Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Friends

I find it interesting that I have no friends. All my life I have been surrounded by people at home, at school, at work, at the grocery store, and yet I find myself only hanging out with my husband or family. I don’t seclude myself and I don’t turn down offers to chill with people who ask … I just no longer get any invitations. I used to have friends. I used to have church friends, and high school friends, and college friends, and friends of friends, but now it’s just me and the hubby, my family and his, and that’s it. I know what you’re thinking: “Where did all your friends go?” Let’s start at the beginning.

I grew up in a fairly large church, complete with social hours, and youth groups, and teens my age, including my soon to be husband, Zach. Together we would go for car rides, go shopping, go out to dinner, get coffee, play games, etc. It was a lot of fun and I loved my church friends, but soon everyone went off to college or work, moved away, switched churches, and lost touch.

My high school friends experience was much the same, but despite people moving away to college or work, I was able to stay connected to a few close friends who made catching up on winter breaks and summer vacations a priority. College for me was a whole different ball game. I met some of the nicest, kindest, friendliest people in the world, and we grew closer than any of my previous friendships simply because of what we went through together. Living in close quarters, studying until we crashed, dealing with professors and workloads, recitals and graduations; my college friends supported me through it all and I supported them. I still love and talk to my classmates from Eastern, but we no longer share meals together, watch movies together, go shopping or get coffee. My college friends live in Pennsylvania, Delaware, New Jersey, Ohio, Florida, and Washington. Talk about a long distance relationship.

That just leaves my trusty high school friends, right? Wrong. Catching up soon became less and less of a priority to my friends. Jobs moved people to different towns, and then to different states. Other friends became more important, and my phone rang less and less. I haven’t even been married two years and I no longer speak to two of my bridesmaids. Everyone said once I got married I would change. They said I wouldn’t want to hang out with people anymore; basically that Zach and I would become hermits and forget about our friends. Would you believe none of that came true? We did not become hermits, we did not forget about our friends, and we probably wanted to hang out even more now that we could leave from the same house! I offered my home for gatherings, I suggested cool new things to do together … I even called just to chat. The responses went from, “Sorry, I can’t tonight, but maybe later,” to downright refusal to pick up the phone or return my messages. Seriously, I can take a hint.

So now I have Zach, and I have my family, and that’s pretty much it. It has taken me a while, but I believe I am finally at peace about it. I am not defined by the people who want to hang out with me. If anything, it's their loss because I have so much to give. I am kind, and generous, I put others first, and I know how to make people laugh. I care about people so much that I seem to get hurt twice as often, but that won’t change who I am. I am defined by how I act, and how I love, and if I don’t fit into your life, that just gives me more time to spend with people who truly appreciate me.

I love my family and my wonderful husband, and if that’s all I have for now, I seriously can’t complain.

Xoxo Liz



Friday, August 26, 2011

Milkshakes


Okay, so I know I haven’t blogged in a while. That makes me uber sad because I totally thought I would sit and write more often. While work and family and work has me busy, I still find myself with a lot of boring down time with which I do nothing, until now. Today I decided to write about something. Anything at all, really … thus I give you a story about milkshakes.

About 3 weeks ago I went to Scarpelli’s in Torrington with my husband. I ate my usual cheeseburger and fries, and watched in amazement as my husband single-handedly devoured his usual … the kitchen sink dog: a foot-long hotdog smothered with heaps of chili, sauerkraut, onions, cheese, and of course, bacon, served in a massive grinder roll. Yeah. Anyway I looked over at the table next to us and saw 3 kids dining with their parents, each with a delicious-looking strawberry milkshake. Despite my fullness, and Zach’s engorgement, we bought one strawberry milkshake to-go, and enjoyed it on the way home. It was soooooo good. Maybe it was delectable because I hadn’t ordered a milkshake in years upon years, or maybe because I saw a kid with something that I wanted, and was finally old enough to spend my own money and indulge. Either way, that was the start to my milkshake kick.

The very next day, on the way home from West Hartford, I saw a Frendly’s in the distance and knew I was only moments away from more strawberry-y, milky goodness. I walked in with a giant smile on my face, and even though I had planned on getting a Fribble, I was persuaded to order a “double-thick” milkshake instead. I watched as the waitress filled up a stainless steel vessel with gigantic scoops of strawberry ice cream, a splash of milk, and then blended the shake for all of 5 seconds before serving us the to-go container and sending us out the door. By the time we got home, 40 minutes later, the drink was STILL virtually undrinkable. My goodness, words cannot tell you how disappointed I was. I had just come off of the best milkshake EVER the day before, and now this? I sucked and sucked and sucked as hard as I could, to no avail. We were basically served a giant cup of ice cream. I believe I even yelled at Zach, “If I wanted to drink ice cream, I would have bought my own half gallon and waited for it to melt!” I told Zach I was never getting a “double thick” ever again.

Day three. Yes, the next day I bought yet another milkshake. I was determined. This time I went to Friendly’s in Torrington and got the Fribble I wanted in the first place. YUCK. The Fribble is basically soft served vanilla ice cream, lots of milk, and strawberry syrup blended to oblivion. That night I remember yelling again at Zach, this time saying, “If I wanted strawberry milk, I would have bought my own gallon of milk and squeezed my own damn strawberry syrup in!!!” Was it so hard to make a decent strawberry milkshake like Scarpelli’s? Anyway, there ended my three day milkshake binge, as I could feel the calories fastening themselves to my ass.

Weeks later, I thought about milkshake #1 and whether or not it was really the best, or if the idea of it was simply better. Who doesn’t think about the movie Grease, and how all you wanted was to go into that 50’s diner, wear a pink poodle skirt and cardigan, eat a greasy burger, and drink a milkshake? Scarpelli’s is far from paradise, but in its slightest resemblance to a childhood flick, I found myself craving what those punks in the booth next to me were ungratefully slurping. My parents would have never let me order a milkshake for dinner. Ever. So instead, I waited 20 years, and drank so many milkshakes in unreasonable succession, I may never want one again. Lesson learned?

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. Here’s to coming back soon!

Xoxo Liz

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Shards


Today I broke two glasses. I almost broke three, but the one I dropped on the floor did not shatter, as it landed in a Tupperware container (that just happened to also be on the floor … don’t ask). After today’s dish washing fiasco, we are down to twelve glasses in our house. Twelve might sound like a decent amount, except five of them are tiny juice glasses (three from one set, two from another) five are medium size glasses from IKEA and aren’t very pretty, and the last two are the only tall glasses we have left. I don’t know what our problem is, but my husband and I can’t seem to go one week without breaking a glass. Thank God this week didn’t draw blood. My husband is the best at that. Last time, he broke a tall glass by shoving his large hand down to the bottom to clean it. The glass broke and sliced his hand open as he tried to remove it. I told Zach I would wash the tall glasses from then on. Today proved I’m not much better.

We decided plastic cups are the way to go. We’ll just go to target, or walmart, and buy some nice, sturdy, reusable plastic cups. I want something I can throw against the wall without fear. And that’s really what it’s about. Fear. After my husband’s bloody ordeal, every time something in the sink breaks, I’m afraid it will result in, at worst, a sliced artery, or at best, a week’s worth of bandages and Neosporin. When did I become so fearful of getting hurt? Don’t even get me started on knives.

One time my mother-in-law came over to cook a decadent meal for my husband, and I played the role of sous-chef. I have virtually zero cooking skills, so I basically got her the ingredients she needed and washed the dishes as she used them. That fateful day, I sliced my finger open while washing a food processor blade, and my fear in the kitchen increased about 400%. Since then, Zach is no longer allowed to put knives or blades in the sink. They must rest on the tiny window sill next to the sink, and only he must wash them. And if that friggin food processor blade ever shows its metal-y face in my kitchen, I must leave the room until it is done being used, washed, and safely stored away. *sigh* I have issues.

Unfortunately, buying plastic knives won’t work as well as plastic cups, so I’m learning to deal with blades in my own unique way. Does anyone else have kitchen nightmares they can’t get over?

Xoxo Liz

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Merge

Well peeps, the general consensus is to merge my old blog with my new, so here I go. In this entry you will find the four posts I made on Marriage Photography. I didn’t want to delete them, because I enjoy what I wrote, but I also didn’t want to leave them at the old blog site. I hate it when people move on from a URL and don’t delete it. Isn’t it so depressing when you come up with a perfect name, only discover “that name is already in use … would you like to try …” and then they give you 5 examples that mash-up your original idea by switching up words and letters and adding 4 numbers to the end. Not cool. So anyway, that’s why I must delete the old blog’s existence. If you haven’t read these entries before, please do!

Xoxo Liz

P.S. If you have unused blogger URLs … do the right thing … delete them! (Someone else will thank you for it!)


Follow The Leader

Welcome, welcome. Thanks for visiting. Here I go, jumping on the blogger bandwagon. I’m a follower, not a leader. My husband, Zach, just started a blog the other day. Bacon Coffee, as he named it, is just a mash up of his two favorite things, so yet again, (as I have stated, I am a follower), I decided to do just the same. Only, in my opinion, I think my two words fit a bit nicer together, (no offense, my dear).

I got married to my wonderful husband a little over a year ago, and what consumed my passion throughout the entire wedding process and beyond has been wedding photography. I love everything about weddings, and I love even more the art of capturing it in photographs that will allow the memories to last a lifetime. Had I more knowhow in high school, I would have taken my favorite class (photography) and turned it into a profession. Alas, I had different plans and my life took many turns in different directions. It wasn’t until I was up to my ears in bridal magazines that I even remembered my incredible joy for taking pictures, looking at pictures, being the subject of pictures, and envying the life of a photographer. Who knows, someday I might journey back into the photography world, and maybe even someday become a wedding photographer (drools!), but until then, I shall simply write about it.

Wedding photography is an art in itself and differs greatly from normal photography. It requires, at least in my opinion, a special concentration, patience, timing expertise, and, yes, love of weddings! Photographing a landscape at sunset is beautiful, but there is an entirely different beauty that surrounds the union of two people. Christian or not, (and I am!), most people feel a sense of holiness when they take their vows. They stand up in front of hundreds of people and proclaim their love, and fidelity to one person alone for the rest of their life. And while my thoughts on vow breaking and divorce rates is another blog post all together, I think it’s assumed that on a person’s wedding day, they believe their proclamation to be honest and true. How can a photographer crystallize the memories of someone’s proclamation of love and not get swept up in the wonderfulness of it all?

I believe my marriage is a series of proclamations. Daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly renewing your vows to have and to hold till death do you part. Each fight, each resolution, each hardship, and each joy is another opportunity to crystallize a memory. So it’s not just wedding photography, but the tangible and intangible photographs of my marriage that I would like to share with you. Take the journey with me as I evaluate and enjoy photography, as well as evaluate and enjoy my own marriage. I hope you are inspired to do the same with things you are passionate about as well.


My Favorite Memory

I’m not going to lie … I did not care for my wedding photographer. Yes, he was able to take pictures of my ceremony and reception in a reasonably unobtrusive way. But did he truly document moments, beautiful moments, throughout one of the most important days of my life? No, sadly, he did not. Let me tell you, I was certainly no bridezilla by any stretch of the imagination, but my wedding pictures were probably one of the most important things to me on that day. Looking back on it, I would have really saved, and shelled out the big bucks for someone who was 1. recommended to me, 2. incredibly talented, and 3. took the style of photos I was looking for.

I would consider my wedding photography tastes to be modern. My family in the front of the church surrounding Zach and me was really the only traditional photo I was expecting. Unfortunately my photographer was not “artsy” enough to successfully pull off anything … well …. “artsy.” I basically could have taken the same quality of work on my mediocre point and shoot digital camera bought 4 years ago. Regardless, this post is not supposed to be about bashing my clueless photographer, but rather to set up why this one good photo really means a lot to me.

This is my favorite photograph from the entire day. This photo is the only time my photographer woke up and actually caught a moment. This is the moment I want to, and now, will always remember from that beautiful day. This is marriage. This photo right here. When I look at this photo I see all the tears I cried leading up to this moment. I see wedding planning and life planning gone horribly awry. I see fights, and debates, and hurt feelings, and disasters … all of which mean absolutely nothing to me. In this moment, I am safe. I am happy. I am where I know I am supposed to be. I am standing firm with my family, friends, pastor, and crappy photographer, proclaiming true love for this man. My husband. I look up at him and know nothing else matters; that all our tears, arguments, and disruptions can, and will be overcome by our love for each other, and our faith in God. I look up at him and feel beautiful, protected, and affirmed in my decision to grow one with him as we grow one with Christ. I am clearly the subject of this photograph, but all I see is Zach. That is why I love this picture.

Go back and look at your wedding photos. What is the one photo that seems to encapsulate your marriage in a single moment? I’d love to see you post it or describe it!


To Have and To Hold


My husband and I dated for 6 years before we got married. Six years is a long time. In those six years we laughed together, and fought together. We did stupid things together, and we matured together. Together we made our parents happy, and yes, sometimes, we drove our parents crazy! One subject matter I particularly do not miss getting yelled at over was the cuddling. Ah yes, the infamous touching of two fully-clothed teenage bodies together … how did my parents ever sleep at night?! Zach and I loved to cuddle while we were dating, (and yes, still do!). We were perfectly content watching crappy movies, or just sitting there talking for hours, so long as we were connected on a comfortable couch, feeling the warm embrace of one another’s touch.

The worst part about dating Zach was in the winter time, when one of us, (most times he), had to stop cuddling under a warm and cozy blanket, and leave the other. Going out into the bitter cold to drive home was only half of the misery of leaving each other each night.

Once Zach and I finally got married, and we laid awake talking in our nice warm bed (for two!), we decided, then and there, that one of our favorite parts about marriage was that we never had to stop cuddling and leave the other ever again! No more getting out from under the blanket and driving home in the cold. I finally got to cuddle my man until I fell asleep, and to make matters better, he would be there when I woke up!! I tell ya, marriage is bliss!

I always loved the part in marriage vows that said, “To have and to hold.” Perhaps it’s just the cuddle-lover in me, but when I hear that phrase, I always pictures two people holding each other so tight, and never letting go. It’s true; marriage is about holding your spouse. Physical touch is very important in a marriage. Holding, cuddling, kissing, intimacy … all are key factors that people expect and enjoy in a marriage. However, that phrase of the vow that I love so much is talking about a different kind of holding.

Straight from Merriam-Webster dictionary:

Have: to hold or maintain as a possession, privilege, or entitlement

Hold: to have as a privilege or position of responsibility

What a joy to be responsible for someone else. Okay, a bit stressful at times, and perhaps overwhelming, but overall I think it’s a joy. Think of new parents, and how they struggle with being entirely responsible for a tiny human. Any parent I’ve ever asked has said the responsibility is rewarding beyond words. And think about the word entitlement. Once we commit and vow to have and to hold, we are not only making a promise to our spouse, but we are entitled to that same commitment as well. As you “have” one another, you possess one another. Zach is my husband, no one else’s. I am his, and he is mine, end of discussion!

And of course, privilege. I maintain my husband, and I am responsible for him, but when it comes down to it, before we got married it was my privilege, not my right, that he love me. Ephesians 5:22 says, “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.” Although we are desolate sinners, Christ loved us, died for us, and forgave us of all our transgressions. This act of obeying and submitting to our husbands as they spiritually lead our household, allows us to see God’s ultimate favor. What a beautiful reminder and depiction of the privilege we have to love, and to be loved. Amen!

Till death do us part, may we continually be reminded of the vow we took to have and to hold, physically and spiritually. And as the weather gets colder this holiday season, may we also be grateful for that special cuddle time with our spouses!

Merry Christmas Eve!


With This Ring I Thee Wed

It’s been over a year, and my husband is still not used to his wedding band. At home, he constantly plays with it, takes it off and leaves it places, spins it on the table like a coin, and while he always remembers to put it on before going out, it’s probably a very conscious presence on his finger the whole time. Women are different. We grew up wearing rings so the presence of one on our finger causes almost no awareness. But whether you always notice that hunk of metal or not, the ring you wear, day in and day out, is such a beautiful outward sign of your marriage.

I love my rings. My wedding ring is a simple 2mm white gold band with a row of tiny diamonds. It’s a nice understated complement to my mammoth engagement ring with a much taller setting of 9 diamonds that sparkles like nobody’s business. My rings make me feel happy, and beautiful, and every time I bump my engagement ring into something (it really is a tall setting, I swear), I look down at my hand and remember the butterflies I felt on my wedding day. I remember how excited I was the day Zach proposed. I remember how relieved I was when we ordered our wedding bands (checking an item off your wedding planning list is a very big deal). I remember giving the rings to the best man the night before the wedding, wondering if they were in good hands (thank God, my brother is very responsible). All these emotions, all these memories … what a joy to remember and reflect each time you look at your finger!

Most importantly, wedding rings are a constant reminder to you, and everyone around you, that you are married. You are spoken for. You are not to be wined and dined with intent to woo by any other man or woman ever again! You made a choice, and you’re stickin’ to it, no matter what. This is obviously fresh to my husband and me since we’ve only been married a year, but what about couples that have been married for 25 years, or 50? Their wedding rings, that have left a permanent impression in their finger, would remind them of their long-term love. They might look back at their wedding day and think about the patience, resilience, and forgiveness that brought them to where they are now.

I believe any symbol, picture, or memory of marriage should always bring you back to your wedding day, the same way a biblical Pastor makes his sermons Christ-centered, continually remembering the gift of salvation that was given to us by the death of Jesus. Your wedding day was the day you made your vow. The day you stood up in front of the most important people in your life, and made a promise to yourself, your husband, and to God. Every time I look at my ring I remember my husband putting it on my finger as a token and pledge of his constant faith and abiding love for me. I remember doing the same for him. My marriage is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but perfection does not make a marriage good. A good marriage is about remembering your pledge and living it in faith and love.

My husband may not be “used to” his ring for years to come, but I like that he wears it with pride anyway. Diamonds or no diamonds, big or small, gold or not, your ring is your gift, your token. Wear it and remember.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Tidbits

Wow. I am breathing the most wonderful air. The last two days have been uncharacteristically in the 60’s as opposed to the normal 20-30 degrees we’ve been feeling. I just got home from work to happily find my husband has opened every window in our apartment. The breezes flowing through our home have completely rejuvenated my soul. Everyone at work kept telling me not to get too excited, and that tomorrow’s high of 29 was bound to damper my spirit. But I don’t care! Today is beautiful and that’s all that matters today.

In addition to this incredible air I am breathing, I am excited about two other tidbits I’d like to share with you. First, is the incredible, the extraordinary, the unquestionably talented … Jessie J. My dear friend Joe pointed her out to me on YouTube a while back, and since then, I have really loved listening to her songs. She is super catchy, and her ghetto fabulous style has me groovin’ to all of her music. But what I like the best about Jessie J is that she has a powerhouse voice that can command any riff, and her writing always leads where I was hoping it would go. That’s refreshing to me. Very few artists have the talent/“cojones” to musically go where I prefer. ;)

I have her videos saved as YouTube “favorites” (very few people make that list) and play them on my iPod all the time. Her first CD “Who You Are” comes out April 12th. I love the fact that I am officially pre-ordering a CD! I’ve never known about an artist early enough to ever do that before! I feel like this is a step in the right direction.

My second tidbit is about the new movie “Something Borrowed” opening May 6. Another first for me, I have read a book that has been turned into a movie … before the movie has come out! The novel, by Emily Giffin, was randomly loaned to me by my cousin Julie a while back. I have since read and bought Emily Giffin’s other books, and now follower her on facebook and twitter. I am officially a fan. You can imagine my excitement when I discovered a movie was being made. Is this how people that constantly read best sellers must feel? A book they enjoyed is now being turned into a movie! Will it do the book justice? Will it fail completely? Big deal, Blah blah, it has happened before, and it will happen again. BUT NO! This is a first for me, so I will be at the theater opening night, with Zach and anyone else who will join us, with bells on. :)

So there you have it. I have two things that are coming up to be excited about. Oh, wait … 3 if you count the beautiful air! I know a cold front is coming tomorrow, but in a month or two every day will be this nice out. I can’t wait.

Xoxo Liz


p.s. My favorite Jessie J YouTube links ...
p.p.s. "Something Borrowed" trailer ...


Sunday, January 30, 2011

Dust

If you’re a fairly clean and organized person like I am, you probably understand my intolerable frustration with the bane of my existence. Dust. Yesterday my husband and I decided to rearrange our bedroom. Simple enough task, right? One would think. But alas, we spent way more time vacuuming, dusting, and washing our furniture than we did moving it. Where does it all come from? Atop my desk and dresser, under Zach’s computer cords, in the corners, on the wall behind the shelves, and don’t get me started on the drapes! Like I said, I consider myself to be clean, but the sights I saw yesterday were enough to send me to DFA (dirty freaks anonymous).

My biggest problem with dust is that it keeps coming back. Yeah, I understand dust piling up behind the large furniture I haven’t moved in a year, but I dust off my dresser every week! I hate looking at a beautifully cleaned table top knowing it will go back to its dusty dirty self in a matter of days. My solution? Stop buying black furniture. Someday when I get a new home and lots of money to furnish said home, I will buy only white things. You don’t notice dust accumulating as much, and even though I will still dust once a week, I won’t be bothered by its unsightliness. Problem solved … in 20 years.

I’m not sure what my point was exactly, except to say that if fewer things bother me at the moment than dust collecting on dark wood furniture, then I’ve probably got it pretty good. Thank God I have a roof over my head to keep the dust contained. Thank God I have furniture on which dust can rest. Thank God I have a wonderful husband who helps create dust with me. More importantly, thank God I have money to buy dusters, and electricity to use my vacuumed to suck up my dust.

See now, dust, you’re sort of growing on me … literally. ;)

Xoxo Liz

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Hello

I am terribly indecisive. I have been this way as long as I can remember. Amusingly, it’s not the big things that get me caught up … it’s the tiny things. I mean really minuscule things like deciding what to wear to work, or picking out a new breakfast cereal for the week. I hate the cereal aisle. Why? Why are there literally 12 kinds of Cheerios? More importantly, why must I look at each box, over, and over again, stressing over my decision as if I were choosing to cut the red wire, or the green wire? Regular, honey nut, banana nut, frosted, multi-grain, multi-colored … I can’t tell you how many times my husband leaves me in that fateful aisle 4 to fend for myself. He’s not mean or anything, he just can’t stand to fathom the necessity of my 10 minute debacle.
I blame my parents. I don’t really know how the two correlate, cereal choosing and child rearing, but I’m sure there’s got to be a connection somewhere. Regardless, (or irregardless, as my husband always likes to joke), the point of my rambling is to say that I started a blog about a month ago about marriage and photography that I really enjoy, but can’t seem to want to follow through with. I knew when I started it there would be a chance that I’d want to blog about something other than marriage, or photography, and that naming my blog and url as such might put me in a box, so to speak. So back and forth I went. Back and forth, back and forth. To make a blog about marriage and photography, or to make it about nothing and sometimes talk about marriage and photography. Back and forth, back and forth. Alas, I made my decision. The wrong decision. I come home every night and want to write about anything BUT marriage and photography. Sometimes I just want to write about cereal. So here I am, at a crossroads. Do I delete my old blog? Do I keep it? Do I leave this blog for random ramblings about cereal and whatnot, and keep the other blog for my original idea? As you can probably guess, I haven’t decided yet. Maybe you could help?
Irregardless (lol), here is my new blog. Daybreak. Why daybreak, you ask? I’m glad you asked. I’ll tell you later.
Xoxo Liz