I thought this might be a good idea

My junior year of high school I told my guidance counselor that I wanted to be a “photojournalist”. I didn’t know what a photojournalist was, but I loved writing, and I loved taking pictures, so it sounded perfect.

Once I realized what a photojournalist did, I quickly re-routed and became a nutrition major (which also didn’t stick once the science became math ..the kind with letters). But anyway, I recently told my husband about my photojournalism aspirations, and he literally laughed out loud, a real LOL.

“That’s the last job I can picture you doing”, he chuckled. “You won’t even bring the trash down to the end of the driveway at night. Imagine you laying in the trenches with your camera, bullets flying overhead, I don’t think so”.

It’s true, I have an aversion to danger (which includes hotels with fewer than four stars), but in my defense, the driveway is long, and a hill, and why would I go out after dark? There’s a lot that could go wrong; I haven’t made it to fifty-three by haphazardly risking life and limb.

Fast forward a few decades and here I am, a portrait photographer on the New England seacoast, crime rate: nil. It’s the most fun and virtually zero danger (unless you include tendonitis from too much mousing).

I don’t get to write much, save for a few indulgent Facebook posts here and there, so this year, I thought maybe I’d jump back into it…maybe string some sentences together every now and again on the topic of photography, or whatever crosses my ever-wandering aging mind.

So this is the space for that. Welcome.

1990 me, fresh from Spring break in Mexico and ready for prom. The only danger I flirted with was UV radiation, derived from a pernicious combination of baby oil + sun. Fully confused about what "photojournalism" was, but also ready to major in it. Living la vida loca.