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But that’s me.

“I think I have a contentment that I’m assured of what I know and what I believe and where I’m going and where I’ve been, but I also have a peace that I don’t have to be concerned with what tomorrow is. I think it comes out in my eyes.”

Last year Grampa let me interview and photograph him for my grad thesis project. In our interview we talked about eyes—his eyes, his dad’s eyes, and the way our eyes perceive and communicate. Since then, I pay a lot more attention to people’s eyes, and Grampa’s eyes in particular. They have been passed to all of his children and a lot of his grandchildren. I see them in my mom, and in my brother, and I see them now in me.

When I was photographing Gramps, Granny kept laughing and reminding him to keep his eyes “wide open” (that left one likes to droop); he just brushed it off saying,“but that’s me.” I admire that about him. He knows who he is and he’s at peace with it.

It’s a lesson I’m living through right now.

This isn’t about photography but it’s definitely about life.

Sometimes I become so caught up in my own personal frustrations (work, money, passion, place) that I transform into this little ball of self-absorbed, self-imploding stress. I know in my mind that life is good, that God is good and that the future holds hope; however, these knowings fail to manifest themselves in my daily mood and interactions. This is ridiculous because I have so many reasons to be thankful, and most of those reasons are are actually people.

I’ve been blessed in many small ways and if this season of life has taught me anything so far, it’s that the littlest things can make me incredibly happy.

My friend Jess came to visit me unexpectedly several weekends ago. While she was here, she used her Starbucks employee status to score me a free bag of coffee. Every time I pulled out my french press that week, I smiled thankfully for Jess.

I have Toronto parents. Their names are Andy and Elaine, and when I first started grad school in 2008 they let me sleep on their couch for 6 weeks while I looked for a place to live. At that point we didn’t even really know each other; they were clients of my dad who extended amazing hospitality.  Every couple of months we still try to see each other and they always have words of wisdom and care. My apartment faces the Queen’s Pasta Cafe, a sweet Italian restaurant that is too steep for me to justify patronizing right now. I walk past it every day, jealous of the people lingering over their meals. A few weeks ago Elaine treated me to a 3-hour dinner there, from appetizers and wine to tea and dessert. I felt completely spoiled and happy as we sat in the cozy window alcove with a heater by my feet as we talked.

There are so many things!

Whenever I end up at my parents place, about 5 minutes before my “latest possible departure time” my mom starts asking me what food she can give me. It’s totally overwhelming and I almost always complain, “This is not a good time to start this! You are not a grocery store!” But then, once I’m home in my tiny apartment, I remember how much I hate grocery shopping, and I’m thankful for my mom.

The longer I reflect, the more cases of gratitude I come up with. It’s a good exercise, and in my experience, one of the best ways to kick the late-winter blues in the pants. Next step: looking for ways to pass kindnesses like these to others in my life. Little things make a big difference.

Winter Romance

“I used to say…”

If you meet my Gramps, this is what he’ll say: “I used to tell Katie, ‘You’re my best granddaughter.’” And he will chuckle to himself, as if divulging a private joke for the first time, and then he will continue, “Now I say, ‘she’s my number one granddaughter.’” (If my five teenage girl cousins are around, he’ll roll his eyes at them for effect.) He says it without fail. He says it every time we have a quiet moment between us. He’s predictable that way.

Grampa was a rutabaga farmer and a dairy farmer for most of his life. I have always known him to be rather steady, with the odd quirky enjoyment thrown in: his love for peeling potatoes, his penchant for collecting spoons from Value Village.  He’s a homebody, he’s conventional, he’s uncomplicated.

Maybe it’s Gramps’ evenness, his predictability, and his humdrum nature that make him a wonderful portrait subject.

My Grampa isn’t one of the first people that comes to mind when I draw on life influences. I think of my Nana. She is flighty and quirky and gullible and dramatic with an easy laugh and people say I look like her. I don’t look anything like Grampa, and sometimes it’s hard for me to relate to his sameness, his close-to-home-ness, his love for the familiar and his one joke repetition.

But if you ask me for the person in my life whose love and pride for me has been continually and unfailingly affirmed, I’d say Gramps. He says it every time he sees me, with no segue and no questions asked.  “You’re my number one granddaughter.”  I probably roll my eyes, but I love it, and I love him.

Muse

I found this photograph of my cousin Emily as I was sifting through files tonight. I love discovering unexpected treasures. This girl is one of the most photographic little women that I know.

A long time coming.

My best friend has been dating this awesome guy for like 7 or 8 months and I finally got the chance to meet him over New Years. They make an adorable couple and it’s awesome to see someone who loves Jillian so much and brings out the best parts of her.  Plus, look how photogenic they are!