends At Your Metro Animal Shelter (FAYMAS) and writing the story of my father's youth in the 1920's and '30's. FAYMAS has been ongoing for a couple years and we're making wonderful progress raising money to help the animals at the local shelter.

And finally, I'm making progress on Cat Skinner, the story of a working stiff who experiences love and loss in the '30's. With the help of friends, this story may finally come to fruition. Not wanting to lose the story behind the writing of the story, I've launched a new website, Fair to Middlin': Confessions of a Wannabe Writer. www.fairtomiddlinconfessions.blogspot.com

While this blog is closing, another is opening - and so it goes with my life. I am blessed.

My Father's Voice

Finding my father's voice is no easy task.

I'm in the throws of writing the story of my dad's life during the "dirty thirties." With the help of my writing group, The Wordsmiths, I'm honing what he might have been thinking, for example, as he drove to his first wife's funeral or how he might have sounded in conversations with other working stiffs or his family.

I knew my dad as a jovial fellow, who liked to play pranks, dance my mom around the kitchen, smoke, joke and drink whiskey. He was also someone always charge or attempting to be. That came from years of running construction crews, working on heavy equipment or driving truck. He made one of the first successful long haul treks to Alaska on the Alcan Highway with bombs for Uncle Sam. In my childish mind's eye, since he was gone a lot because of his work, when he came home - he was the returning hero. That wasn't necessarily who he was as a young man in his twenties.

 My first draft of Cat Skinner, Chapter 1 was diplomatically, but brutally critiqued, not to mention their un-sureness about the book title. "Would your father have pleaded with his mother for assistance? From what we know of your dad, he was usually giving orders. And what did he call her: Ma, Mother, Mom? Who's speaking here? Are you sure that's not your voice and personality instead of your dad's?"

Great feedback creating an even greater challenge for me. Fortunately I have a tape recording of my father telling stories of his youth to help with the syntax, but getting into his head and creating a scene which the reader can see through my father's eyes is stretching my imagination and skill.

While the outline of the story is in my head, my own journey to get it written is an adventure in researching the 30's, asking relatives a myriad of questions, particularly my sister, Lore; and spending a lot of time in decades past - if only mentally. It's fun, exciting and absolutely daunting.

You'll be the first to know when and if I ever really find my father's voice.

To Wear or Not to Wear - Underwear

"They fit! They finally fit! I was able to move around all day and not feel uncomfortable, strangled at the waist and cinched in the rear! My underwear finally fit!!"

Scott was jubilant yesterday even though he had to wear clothes and go to the doctor in Seattle. When he weighed in at the doctor's office, it confirmed what our home scale had been saying. Scott is losing weight. He was unhappy about the fact the scale weighed heavier than at home, but I reminded him that at home, his usual attire is his birthday suit covered by a bathrobe even older than the one I wear!

For a couple years now, I've been sharing information with Scott about nutrition. (He has other terms for my delivery: nagging, pleading, etc.) All my words of wisdom were to no avail. He was still making nightly trips to the kitchen for Dave's killer bread and peanut butter and then wondering why he was getting so heavy. Couple loaves of bread with very little movement because of his COPD and you have a weight problem.

Finally Scott got the message... from the Internet. If Scott sees it on the computer and in an ad on TV, it must be true! First step was buying a weight bench. I strongly disagreed with the decision, but it's now sitting in our garage (Whoops, Scott's recording studio. Pardon me!) Yes, just sitting there, but he has gone out to look at it and actually picked up a couple five pound weights. That's a start. Right?

A couple months ago, I also received the pronouncement, "NO MORE BREAD!" Okay, I responded quizzically. "I've been studying nutrition," he announced proudly and then handed me a list of the groceries to buy him so he could start eating more healthily:

Lemons
Frozen (not fresh) vegetables
Apple Cider Vinegar salad dressing
Blueberry yogurt
No Bread for me
Mixed nuts
Eggs, hard boiled - 2/day
No eating after 8 pm
Whey - 1 cup/day with oatmeal
V-8 juice
Cottage cheese with pineapple
Bananas
Asparagus
Cauliflower
Chicken
Steak

I bought everything on the list and we started the new regimen. And yes, I've lost a couple pounds too, but I tend to eat the portion Scott used to eat, just so I don't give more to him. Isn't that thoughtful of me. :-)

While his cardiologist disagrees with two hard boiled eggs a day and items on the list need to be eaten in moderation, this approach seems to be working. Scott's underwear (really big ones) finally fit. He's feeling proud of his accomplishment and it's actually easier for him to move around.

You would think that after 21 years of marriage (this month!), I would understand by now that Scott and most other men I know, have to believe the idea is their very own before it's worth considering. Well, if it helps Scott wear underwear more often, I'm ALL for it!!

It's Time

It’s time. I’d been thinking about it since the first of the year. When I got a request, I was no longer excited; it felt like an interruption, perhaps even an irritation. How could I claim photography as a passion as well as a business, when the pull of a photo session felt more like a push?

I floated the idea of quitting the business with friends and family. When one of my acquaintances suggested selling my cameras, I blurted out immediately. “Absolutely not! I’m still going to take photos,” I reacted as a mother protecting her offspring. I mentally threw my body across my cameras to ward off any possible attack or pillage.  

The process of sharing with the universe what I’d been thinking and feeling was productive. It helped me clarify what it was about my passion that had become problematic. It was the business. I no longer liked the work involved getting ready for a shoot or the work following a shoot. I can honestly say I did enjoy photo sessions with clients. There were a few exceptions, but very few.

And I really loved the results, the photos themselves, even though I spent far too much time assuring those results were as pleasing as possible. I still find myself admiring the beautiful moments I was able to capture with my camera. I can look at a photo and feel awestruck knowing I shared in the creation of something memorable. At times, it’s wondrous to me that I was the one behind the camera.

Photography is a gift given to me quite by accident, something I fell into without a plan. Taking landscape photos turned into family photography and later, wedding photography. Pet photos became a real joy as I volunteered, and continue to volunteer, as a photographer at the local animal shelter. There were times when I would have a dozen sessions a week and feel completely overwhelmed. It was a race to get all the photos edited and forwarded to clients via my website within the promised timeframe.

But as I started contemplating letting go of the business, the calls and email requests died off, even before I made any public announcement. The universe was providing evidence - it was time.

Two other factors played part in the decision making. I finally had an MRI of my right foot, after limping around for nine months. The finding was a torn tendon, also known as flat foot dysfunction which might require surgery. I’ve begun physical therapy and am determined to avoid surgery. It would involve taking bone from my hip, other complicated procedures, and being on the mend for the better part of a year. At any rate, the idea of being on my feet now for more than a couple hours at a time ruled out continuing with wedding photography. Thankfully my good friend Shelly, with whom I’ve partnered on wedding shoots over the years, was able to step in and shoot the two weddings I had already booked for July.

The second factor was my husband Scott. His mobility is compromised a great deal more than mine. He has minimal lung capacity because of COPD/emphysema and difficulty moving anyway because of arthritic hips and a prosthetic leg. We decided it would be better for him to move downstairs into the master bedroom that served as my photography studio. It’s closer to his bathroom and “man cave” recording studio. Without my indoor studio, it was clear - my rainy season business would be as good as gone.

In late June, I noticed a new photography studio next to my nail salon, stopped in and picked up a card with the idea they might need some equipment. By the end of the week, the husband and wife team visited my studio and decided to buy everything I had to sell. They paid cash and hauled it all away.

I was able to repaint the bedroom and get it ready for Scott. By the end of the next week, Scott’s daughter, Summer, came over to help him in his studio. She told us her community was having a garage sale at the end of the week to help one of their neighbors raise money for medical bills. That’s all I needed. I filled Summer’s car to the brim with studio props. A couple days later I took another carload to the community sale. Within a ten day period in early July, my studio was dismantled, equipment sold and Scott moved downstairs.

My daughter, Kendall, lists one of my character traits as “decisive.” In other words, very little can stop me, once I make up my mind.  I just do it (sometimes not getting the best result). This time I’m convinced there were other factors at work. In giving up the photography business, I don’t believe I was decisive, but more part of a process. I shared my feelings with others and circumstances and events unfolded to show the direction in which I needed to go.

One of the last indicators I was making the right decision came a couple weeks ago. I climbed the stairs to my front porch. Just below the porch light had been my “Welcome” sign which also read, “Bonnie King Photography.” It was gone! A brief search found it nestled behind my petunia planter just below where it hung. It simply fell down. If that isn’t a “sign,” I don’t know what is.

This week I took down my street-side sign, the one just below the waterfall. It didn’t want to come out of the ground peacefully, so a sledge hammer was my convincer. By this time, my decisiveness had kicked in.

Now there’s the question of what to do with the decals on my Smart Car. She sports Abbey, the dog, on the back window and little sweetie, Allison, on both sides advertising Bonnie King Photography. Eyelashes adorn the front headlights. This is a tough decision.  I love that little girl’s laughing face. I definitely get more smiles to the mile. Eventually, when I have a couple hours to scrape, use Orange Clean or Goof Off and 90% alcohol as advised by the folks who put the decals on the car, the decals will go, but for the fun of it, the eyelashes will stay.

I’ve put notices on my Facebook page and website that I’m out of business, while reassuring those clients I still have booked that I won’t leave them stranded. My website will continue to be available for some time and I’m referring all photo requests to Shelly Luthi Photography.

So what's calling my name now, beckoning instead of irritating? Friends At Your Metro Animal Shelter (FAYMAS), the non-profit officially launched a year ago with Chris Lynch, continuing as the animal shelter photographer, and shooting fun photos of family, friends and some artsy subjects. Our home remodel is ongoing, Scott needs attention (which he denies) and I am intending to get back to work on my dad’s story as well as my own.

Funny - how life unfolded for me since retiring in 2008. The planning that was so important most of my life has become more process than plan. And now I’m blessed with time to trust the process, reflect on what’s happening (particularly when I’m writing), and see where it leads me. Wherever that is, it’s where I’m supposed to be – it’s time.

Alberton

The end of June found me, my sister Lore, and our friend Shelly winging our way to Missoula, Montana for a quick visit with my daughter, Courtney, and her family.

"Corky" and family moved in March to the small town of Alberton, just 20 minutes from the metropolis of Missoula. Ron grew up in Alberton and his family roots run wide and deep in this village of 400 people - most of them his relatives.

There are no stop lights in Alberton. I don't even recall seeing any stop signs. There's one feed store, one church, two restaurants and two bars, but we only made it to one of the bars run by a relative of Ron's.

And I can't forget to mention - one amazing building full of used books. The book shelves run from the floor to a 12 foot ceiling. The basement is full too. There's no computer system to find the books, just categories to browse. A pull chain hangs from fluorescent lights in each row to save on electricity. The woman who waited on us told of a fellow who went to the basement, came back out, went to his car and came back in again with a head lamp on. He didn't realize he had to turn on the lights in the basement!

We arrived Friday evening. The air was dry and still hot, somewhere in the 90's. The prediction was the temperature would be over 100 degrees Saturday and Sunday. Although the Evans' Mountain Meadows rental home has no air conditioning, the electric fans did the job and we slept comfortably. Ron took Shelly and I on a coffee run early Saturday morning and a trip down memory lane as he showed us his family homestead. He told stories of hunting mountain goats, fishing and living in a teepee for a period of time while a log cabin was being built. He is so at home and so happy to be there. Corky's pioneer spirit is alive and well in Montana and its' obvious they've made a good choice.

Ben is loving the life too. He hates to come inside, has a blast in the 7500 gallon above ground pool, feeds his chickens, dogs Giant and Lulu; and cat, Bruce (who happens to be female). He goes fishing with dad and big brother, Ryan. He'll undoubtedly become a hunter too, not to mention he's already sharpening his pool game at the local bar.

The one day we had in Alberton was fun and memorable. The "kids" had borrowed my vehicle and trailer to haul furniture in March so Ron hitched them up for us on Sunday and we hit the road after a terrific breakfast at the local restaurant.

I spent most of my grade school years in Montana, so I remember vividly the hot summers and cold winters. It's not a place I see myself living any time soon, but I'm certainly happy for the Evans family. They're loving life in "God's Country" and loving each other. What more could anyone ask!

Changing Tastes

My tastes have changed over the past 60 + years - in clothes, colors, men and music. I could elaborate on my changing taste in men, as one of my daughters has encouraged me to do, but there's way too much to tell (or not) and I'm saving that for a memoir.

Until two years ago, I didn't care for jazz. The discordance was too untidy. I couldn't follow the logic and since it seemed most songs didn't have words, how could I sing along!

Listening to National Public Radio (NPR) changed all that. I've become hooked on the news coverage morning and evening, the in-depth reporting of unique and interesting topics, the humor of Click and Clack on Saturday mornings and the lively exchanges on Saturday afternoon broadcasts. I listen to the radio as I drive around town, which I do a lot. And most of my driving time is mid-day when only jazz emanates from my car radio. The more I've listened, the more I've come to appreciate the soothing sounds. I'm also amazed at how many of the older jazz tunes sound familiar. My father loved to listen and sing along with his records in the evening. He's probably responsible for my appreciation of music, including jazz classics.

In the fifties, when we got our first TV - black and white of course, one of my family's favorite shows was the Hit Parade. The top hits of the day were sung by the regulars on the show. They would sing the top ten songs of the week. Some songs stayed at the top of the charts for weeks and the challenge for the show was to create a new scene and way of presenting the same song over and over again. Watching was fun for that reason alone. How many ways can you portray, How Much is that Doggie in the Window?

What also happened was that certain songs were forever embedded in my brain. One of those songs has become a staple for myself and my daughters. When I'm dancing with my grandchildren, there's that tune, just as it was when I was dancing with Courtney and Kendall when they were little.

One night I was late.
Came home from a date.
Slipped out of my shoes at the door.
Then from the front room, I heard a jump tune.
I looked in and here's what I saw.
There in the night was a wonderful scene.
Mom was dancing with dad to my record machine.
And as they danced, only one thing was wrong.
They were trying to waltz to a rock and roll song!
One, two and then rock. One, two and then roll.
They did the rock and roll waltz.
Rock two three. Roll two three
They looked so cute to me.
I love the rock and roll waltz.

Perhaps the song also appealed to me because my dad used to grab my mom and dance her around the room to whatever song was playing at the time. He may have been in his work clothes and she in her house dress and apron, but it didn't matter.

So even though my music preferences have changed over the years from the Beetles and other "Golden Oldies" to country (because I could understand the words) and now to jazz, the one song that stands out above all others is The Rock and Roll Waltz. (Now I'll probably have to pay a royalty!)

Jeans fly. Socks don't

Jeans fly. Socks not so much. Bras do better than socks.

I've learned all this from experience and having Uncle Charlie as a pet. As he's aged we never know where he might end up doing his "thing." He favors the TV and living room carpets. No amount of stain and odor remover or essence of oil so strong it takes weeks to dissipate the hideous aroma, deter his sense of smell! Charlie is deaf, blind in one eye and can't see out of the other. A friend wisely informed me that when certain senses diminish, what's left gets stronger. Hmmmm - wish that were true for me too.

I finally found a great looking extendable gate on www.Overstock.com that now graces the living room entrance. It does give our living room a museum look, but that's appropriate since it gets used about twice a year when we have large family gatherings and everyone can't fit into the kitchen.

My solution for the TV room was to use the child gate we'd installed at the top of the stairs to keep grandchildren corralled. They have all since figured out how to open and close that one, even better than Scott and some of our visitors. "Just squeeze the upper and lower levers together at the same time, " I explain time and again. No explanation was needed for my two brilliant grandsons and I know my granddaughter, who's verging on genius, would have figured it out, but since the boys usually left it open, there has been no need for her to trouble herself. Smart girl.

Charlie also likes to lick. It's not just the friendly lick of your face which I love, it's "I'm going to lick any and every piece of clothing left on or near the floor." I hang my clothes up or at least perch them high enough on a chair back that I don't have a problem. On the other hand, Scott is known for leaving whatever he takes off wherever it lands. That's usually on the floor. His underwear or his bathrobe or you name it, when retrieved in the morning is always accompanied by the air turning blue. You know what I mean. Good thing Charlie is deaf or he might be offended. Needless to say, he pays absolutely no attention to the outpouring of anything but love.

I tried to placate Scott by saying, "Some people have grit. You're just an 'Old Salt'... and Charlie likes it!" Since that doesn't work, gate number three was installed on the utility room door to keep good ole Charlie penned in at night. Since I put Charlie to bed before I get undressed, I would have to step over the gate - which is about crotch high - to put my clothes in the open hamper on the other side of the room. So I've learned first hand what flies and what doesn't. Jeans sail much better than socks. And I'm getting pretty good at flinging bras.

253-841-3665

I finally did it. I disconnected our land line after nearly 30 years.

It was difficult to do because of the sentimental value 253-841-3665 holds. We used to talk to real people on that line, not just solicitors and robo callers.

My daughters talked to their girl friends and a few (maybe many) boyfriends on that number. We got our stretching exercise leaning across the counter to pick up the handset. There were probably countless hours of doodling while seated and talking on the phone. And it was always a race to see who could pick up the phone first because at one time or another, we all anticipated a special call. And for years, I've refused to give up the line with the excuse it would be used in an emergency.

But the time had come with the impending remodel of the kitchen. Although hard to see in this photo, the old, yellowed, plastic US West phone set hangs on the wall on the left side of the counter amid the coffee containers, book stand and charging station. Within a couple months, there will be a backsplash of tile covering the area where the phone used to reside. And we'll probably buy a crank phone to use in an emergency.

So it goes. Time marches on. Out with the old and in with the new, but from now on, I'll gaze at that spot in the kitchen and remember way back when.

Memoir Writing Class 2015

It's that time of year again. I'm teaching two eight week sessions of memoir writing at the Puyallup Senior Activity Center.

Every Friday I'm privileged to spend at least two hours with a group of women (occasionally a man will venture in) who want to tell their stories. Yesterday was the last class of the first session.

 

"I'll go first. I want to get this over with," one of the participants said yesterday. We all laughed, but with understanding because the assignment for the week was to write about a difficult or sad time in life, how the person got through it, and what was learned from the experience. It was the same assignment for everyone and many of the other seven women felt the same way.

Most of my students write their histories to leave as a legacy for family members, but there are some who simply write for themselves with no intention of sharing with anyone other than the women who come together once a week.

From the stories that were shared yesterday, it was evident the women had gained confidence in their writing and trusted the others to keep what they heard within the group. There were a few tears and certainly a lot of sympathy for what was revealed from their past.

We ended the day on a brighter note, reading excerpts from high school students' writings that English teachers have collected over the years. The way in which they used similes was hilarious. Here are three of my favorites:

Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

And so it goes with these classes. Strangers come together, share their histories, find common bonds, are amazed by what they can remember and write about, laugh a lot and sometimes shed a tear with one another. Many have returned to class two and three times.

A student announced at the end of class yesterday that I don't get paid for teaching. That really isn't true. I get excited about spending Fridays with my new acquaintances, some of whom have become friends. I'm honored to hear about their lives and help them hone their writing skills. So when it comes to payment, I'm more than compensated, not in dollars and cents, but with intangibles more precious than gold. 

The Dance

I wrote this last summer, but it seems appropriate to post on Valentine's Day.

I glanced over my shoulder and felt a twinge of envy. I want to do that. It’s been so long and was so much fun. There in the middle of the park was a couple, smiling, laughing, oblivious to others around them while they danced. They were the only ones swing dancing to a toe-tapping tune being played by two guitarists on the performance platform on one side of the park.

It was a beautiful, warm summer evening. Not many people were listening to the mini-concert. A few vendors had tents at the other end of the park while most of the activity centered on the children’s play area. From my perch on a picnic table bench, I looked back at the two-story jungle gym to make sure I could still see my three year-old grandson, Benjamin, dashing up the climbing rocks, running across the castle bridge and squealing with delight as he slid down the winding tunnel slide. Red-faced and happy, he glanced over at me to make sure I was where I was supposed to be.
When I first met Scott, we danced a lot. I owned a dating service, a business I started in early 1990. Many said the business was self-serving since I met two of my husbands over the years I was involved with the Singles Resource Center. Scott was the last. We met at a Christmas function held at my home and later would encounter each other at the Friday night dances. Scott was an excellent dancer having honed his skill as a teen with lots of practice. It paid off when he became the center of attention at high school dances. He loved being the center of attention and he still does.

When we danced it was usually a slow dance; the kind of dance that somehow became more than just a dance. The steps couldn’t be labeled, because there was more sensual swaying than choreography. I leaned into him and could always smell his cologne. I’d caress the back of his neck as he held me close.

 He left me to swing and line dance with other partners and friends. He wasn’t possessive, but he was on a mission to win me over with charisma, charm and slow dancing. At one point I told him, “You’d be perfect if you weren’t a smoker.” He won me over anyway and I married the perfectly imperfect man. Scott continued smoking for many more years, even after five-way heart bypass surgery.

We don’t dance any more. Scott’s smoking finally caught up with him and he now has the lungs of a four year-old supporting the body of a two hundred and forty-five pound man. It’s a struggle for him to move at all.

How do I feel about how our lives together have evolved? Prior to meeting Scott, I actually prayed for a man who would love me with his whole heart, unconditionally, if that was even humanly possible. In previous relationships, I had spent much too much time trying to prove my worth and not getting what I needed in return. Over the years as a single working mother, I finally learned I could survive on my own and I had value as a person.

Independence became a priority. I wanted to maintain that status, but was still seeking love. Someone once told me, “What you need is a man you can take out of the closet when you need him.”  Instead, I was given the gift of Scott, and so far I haven’t been able to keep him in any closet!

It is still amazing to me that I don’t even question his love and never have. He loves me beyond what I deserve and tells me that every day. He’s supported my endeavors throughout our marriage, whether it was listening to me unload about responsibilities working for the State or encouraging my start-up business ideas after I retired. He’s accepted my daughters and loves them as his own.

He’s still perfectly imperfect and that has become more apparent as the years go by. Now and then, he also points out my imperfections, so we have lots in common, but what’s important is that I still have my independence and I have Scott’s love, exactly what I asked for.  Do I wish life were different at times? Of course, particularly for Scott. He often says, “You didn’t sign up for this (his health issues).”

“Yes, I did,” is my truthful reply.

We now do a dance of a different kind. He leans on me and that’s really okay.

 

Passion

Passion... and I don't mean hot, under the covers (or not), lust-filled desire. I'm talking about that compelling interest that occupies your thoughts first thing in the morning and last thing at night. It's the thing that perhaps you dream about and spend an inordinate amount of time during waking hours either engaged in or wanting to.

So what happens when you have more than one of these compelling interests and one day you wake up and one is becoming more of a "love interest" than the other?

That's what's happening to me. For six years, I've devoted time, energy and money to a particular passion that initially drew me to it, rewarded me by fueling my creative juices, gave me lots of positive feedback and allowed me to meet incredible people. Since the first of the year, my heart has been captured by another and I'm finding the siren song irresistible.

The only way I could cope with this push/pull was to set aside passion number one, photography, for at least a month, perhaps longer. And for every resolution, there's always an exception which I've already made. There are certain clients to whom I just can't say "no." These are the folks I can't wait to see and for whom I truly want to capture memorable moments. I'm sure I'll continue to make those exceptions, but I'm not out beating the bushes for new clients.

In the meantime, I've become compulsive about writing - not this blog which is obvious since this is my first in 2015 and it's the last day of January! I've decided this is the year to pull my father's stories out of the file cabinet and weave them into a memoir about his life. For some reason, it's much easier to write about someone else, even though a family member, than it is to write about myself. Now that I've committed to my father's project, lots of wonderful things are happening. I've been a member of a writer's group that meets monthly for almost a year, but this month two other memoirists are joining the group, both published authors who will be such an inspiration, along with the already talented women in the group.

I also found a company that is converting VHS tapes of my father and his stories into a CD that I'll actually be able to use. But most importantly, I've been able to spend time with my 80 year old sister, Lore, learning more about her mother, my dad's first wife. She had in her possession letters written by her mother, Dorothy, to my dad, Webb, over a period of four years from 1936 to 1939. Those letters are now on loan to me.

I find I'm also more enthused about teaching my memoir writing class at the Puyallup Senior Activity Center. I'm experiencing the discipline of writing that I talk to my students about every Friday. It's a good idea to be able to do what you teach!

Will I tire of this passion too? Perhaps. Will I be able to pick up photography again where I left off? I don't know. But the beauty of it all is that I am blessed to be able to have these kind of choices, these kind of interests. I have something positive to look forward to each day. Who knows - perhaps there are still other undiscovered passions in my future, other sirens that will call my name.

It's that Time Slipping by Thing Again!

2015. How did that happen? The obvious answer is one day at a time; one moment at a time. Is it just my perception or are those moments and days slipping by faster and faster as I age.

My 2014 book of blog posts which I print ever year and give to my daughters, will be thin indeed. But as I stated before, it wasn't for lack of stories to tell, it was lack of time to sit down and write them!

The first three months were quiet as far as photography was concerned. It gave me more time, with the encouragement of a friend, to make progress on writing my memoir, From Australia with Love. My goal was to write about 3000 words a week which I did for quite a while. I was even inspired to join a writers' group called the Wordsmiths. We meet once a month and critique one another's work. It also made me realize what an undertaking it is to write my own memoir when others start reacting to it and making suggestions for revision. I teach others to write memoir and over the last three years, it's been fun and inspirational teaching two eight-week sessions from January through April, but I don't have time in class or between classes (until 2014) to write myself.

March blew in and with it a resurgence in photography. Seniors and their families realize these young people are about to graduate and perhaps leave the nest. They decide it's time to get photos of these precious days. And seniors like locations, primarily parks, but again this year I had a senior who was able to talk Korum Ford into loaning him a Dodge Charger, just for photos.  A couple years before his brother borrowed a Ford Mustang Convertible. Photo shoots where people bring their own creativity and personality into the picture are my favorites. I also did more boudoir photography this year. One of my clients had access to horses and a barn as well as classic cars. This was a session that took two days to complete, but it was well worth the effort. The results were stunning.

With the help of Shelly and Vee, we shot 11 weddings and three military balls. The military balls were interesting and educational. Each company had its own culture and character, but all were moving with regard to  ceremonies and recognition of valor.

Family photography is still my mainstay throughout the year. Many families return for milestone events in their lives and their children's' lives. About one third of my 109 clients were returning for additional photo sessions. I'm so happy they like the results. I now  have over 35,000 photos on my website and at times I look at those pictures and am a little awestruck that I was able to capture such a special moment in someone's life. What a blessing!

I continued my involvement as Treasurer of my Sumner IG P.E.O. women's' group which raises scholarship funds for women to continue their education. This group of sisters has grown to include some of my best friends, because I suggested the group to them and because those who were already there have become good friends. And it's just plain fun!

A huge accomplishment this year was receipt of the IRS determination letter for Friends At Your Metro Animal Shelter (FAYMAS), a non-profit started by Chris Lynch and me. Our mission is increase pet adoptions, improve the quality of shelter animals' lives, and promote spay and neuter for animals in our local public shelter. Once we received the determination, we scrambled to create the non-profit. It's very similar to starting a small business with lots of details and logistics to consider. But by year-end, we had our board, a strategic plan, bylaws, a website, a Facebook presence, 56 members and most importantly, we had helped to raise $3000 for an ongoing cat kennel project and directly gave another $2390 to the shelter to help with the same project. Since we were able to accomplish all that in about three months, just think what we'll do in 2015!

I see my sister, Lore, about once a month or so. She lives in Tukwila and even though it's not that far, time gets away from us. We talk often and she catches me up on what's happening with her five children. As one who is very frugal with her money, she's managed to accumulate enough frequent flyer miles so that she and her oldest daughter, Nicolette, will be heading for Hawaii in April to visit Lore's son, Kevin,  and his family and her youngest daughter, Nanette, and family. Wish I could go.

My daughters, Courtney and Kendall and their families, continue to do well. Courtney is not only working at Children's Hospital in Seattle as a supervising nurse, she's also working in Puyallup at Good Samaritan on a per diem basis. Her daughter, Karina came to visit a couple times this year which is always a treat. Hard to believe she's a senior at Bob Jones University this year. We got reacquainted with her in her freshman year. It's that time slipping by faster and faster thing again. Ron had an adventure working in Alaska for about a month, but is home now recuperating from knee surgery. Ben is just as much fun as ever, but I can't believe he turned four years old.

In mid-December, Courtney informed me they have decided to move to Montana. Ron grew up there and they love the lifestyle it affords for themselves and for Ben. Ron's daughter, Marissa, lives in the area they are considering also. I'm sad, of course, and can't imagine not having them nearby, even if we don't see each other all the time, but they have to do what's best for their family.

Kendall and Jon moved at the end of the year also, but not far away. They're now in a new development in Bonney Lake and loving it. Jon's not fond of the commute to Boeing being a bit further and Kendall is trying to figure out how to cut down on her commute to Puyallup, but things have a way of working out well for this family.

Scott's children, Summer and Steve have prospered this year. Steve has a new position as a construction superintendent with a company that builds multi-million homes. His best news is that he's found the love of his life in Kelly and they've settled with Trent into a lovely home in Tacoma. The commute for both of them to Bellevue isn't much fun, but they're making the best of it for now.

Summer is still working for the Wright family in Seattle a few days a week and Michael's advertising company is doing very well. Grandchildren Margo, five and a half, and Addison, who just turned 10 are now on the same school schedule, so that's a relief for their mom and dad.

Devon and Laurel, Scott's oldest son and wife, live in Katy, Texas. Their days a filled with work, a dog, fishing and enjoying life.

On the home front, Scott continues to sleep a lot. In fact we're headed to the Sleep Study clinic tomorrow to see if he can tolerate a CPAP machine. His pulmonologist is getting pretty stern with him about his sedentary life style. When he is up, it's all about his recording studio. One of these days, he may actually record someone! Perhaps that's what 2015 will bring. It will also bring a 70th birthday for me and a 71st for Scott.

How did that happen?! It's that time slipping by thing again. www.BonnieKingPhotography.com

One Thing Leads to Another

Dot fell off the back of my computer desk - ker plunk. I would have laughed at the kitten except that I was on the phone with a customer service rep who was trying to help me download an electronic gift certificate. The moment Dot hit all the cords behind my desk, my monitor died.

I asked the tech to hold on a minute while I fiddled with all the wires and cords, tried plugging and unplugging, but to no avail. She was very willing to just stay on the line with me (she was probably playing a game and grateful for some uninhibited time), but when several more minutes elapsed, I told her I'd have to call back.

And so one thing led to another. I'd been thinking of trading monitors with Scott who has a larger HP that he rarely uses. The dust was also building up on the monitor shelf and this is my week to try and reorganize my office, so... I unplugged the monitor, hauled it out to Scott's studio, unplugged his and hauled his back in to my office. But wouldn't you know, the male/female plug thingees from the monitors to the computers weren't compatible.

Never one to be deterred once I've made up my mind about something, I was off to Best Buy to find an adapter or two. What fun trying to explain my predicament to the salesman. I apologized for being so inarticulate: "You know, the blue receptacle with the holes that the cord screws into? Well it doesn't exist on one of the computers and the plug doesn't have screws, it just needs a slot on the other computer." He told me not to apologize, but he was probably thinking, "Not another one!"

$70 later and both monitors now have new homes. (I didn't mention the switch to Scott because I want to see how long before he notices. And no, I didn't try the monitor in his studio to see if it actually works. :-) But the monitor in my office works. Wow! It is really big and bright and unfortunately - a completely different resolution. I'll now have to calibrate the monitor color to match my printer and the photography lab I use. Argh...

The last time Dot tried to help by sitting in front of my monitor, she tipped over my coffee cup. That cost me the price of a new keyboard. The Best Buy guy also suggested I keep the cat out of my office. Brilliant suggestion, but not one a cat lover would ever consider.

I still haven't been able to download my gift certificate. so I'll call a customer rep back tomorrow. We'll see what adventures that will bring. www.BonnieKingPhotography.com. 

Where have all the Blog Posts Gone?

My book of blog posts for this year will be a bit thin. With only ten posts this entire year, you would think I have nothing to write about. Not true. My life has been so full, something had to be placed on the back burner and unfortunately, it's been my blog.

The memoir writing classes I taught between January and May were exceptional. I've been privileged to meet interesting women with histories rich and varied. Although not just a class for women, it seems women are more interested in preserving their lives in memoir than men are - or at least that's been my experience in the last three years of teaching at the Puyallup Senior Center. One woman in particular is certainly worth mentioning. She turns on her writing instrument like a faucet and out flows remarkable stories of her past accompanied by words of wisdom and descriptions so sumptuous you can taste them. Jacquie is also an animal lover and because of that - we have a lot in common. We've also become friends.

Although my blog suffered this year, I did begin writing my own memoir in earnest, From Australia with Love. It didn't occur to me this might be seen as a take-off on the movie, From Russia with Love. It's not. Instead it's a story about young love, all facets of it, fraught with poor judgment and failed attempts to get it right. I made great progress between January and April and even joined a writers' group, the Wordsmiths. They've helped me revise and refocus, but even with their help, once photography season opened, progress ceased.

 I was off with camera in hand to shoot weddings, families, high school seniors and a few boudoir sessions. It is a passion that enables me to be in the moment, concentrating on each person, looking for a nuance that speaks to their personality and hopefully recording something memorable in the process. I must admit, I enjoy looking back at the photos I've taken because I can relive the memories we created together and I often marvel at what I was able to capture.

Photography also introduced me to the Metro Animal Shelter where I've taken photos almost weekly for two and a half years of pets that are up for adoption. Of course that's resulted in adoptions of my own. Dog Charlie and cat Tot now lead the life - not of Riley, but with Riley, a cat we already adopted from my daughter, Courtney and family. And becoming involved with the shelter led to the creation of a non-profit, FAYMAS - Friends At Your Metro Animal Shelter. Chris Lynch and I started the paperwork in the fall of 2013 and this summer were granted the non-profit status by the IRS. Now we're scrambling to set up the organization. We have a board of five - all incredible women: Roxanne Pollard is our secretary, Jennifer Waalkes our treasurer, and Trudi Bocott our public relations director.

My family does get some of my time, probably not as much as they should. Scott's health remains an issue, but his recording studio is making progress and should be back in operation soon thanks to his son, Steve, and his engineer, Jimmy. Courtney and Ron have experienced ups and downs with Ron's health again this year, but they always have time for Ben, who turned four years old in September. How did that happen! Kendall and her family are off on a new adventure, selling their home and moving to a new community, Tehaleh. Micah will be four years old soon and Gracie, sweet Gracie is a rambunctious 18 month old.

And so it goes... If my blog suffers, my life certainly hasn't. I continue to be blessed beyond words. www.BonnieKingPhotography.com

For Better or Worse

Scott and I will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary in one month. You would think after all this time, very little would surprise me about this man, but somehow he still manages to get a rise out of me - sometimes that's a good thing; other times, not so much. Case in point...

I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a grump in the morning. My utterances are few. Scott on the other hand is ready for a full blown conversation. "Good morning! How are you this morning? How did you sleep? Is there any coffee?

I've just shuffled out of the bathroom and haven't even fed the dog yet and there's supposed to be coffee - aarrghh - really! My response yesterday was, "Yes. Okay. Okay. No." When Scott asked for further clarification, I said, "Don't you realize that I'm monosyllabic in the morning?!" (I realized that using a word with five syllables, I was contradicting myself). Scott's response: "Oh, I thought you were Norwegian."

And then there was the incident with the walker. The family knows that when Scott wants something and I'm not within his line of sight, he will holler at the top of his lungs, "Bonnie King."  Although his lungs are impaired, he still has volume when he wants it and can count cadence with the best of soldiers. The family thinks his name calling is funny and we all joke about it.

I was around the side of the house watering plants. I had my rubber flip flops on which had become soaked with water. Every step was a "squish." Then I heard it. "Bonnie King" - more than once. I squished and slipped my way around the corner to see Scott sitting in the garage (whoops - it's to be called his "studio") and pointing at the driveway. "It's my walker. Run after it; it's going down the driveway!"  Riiiiiiggghtt. I'm supposed to run in wet, slippery flip flops after a walker that with help from Scott, took off toward the gulley, made a quick left turn and headed down a 30 percent grade (or something like that) to the street.

I imagined the worst: that the walker was going to create some calamitous accident with a car running into it as it shot into the street. I squished my way to the top of the driveway and was very thankful to see the walker had stopped at the curb. Close one. I slipped and slid down the driveway, retrieved the runaway and in no uncertain terms asked Scott if he knew the walker had hand brakes. He indignantly explained, he was just trying to move it out of the way and it was a good thing it didn't hit the van in our driveway. My eyebrows rose on that one!

Oh well - there's never a dull moment living with Honey Haverly. For better or worse. :-)

Father's Day 2014

In honor of Father's Day, here are some of my favorite photos taken in the past couple years. It's such a privilege to be able to share these family moments.

wwwBonnieKingPhotography.com

Saturday Morning Musings

            Morning’s translucent grey light beckons my eyes to open. I refuse.

            I should pull the blinds at night, but I’d still wake up. I always wake up at 7:30 anyway. And it’s just one more thing to do at night. I don’t want to get up. This is the first morning in a long time I haven’t had to be somewhere. No clients today, just playing catch up.

            Tot hops on my chest, puts his wet nose against mine and tickles me with his whiskers. I pull the covers up and roll over, but he’s persistent. With his rough little tongue, he licks my cheek and chin. I cover my face with my hand because I know he’ll sneeze any minute.

            He hasn’t been sneezing as much lately. Maybe he’s finally getting over the virus the vet says he has. I can’t believe he’s eight months old already. One of these days, he’ll actually grow into his huge bushy tail.

            Tot sneezes the minute I uncover my face. Nothing like tiny wet droplets of kitten snot in the morning to get my attention. I wipe my face, grab and cuddle him anyway, petting his silky soft Tabby fur. I look into his eyes with their Egyptian eyeliner trailing from each corner. His eyes are wide open, mine just barely. What a character he his! Half the size of the dog, Charlie, and our other cat, Riley, he loves stalking each of them, pouncing on their tails. It makes them barking, hissy-fit mad.

            I don’t want to get up. Charlie’s probably crossing his back legs wanting to get out of the utility room, he needs feeding, Scott will want his coffee and breakfast, and I need to get a lot of paperwork done today. Wonder if my brother wrote back this morning? It’s been a long time since I heard from him and when he does email me, it’s usually with something he’s forwarding like the Veteran’s Day remembrance he sent last night. His email to me was so brief, just about his medical challenges and not much about Bert. Maybe I overwhelmed him with my recount of family happenings when I responded to his initial email. I only gave him a few facts, not the real stuff of life. It’s easy for me to say Scott’s side of the family has all the drama, but maybe that’s my way of not getting into detail about what’s really going on.

            Courtney’s husband, Ron, is in Adak, Alaska working on a two month construction project. His son, Ryan, who has been living with them is supposed to go join the crew of four. He quit his job in Tacoma and is waiting for the company owner to let him know what day he’s supposed to fly out. He’s never flown before and Courtney’s worried about how he’ll do, not only on the flight, but on the job. Courtney also worries about Ron pacing himself so he doesn’t get hurt. There’s no good medical care in Adak and his complicated medical history doesn’t help calm her nerves. If anything major happened, he would have to be flown to Anchorage. She threatened him with what a helicopter ride might cost. Do you suppose that will keep him healthy? In the meantime, Courtney is arranging care for three-year old Ben while she works weekend nights at Children’s Hospital in Seattle as a supervising nurse. Courtney is truly a care giver. How many times have I said, “Courtney, don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

            Courtney’s daughter, twenty-one year old Karina, was here with her adoption mom, Laura, this week. They stayed with Courtney for three nights. We all had dinner together on Wednesday and I had a chance to visit with them again Thursday afternoon. I hadn’t seen Laura since we met at Good Samaritan Hospital when Karina was born.

            That was hard for me – those days and the ones that followed. I wanted Courtney to keep Karina, but she was eighteen and it was her decision. I know it was hard for her too, but the decision was about Karina.

            After spending time with Laura this week, I know where Karina gets her critical thinking skills and her wonderfully sassy attitude. Intelligent and outspoken, Laura is very involved in politics in Ketchikan, Alaska. Although they couldn’t be more opposite in political beliefs, Laura and Scott had a very spirited, civil discussion Wednesday evening with each respecting the other’s views, if not agreeing with them. Courtney was holding her breath when that discussion began. So was I. Guess we both tend to avoid confrontation.   

            Kendall is my researcher, gatherer of all possible data before-making-a-decision, daughter. I love her for it. Will she or won’t she go back to teaching science in a junior high in Puyallup next fall? She’s applied for other very different positions in two school districts, started a business of her own, is taking care of two children under the age of three and a half, working online at night for a university critiquing student teachers, and still has time to give sound advice and share feelings about what matters to her with her friends on Facebook. When Jon leaves on trips for Boeing, the responsibilities escalate for a couple weeks at a time. Kendall becomes a single parent. Regardless of all that, every decision she finally makes (but may change based on better data) takes into consideration the welfare of her children, Micah and Grace.

            Was I ever that thoughtful when it came to making decisions as a young parent? I don’t think so. I’ve learned so much from Kendall – and not just about nutrition.

            My seventy-nine year old sister Lore was here Wednesday evening also. I really admire her. Quick witted, with a ready laugh and a kind heart, she’s certainly had her challenges. In the last three years, she had breast cancer, fell and broke her ribs while in the hospital and then, had to postpone gall bladder surgery because of it. Now cancer free and also free of her gall bladder, she flew to Hawaii in February for her granddaughter, Hailey’s, fourth birthday. While her children and three grandsons are doing well, two of her other grown granddaughters have caused a lot of heartache. One is in California. Lore gave her a home for over a year and encouraged a new beginning, only to have her use one of Lore’s credit cards without permission. She ran up a huge bill that wasn’t discovered until after she had moved out. The other has served thirteen years of a twenty-six year prison sentence for burglary and assault. Lore just bought her a system to convert printed text to braille, so she can become a certified transcriber or braillist while in prison. It will earn her a small income and provide her with marketable skills when she’s released.

            I’m so blessed to have the daughters I do. I remember Lore consoling her daughter when they came to a choral performance at Pacific Lutheran University in which Kendall was performing. The contrast in life journeys between Lore’s granddaughters and my daughters was heart wrenching for them.

            Lore called me Thursday to thank me for inviting her to the family gathering Wednesday evening. She’s so appreciative. I need to visit her more often. She mentioned on the phone that Scott looked worse than when she saw him last. I was sitting with Scott at the time of the phone call and with a breezy response, told her we were together and that he has his challenges. She got the message. He is getting worse. That’s what happens when you smoke for 57 years.

            Scott’s pulmonologist told us he has the lungs of a four year old trying to support a 250 pound man. In spite of that, Scott told me he’s really enjoyed the last month. He did a couple presentations at the senior center about writing his book and he had a loving in-person conversation with son Devon, who he hasn’t seen in three and a half years. Being a part of the writing class I taught gave him an ego boost. He was surrounded by women his age who gave him positive feedback on his writing. He was in heaven!

            Since it’s tough for Scott to get out, I’m inviting interesting people we’ve met to have dinner with us. Bring the fun to him, if he can’t get out to find it for himself.

            Thank heavens for Kendall’s crockpot recipes. I really don’t like cooking. With more than two guests, it seems you work and work and then people eat it and then you have to clean up and wonder why you haven’t had a decent conversation with anyone. I’m going to keep it simple with the two-at-a-time guest plan and hope the conversations, in which I hope to participate, make up for my cooking.

            And there’s always Scott’s studio to think about. Three years since he’s recorded anyone in it and maybe I’m being stubborn, but I refuse to help him with it. He has other people who can help and it’s his project, not mine. For twenty years, I’ve been carrying equipment up and down stairs for him. If I have to carry one more piece upstairs, only to have to carry it downstairs a month later, I’ll scream or stomp on his oxygen tubing or refuse to bring him coffee in the morning or do something equally heinous.

            Tot is sleeping on me with one paw on my face and his tail curled around my neck like a fur collar. I should get up. I have to pee, my lower back hurts and my hips are stiff. Is this what old age is about – aches and pains in the morning. Oh well, once I get going, they’ll go away – usually do. I may have to take some Ibuprophen. I still have to let Charlie out, brew a new pot, fix my oatmeal, take my vitamins, get Scott’s coffee and breakfast, make sure he takes his pills, start a load of washing, get some paperwork done and I really want to get out in the yard…

            I roll over to look at the clock. 10:23 am. How did that happen!