If it’s called a “martini”, it should consist of (stirred) gin, vermouth, and maybe a twist of lemon, a dash of orange bitters, or three olives floating around the bottom of a three-ounce glass. Anything else is just a cocktail—or, worse, a big glass of gin (or worse still, a big glass of vodka, the horror!). There’s a tiki bar in my backyard (though I’d prefer chickens), an enormous collie alternately pouting and grumbling at my feet, a tabby who thinks he’s a genius lying tummy-up in the library, and a very, very fluffy tortie hunting birds from the back of the sofa. Sometimes, there’s also a husband tracking mud or sawdust all over the floor. Can you blame me for being so particular about martinis?
A former analyst, advertising agency refugee, and history book/butter/TCM addict who does not do portraiture (particularly of herself, thank you), I’ve long seen the world from behind the lens of a camera thanks to my Dad. He never knew he was creating a victory roll, circle skirt-wearing monster who’d go traipsing across America, photographing classic cars (hello, Detroit!), Route 66, and historic homes. He thought I’d run some big business scaring people. Not quite. Other than the times wind flips my skirt up when I’m lying on the ground shooting a car to reveal…petticoats! Eeeeeee! Well, at least he got the love for my country and for Red Wings hockey to “set” right.
I brake for Pyrex, Fire-King, Jadeite, 1940s and 50s sewing patterns, and all sorts of other great vintage things. People like to give me books and canning supplies. I’m still waiting for someone to give me a horse for my birthday, though. Some dreams never die. We’ll say nothing about my life-long crush on George Washington. He’s mine, ladies. Hands OFF.
That’s me, the shutterbug in a petticoat!
Becoming a photographer was not my plan. For better or for worse, I was struck with an illness while still in college that progressed (regressed?) to the point that means working outside the home is no longer an option for me. The illness even stole one of my greatest joys, the ability to sing; there’s a box of trophies in the basement, but I’m not sure I’ll bring joy to people through singing any longer. Getting adequate air into my lungs is too difficult at times. But it could be worse (and I do still sing, just not competitively or at weddings anymore)!
I am very blessed to have a husband who understands and accepts this, and in fact is happy to have a photographer wife working from home. That there are often brownies or cookies and nearly always a home-cooked meal waiting for him when he gets in probably doesn’t hurt. I rock out that way. Singing along with Ella and Frank and Sarah while whipping up a meal is the way to get it done!
Around here, I like to write about photography, my fellow artists and small business owners, road trips, historic preservation (particularly of retro Americana from the 1940s and 50s), and my general love for history and our past. You might occasionally read about some of my vintage and thrift scores (or failures) or the veggie garden, too.
Where is this crazy woman coming from?
I grew up in the Detroit area, then moved to Pittsburgh with my husband after we married; then it was off to West Virginia and now central Ohio. We both loved West Virgina and the darling vintage 1951 Cape Cod we lived in there, and miss both dearly. Our move to Ohio—Hubby’s home state—came about with a sudden but good new job offer last summer, and we’re still adjusting to the change.
When I’m not working on my documentary photography, I’m usually playing happy scientist in the kitchen, garden, sewing room, or reading a good book.
You can contact me via my shop, Liberty Images, or email—or, of course, by leaving a comment here on the blog.
If you see one of my photographs here on the blog that’s not listed in the shop that you’re interested in adding to your home or office, absolutely send me an email—there’s only so much inventory my studio has room to maintain, but special orders are simple enough and cost you absolutely nothing extra.
Thanks for stopping by!
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