Archive for July, 2011

It started off as a request for a couple of new headshots, to update her website and blog, but knowing Michelle and her family are mere weeks away from packing up their home here in Georgia and starting a new life in Dallas, Texas, it morphed into something a little more special. An opportunity for Michelle and her wonderful husband Les, who haven’t had their photo taken together since their wedding day 14 years ago, to grab some finally memories of the many happy years they’ve spent together here in Georgia. Michelle, this is such an exciting time for you and your family. It was such a pleasure getting to know you better over the past few months. I’m sorry to see you go, but I wish you, Les and your 2 wonderful boys all the luck in the world as you start your new lives out there in cowboy country. Bon Voyage Girl!

Michelle told me many times before we started the shoot that she was not comfortable in front of the camera, that she was nervous and afraid she wouldn’t photograph well. Michelle, I told you to trust me, that you were fierce and I was going to prove it. And here is said proof.


The wonderful Les.

And his forever bride.

Go on with your bad selves.

After 14 years of marriage, Michelle and Les still retain a love struck lightheartedness.

And a quickness to laugh at each other. I love it.

Both of ya, fierce with a side of badass.


Les keeps the jokes coming.

Nothing like ending on a romantic note.

I’m not myself these days. Its the heat. For this fair and freckled skinned cailìn (irish word for “girl”), born and raised on an island that sits on the edge of Europe and regardless of the time of year, is the first country to take a good pounding of all the nasty wind and rain the Atlantic Ocean has to offer, the Atlanta summers are hell. Pure and utter hell on a hellish stick. An intense heat, with a side of humidity, that hits you from all angles and renders every day a bad hair day. If I could, I would do everything I need to get done in a day from the comfort of an air-conditioned room, or from the tranquility of a pool with a swim up bar. But failing the practicality of either of those plans, I do my best to survive on a schedule based very much on the principles of one Mr. Count Dracula and avoid being outside for the more heat intense parts of the day. Unless it involves a pool with a swim up bar.

Doing Time

July 28, 2011

Fintan continues to do time for the crime of poisoning himself. He’s under vets orders to remain indoors for another 4 days, least he try to ingest any more exotically lethal foreign bodies. Until then all he can do is watch the rest of us play in the freedom of the great outdoors, as he marks the days on his little kitty calender, anticipating the glorious moment of his release back into the wild. Poor kitty.

11 Years of Hanging Out

July 26, 2011

It was our first “official” date. At least I think it was a date. He called and asked if I wanted to “hang out“. I said “yes” cos I liked him, but honestly, not familiar with the term, I had no idea what I’d just said yes to.  I called a friend of mine to get her thoughts. “He asked if I wanted to “hang out”. What the hell does that mean? Are we just going to sit on a wall, swing our legs and talk or are we actually going to do something. Furthermore, what does one wear to “hangout” ?” Two days later a nervous Irish girl and shy American boy, walked the streets of Dublin, searching for a restaurant to “hangout” on their first official date.

I ordered a salad, minus the onions. Needed to keep the breath fresh, you know,  just in case, wink wink. He ordered a salad WITH onions. My thoughts? Well thats a bold statement and his way of letting me know there’ll be zero chance of any lip action for us this evening. We were obviously just friends. Boooooo Hisssss. Guess I can drop the act of trying to be all cute and nice and just go ahead and be real, potty mouth and all. He’s obviously not that into me. But after dinner, as we strolled the Dublin Quays on the banks of the river Liffey, and paused on Millenium Bridge for a little witty banter, I got the distinct feeling I was about to be kissed. I waited and waited, reading into every word he said and trying to interpret his body language. Any second now, wait for it……..but nothing. Damn, he’s really not that into me. I gave up. Feeling foolish and deflated I suggested we just go. In my 1998 Peugeot 204 I drove him to the friends he was staying with while in Ireland. I pulled up outside the house expecting nothing more than a “thank you” and “goodnight”. But he lingered and the possibility of a kiss was alive again.

That was 11 years ago today and I can’t even believe it. Every detail of that evening is still so fresh and vivid. It could just as easily have been last week. What’s even more surprising is that I managed to find a man who volunteered to not only “hangout” with me for the past 11 years, but who signed up to continue “hangingout” together for the rest of our lives. Poor Paul :)

Happy First Sober Kiss Anniversary The Husband!

Good Times Dude

July 24, 2011

I power-walked with a purpose. I was running late, but with my phone stuck to one ear I talked just as fast as I walked, letting my waiting friends know I was on the way. “Go ahead and order me a glass of Riesling and the fried green tomatoes. I’m more than 5 but less than 10 minutes away.” As I hung up, about 5 meters ahead, I noticed a man staring at me. I stared back, but only long enough to figure out if I knew the dude. Once I established I didn’t, it became my mission to avoid eye-contact until I had safely past. But as we drew level I heard him ask, “you know what you should take a photo of?” Huh? Was he talking to me? I was confused, then I realized I was still holding my camera and since there was no-one else behind me, he must be talking to me. “Jimi Hendrix” he said, with a smile and a slow nod of the head. “What a great idea“, I said “but I’m pretty sure that opportunity has passed“. “Not so” he said confidently as he pointed to the vintage clothing store behind him, and there hanging just inside the doorway, was a huge poster of Jimi Hendrix. “You know, I went to see him at that concert in Stuttgart, Germany” again this sentence was delivered with a smile and slow nod of the head, like his brain had just transported him back to the 1969 concert and once again he was a high and youthful hippy. “Wow, good times dude“. Yes, I really said that. Don’t ask me why, I was caught up in the moment, it felt right. And so did obliging my new dude friend with a photo of his poster. He swears it will be worth a lot someday and I didn’t disagree. I didn’t have time to, I was already late for dinner, but now at least I had a valid excuse. I was late cos I was shooting Jimi Hendrix.