First Love

http://online.wsj.com/article/APe438a5e836ac4412a6eb7e6ec2fd522b.html
http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/01/20/us-kodak-hollywood-idUSTRE80J07D20120120

Dearest Kodak film,

I want to you to know how much I loved you, and love you still. You mean a great deal to me. I even planned to dedicate an entire room to you - a darkroom, and the development of you therein. Once I finally owned my own home. Even though the news says you are "stuck in time," you'll always be timeless to me.

I'll never forget the moment I saw you. I shuttered at your beauty and mystery. As our relationship developed, the emulsion layers were peeled away to our chemical romance. You were the color in my life.

Thank you for all the photographic memories you have provided for my family, and myself. Though my face and the faces of the ones I love will never again appear on your plastic or cellulose acetate emulsion and light sensitive salts and gelatin, your flawless exposition and radiation will always have a place in my heart.

Remember those times we spent together in the dark - before the light emerged and showed us the bright and beautiful world in black and white, then color. I know I'll never forget.

Don't worry because I will never throw away Grandma's Brownie Camera. And all those empty film canisters will be filled with nothing but love. You may think me distant for moving on to Nikon digital, the supposed diversion of my attention for you, but I am never far away. A girl never forgets her first love, nor does it ever leave her completely.

Forever Yours,
Lindsey

 

A Year of Light: In 24 Photographs

It's been a terribly long time since I've written...anything. And now, I disappoint myself once again by not writing something completely coherent or smooth. Because earlier today, I was a little inspired by Time Magazine's "LightBox 365: A Year In Photographs." You can take a look at it here: http://lightbox.time.com/2011/12/31/lightbox-365-a-year-in-photographs/#2. I would recommend it.

So, in lieu of my I-want-to-do-something-to-remind-me-how-grateful-I-am-for-2011-in-a-new-year-blog-post-that-I-haven't-done-yet, I dug up some photos - not one from everyday (that's so many!), but one from every month of last year...okay, we're gonna go with two. So many tiny fraction-of-a-second loaded moments.

By the way, I am so grateful for you, because it's likely I knew you in 2011. Ha. And I'm so happy to know you now. These photos are certainly not the very best photos from each month, because there are too many captured moments in all, too many blessings and people to be contained to 24 images.

Cool. I'm excited. Let's do it.

JANUARY

 

I entered the phase of Photo Booth self-portraiture. I admit it. I shamelessly wanted to document the days I maybe looked cuter than other days. I also began to theme my photographs with warm or cool colors (according to the season - blues for January, right?). This continued throughout the year. And, the painting in the background is my sad attempt to channel a little bit of Georgia O'Keefe sensibility.

 

Here's a favorite photo from "the quad" at Concordia University. It's after the first big snow of the winter. My long-boarder friend Andrew is featured in the center. I sure hope he doesn't read this. If it he does, I might as well say that he keep up the good work of his go-big-or-go-home grins at the ladies and distribution of skipping-heartbeats as he passes through the quad on his long board. I cannot believe I just wrote that. I wish him the best.

FEBRUARY

 

This photo marks the first time in my life I received flowers from someone other than my Mom or my high school prom dates. My best bud Jesse remembered how much I loathe roses and how much I wanted, someday, to just get some flowers from someone I cared about. These are it. Thanks, Jesse. I cannot tell you enough how much that meant to me. You know, Jesse probably doesn't read this, either, since he doesn't read my text messages. But, in the hope that he might be reading: 

Jesse, call your friends!

At some point, I started lying on my floor for long periods of time, looking up and pondering big life questions. In this particular episode, I questioned shirt-sleeve evolution, its social influences, and its artistic relevance.

MARCH

 

The Klenz. The Tanney. These two dashing fellows kept me sane in my old college age, if you know what I mean. This photo was taken in the new field house at Concordia University. I was there to photograph some tennis matches for the school newspaper. Luckily, I ran into these two, and this dreary, awkward day was turned upside down by a reminder to me of their existence in my life. I miss them.

Thus begins my strange fascination with fish - and aquatic photography. This was taken at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, after first-time dreadful apartment-hunting in a very new city. This little guy seemed to bring life to the freezing rain outside. Now, after meeting him, I sometimes dream about really cool fish. One in particular, the other night, was a Bob Marley fish - with dreads, yes. Please proceed to raise me on the weird-meter in your head. It's okay.

APRIL

 

There's a special weekend at Concordia University called "Spring Weekend." It's full of awesome (sometimes really weird and effed up) shenanigans. This was the first year, after two groundbreaking, liberating Spring Weekends with my best friends, that I didn't participate in the festivities. So, I volunteered myself to take photos of all the best events for the newspaper. Actually, I assigned them to myself, since I was the photo editor. And, boy, was that a great decision. This photo: Team Team, with the hunchback, the unicyclist in wrestling tights, and some guy I don't know with a wig. Like I said, awesome and effed up with a nice epic quality. It just doesn't have an explanation. No, really, I have no idea.

 

Even though this snapshot wreaks of cheesy facial expressions, it was part of a very exciting day. Here I am with Jessica, Jesse, Chad, and Theron. I look ridiculous because I'm wearing my choir dress with the puffy shoulders, and I've just received a letter that confirms my move to Chicago, where I will enter grad school...at an art school. I think the look on my face is partly "Whoa, Georgia O'Keefe studied at this school!" January painting attempts came back to me then. Earlier that day, I was crying (an embarrassing amount) about my last A Cappella Choir concert. A few minutes before this photo, I was crying in a very different way. Thanks, guys, for driving all the way to First Street to hug me and celebrate.

MAY

 

The final days of school. Together. With good friends. The balloons were made for Paul and Caley's homecoming, and then they came home! So, we celebrated. This photo is my life with the people I love. I also wanted to document our desperation for fun-ness when there's almost nothing more to do in the quaint and humble town of Seward but bop around balloons like good 'ole 90s kids would.

 

Me. And my pal Alex. Our happy selves on a lazy, beautiful spring afternoon. What a day that was. I'm a little speechless at the memories that accompany this photo, so I'll let it breathe a little.

JUNE

 

Laughter really is the best medicine...especially during a full week at camp. Here are some friends of mine, full of life, gusto, hope, and love. I almost can't get over their mysterious truth in this picture. God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. And so is His mysterious majesty in His creation of man and laughter.

 

This is possibly what the inside of my brain looks like. Or, what I wished it looked like. This photo was taken at Carol Joy Holling Camp, just a short walk from the Sjogren Center, where the photo above took place. These photographic memories have a great big place in my heart.

JULY

 

A nice glass of Cutthroat Porter was a large contributor to the first day I got drunk before 2 p.m. No ordinary beer fest (no, nothing like the movie). It took place in the mountains of Colorado. I guess the altitude might explain my timely drunkenness. A trip to Alamosa was one of the best 10-hour drives I have ever made. Multiple glasses of kiwi beer, my first Jagerbomb, my first Irish Car Bomb. Enough said. The greatest was time spent with a friend, his family, and his roots.

 

One more photo of camp, when the crickets came out and perspectives were strangely illuminated on a makeshift stage. There's something about this photo that is striking and beautiful. And again, mysteeeeeerious. I use that word too much.

AUGUST

 

This is a dirt track racing moment that my Dad, my brother, and my brother's friend, Charlie, would probably not make sentimental like I am. Just under a half hour after I took this photo, the motor blew, a huge white cloud of smoke swallowed my brother and the car, and I realized, again, how dear these men are to me.

 

Nothing like a reunion with these guys, after a long summer. 

They are the bee's knees, I tell you. 

Not long after this photo could I even remember this photo was taken.

SEPTEMBER

 

The first big art gallery opening in the first big city I've lived. This gallery contained work by Angel Otero. I sort of got lost - in many different ways - this night. 

http://angelotero.com/home.html

 

Here begins my undying affection for the Chicago Blackhawks and the sport of hockey. Sometimes, I really do think this organization and its professional athletes got me through a few rough months in my young adult life. That sounds a little dramatic. It really isn't. But, I really do have to thank my friend, Katy - not just for sharing the Blackhawks with me, but for her friendship.

OCTOBER

 

A kiddo. And pumpkins. A day when Steph and I got to be like kiddos and, well, not really like pumpkins. A Cinderella reference would be a little much here. But we got to spend some quality time with these great pumpkins - and each other.

 

Our shoebox apartment started to grow on me. The objects here have strange auras. I think these weird little halos of color symbolize the objects' sentimental value in a cozy place, now full of new memories.

 

NOVEMBER

 

A trip to St. Louis, and some quality time with Chris T. If you know him, you're lucky. If you don't, you should. Ha. Kidding. Well, not really kidding. Eh. But really, this trip was wonderful, and so were all of the people we visited in St. Louis and the surrounding area. I love you all, and you know who you are.

 

This is my Mom. I love you, Mom. That's all.

DECEMBER

 

I am proud to talk about how well I can navigate the public transportation system in Chicago. Granted, it's one of the better-engineered ones in the nation, and also one of the most interesting and friendly ways to go to and from the places I now call home...most days.

 

And now, we've come full circle to another self-portrait. I guess some things never change when Photo Booth is involved. Guilty. I'd like to thank Mary Poppins. 

And you. 

-----

"In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed."

- 1 Corinthians 15:52

When I was sinking down

Sometimes, when I have too much time to think about it ("it" being my "love life" and the time being those days right after the student finally realizes that there are absolutely no papers to write for absolutely zero classes), my heart gets heavy. Sometimes, your body is weighed down by some inexplicable force besides gravity. It can happen on the train, alone, witnessing a moment. A specific person comes to mind immediately. That person is the exact emotional and relatable substance you want to be sitting or standing next to you when you see or hear this particular moment. But, they're not there. That's all about missing someone, I know. Lots of people. It happens. Maybe it's also because my body's heavy from being sick, or because I miss my close friends, far away, or because I'm not singing. Or, the reality that, even during the "happy" holidays, hate, greed, and hunger still happen. True loneliness, grief, longing, inpenetrable sorrow.

God still calls us to lift our heavy hearts, bodies, emotions, not just at Christmas time but all the time. Because the Baby Jesus DID come and he DID die for you and me. So, it counts for something that we spread the cheer - faithfully and whole-heavy-heartedly keep the love going around all year long, not ignoring the evil, but spreading the good, not glossing it over, but penetrating it wherever it might be.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. - 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

As for my "love life," it's the only thing that's actually "lonely," but me, myself? I have so much to make me, well, not alone, which makes for a full, heavy heart.

What wondrous love is this
That caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul.

When I was sinking down,

Beneath God’s righteous frown,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb I will sing;
Who is the great I AM,
While millions join the theme, I will sing.

And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on,
And when from death I’m free
I’ll sing His love for me,
And through eternity I’ll sing on.

Manchester Victoria Station

I came across some of my old poetry the other day - some that I wrote in the last five years. Seems more like a decade ago, because so much has happened. It was comforting to read my own words again, knowing exactly what they mean. Maybe it's because they're still all my words, not really meant for an audience. Not an essay, a review, a feature story. Just poetry. Just words and lines, and my own goofy life between the spaces and line breaks, inside and underneath. Maybe it's selfish, but it really is something to look back, know yourself then, and know yourself now.

I wrote Manchester Victoria Station for a poetry publication in college. The critics of the publication said there was a tragedy and desperate longing in the poem. I agree, and that stinking hopelessness really is there, because that's what I thought a lot of things were - hopeless. I've never even been to Manchester. It's ironic that I would write a "love" poem about it, though, because putting the thoughts into words confirms something, not sure what, maybe the existence of that actual hope of going there someday and having the conversation. It's all forgettable and memorable at the same time. So utterly and despicably sentimental.

I haven't written a poem in two years. Now, I don't think every thought and sentence has to be poetically unforgettable and sentimental. Not that all poetry is like that or should be. But, the sappiness of my old words has probably disappeared because reality slapped it right out of me. Sometimes, though, I still think in measure, iambic pentameter, and hopeless romanticism. But that's rare now, because I realize actual love isn't held together by these things.

Our kneecaps touched on the train.

A five-hour surge soda

pulsed through my veins,

at the touch of our denims

Your lips fluttered,

smooth and jagged at once

while stories spilled out and

laughter echoed them apart

Mine put to shame,

as they were bitten

and trembling

I felt your big-hearted blue eyes

wash over me

as

     I

       stepped

     off the stool and 

     onto the brick.

Your warm hand

on the small of my back

the fog of air from your mouth

hazing me closer

I could only hear the song of

the tickle of our eyelashes

And your smile

draping the rims of my mouth

And our kneecaps tapping gently

as your heat filled my lungs

Homeward Bound

My dog, Mollie, is 12 years old - which makes her 84 in dog years! Yes, she is the best. We got her the day my Mom, Dad, brothers and I pressed our hands into the wet cement outside our new house in 1999. I put my hand over the imprint the other day, and it's about twice as big as that imprint. At that time, Mollie was a little puppy with really sharp teeth and really sharp making-everyone-melt-even-when-she-tore-up-the-yard skills. She was one when I was 12. Now's she's 12, and I'm twice her age. But she's so much wiser. I suppose that might be why she's got 7 times the wisdom - and maybe why they figure dog years by that number. Coming home to her stooped on the porch is a big comfort. This time, for Thanksgiving break, it's almost as if she knew how dreadfully much I had missed her and home, and being able to look at the handprints of my family in the cement anytime I want.

I realized that dogs I've seen elsewhere, (all of which I like to imagine are Mollie's good long lost friends - the kid in me) are quick to become my friends, too. I wouldn't be as joyful without them around. I think their innocence makes me feel like a kid again.

"You've learned all you need to know, Chance. Now all you need to learn is how to say goodbye." - Shadow, Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey

  

 Duke: Nebraska, 1991

Mollie: Nebraska, 2008

 

Unknown: Madrid, 2009

 

Unknown: Barcelona, 2009

 

  Rocco: Annapolis, 2010

 

Daisy: Annapolis, 2010

 

Unknown: New York City, 2011

Petra: St. Louis, 2011

Citations

I don't want my blog to become a form of narcissistic self examination - confirmation of my own self-worth. But, sometimes, that's what it is...as I write a self examination about writing another self examination. Sure, call me cynical, critical, worrisome, pessimistic. (Write something positive, Linds! Be happy.) It's getting harder to write seriously about happy things. I've gone snarky. So, I thought I'd let a few things speak for themselves. I dug these out of my quote bin just now. Yes, I have a quote collection - pages and pages.

"I don't know what I think about that because I don't know where people's hearts are. It's important to not judge without knowing their hearts. If their heart is to honor the Lord, then it's a good thing. Only God can judge because only God knows what's truly in a person's heart." - Tim Tebow

"I feel that everything that pulled me to the city slowly pushes me away from it, and everything I grew up with that pushed me away from the farm is what’s pulling me back. The peace and quiet and the freedom that I actually never realized meant as much as it did. We didn’t have any neighbors for miles, woodlands to run around in. We had a lot of things to catapult our imagination when you didn’t even know what imagination was. Life’s too short when you find yourself sitting in a car for four hours every day trying to get from East L.A. to West L.A. to Hollywood and then back to East L.A." - Garrett Hedlund

"I think at this point most creative things are pretentious or ambitious so it's just a waste of time to apologize for trying to develop your skills or eye or whatever. Everyone is so worried about seeming hipster but I dunno, I think caring about what kind of clothes other people wear or what kind of music they like is the most hipster. I would much rather be taking pictures and writing and be way in over my head and none of it even be that good than not do anything. Otherwise, I would probably be one of those people who puts all their self-perception in what their tastes say about them since they don't have anything they themselves make or do because they're afraid they won't be good at it because they believe you can't be creative just for yourself and that someone will say they are bad at it. Which just makes you think about what your tastes say about you all the more, which is that stupid mentality of people who are annoyed by hipsters. I just wanna like what I like! Where in this world is there any passion anymore! Any commitment! Once I didn't leave the couch for 25 hours except to go to Ihop. That took commitment." -Tavi Gevinson  

You might be thinking this post is a cop-out, but when somebody says somethin' - peep's got somethin' to say about what they know, feel, and think. And, sometimes, I get it: the beauty of it all (Oh, look. Something positive).

"A writing space like this in the blogosphere, can be a narrative, not just an internal dialogue. I want to connect with people (I'm also really bad at keeping in touch)." - Self-involved me

Also, here's to living vicariously through professional sports teams. 

Go Blackhawks!

Confessions. Wait, what?

Sometimes there are paragraphs. And sometimes there are stupid paragraphs. And sometimes there are ridiculous paragraphs. Case in point:

"Interestingly - at least, to me - Frankfurt goes on to show how bullshit differs from lying. And, furthermore, Frankfurt claims that the bullshitter's presence is actually more dangerous to the health of liberal society than that of the liar; for, what distiguishes lying from bullshitting is a certain respect for the truth. Whereas the bullshitter only respects the power of utterances to persuade based upon emotion and, as such, finds no use for any given truth of science, theology, philosophy, or whatever, the liar, in concealing the truth from his conversation partner, actually respects the truth a great deal more than the bullshitter."

Wait, what?
 ...if you care to read on: http://www.curatormagazine.com/philiplorish/the-art-of-the-mundane/

Let's begin one more time. Here's how I see it.

"Interestingly enough, bullshit differs from lying? Hm. The truth is, we're all liars and we're all bullshitters. Utterances, as such, that we are not...are bullshit."

I bring this up because I have fallen victim to my own, um, bullshit. I'll start using a more tasteful word. Let's go with hypocrisy, maybe? No. Hold on. I'm going to thesaurus.com for this one...of course, it's not on dictionary/thesaurus.com. Let's try urbandictionary.com Always a dangerous task.  No more internet filters, if you know what I'm talking about. So: nonsense, exaggeration, lies.

My confession of nonsense. No...bullshit (no better word), is this. I've been hypocritical of this city and its people, thinking oftentimes I'm much well off coming from the farm, living simply. Not only is this a little assuming, it's also caused some insincerity and judgment on my part, which I've been excusing as culture shock and a loss of patience. I've also made an excuse for not blogging for a couple of weeks: pressure - from this whole idea of writing for you. But that's not really a valid excuse either. Rather, I'm unsure of my actual ability to not bullshit. I'm trying to write better, become edgier, become more informed.

I have also admittedly been angry at friends. Of course, for selfish reasons. Forgiveness is another thing I learned again in church on Sunday. Did I also mention this church, Saint Luke, is where Paul Manz was Cantor Emeritus? Yes, he was. I miss singing his music with the A Cappella choir. I miss it so freaking much. And I miss you.

At this point, I'd like to dedicate this blog post to Momma Auten, because, even though I'm in a funk, she actually made me realize, there is no funk. Just fear and excuses. I am so thankful she was able to come visit for her birthday! Happy 29th Birthday, Mom! Just kidding, she's not 29, but she is a beautiful age, and a wonderful wisdom to behold. Trust me on this.

 In other news...even though the Blackhawks have had a rough couple of days.



That was no bullshit, excuse my language. That was LEGIT.

"Then Jesus said to his disciples: 'Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or bran; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?

Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! And do not set your hear on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.'" -Luke 12: 22-34