Armed Forces Day

19.05.12 personal

This is not a post I want to rush through.

Because the moment I am about to describe is sacred.  It’s a moment that I hope to hold fresh in my mind until he returns home to me. Because you see, it was our last moment together.  Our last moment together before I boarded a plane and flew west and he boarded a plane that would take him east.  A moment that would be strong enough to get us through the 7,000 miles that would soon separate us.

So with tears lining my eyes as I write, you can see that this is not a moment, a post, that I want to rush through.

It was a warm, spring day in April.  I wore a long flowing dress to match my long hair that fell limp to the North Carolina humidity.  We drove hand in hand on an adventure to the ocean.  We didn’t know exactly where we were going, but we trusted the little blue line on our iPhone map to lead us to the water.  We were expecting a beach.  Me, I was imaging rugged, paint chipped white picket fences lining our path along the sand.  Withering in the wind amongst tall grass.  The sound of the waves crashing against rocks.

Unfortunately, we reached the end of our little blue line on our iPhone map to discover quite the opposite.  Though we were technically at the ocean, it looked more like a lake.  There was no beach but tall trees and a green, grassy park butted up against the water.

We exchanged glances and smirks.  Maybe a chuckle or a wise comment under our breath.  Neither of us really said a lot, wanting not to taint our last moments together with disappointment.

So we did what anyone would do at a park.  We found a nice park bench and cuddled up, enjoying the warmth of the sun beating down on us and the pressures of all that lie ahead lift — if only for this moment.

In our usual, human Tetris puzzle, my head rested upon his shoulder, his arm framing us, we sat still for a while until the sun became too much to handle, pushing us to find a shade tree.

We walked leisure through the grass until John stopped, crossed his legs and plumped down in the fresh, green grass.  Naturally, I laid down and rested my head in his lap.  I looked straight up at him, catching his eyes from underneath his sunglasses.

We were silent for what seemed like hours, just enjoying the breeze and the fresh air.

Naturally, it was me who broke that silence.

“Hey sweetheart?” I asked quietly and slowly.

“What’s your biggest fear when it comes to us?”

I could feel his posture soften.

He looked down at me, my head in his lap, and took a deep breath.

Exhaling everything out, as if he was surrendering to this thought stored in the back of his mind,”That you’ll never know how much I care.”

Here we are a couple of weeks later and I’m still humbled by his words.  That behind his quiet and tough exterior, behind all the knowledge need for battle, there is a sweetness.  A concerned heart.  A heart that worries that I will never know how much he cares about me.

***

We’d like to dedicate this post to all the men and women who fight for our freedom.
Especially to those who have or will be in front of our camera.

Casey and LeAnne
Ryan and Emily
Jason and Cherie
Jon and Elise
JP and Tonya
Tory and Tom
Levi and Amber
Jeremiah and Lizzy
Heath and Allison

Thank you for your service and support at home.  For giving a little piece of yourselves so that we may be free.

You’ll never know how much we care.

The Happiest Place on Earth

16.05.12 personal

My dad was an engineer for the railroad.

He worked long hours and was gone from home a lot.  As a little girl, I remember having to play outside often during the day cause dad was sleeping.  He got called to work at all hours of the night.

All across Colorado he transported coal.  And in his free time?  He took care of our five-acre farm.  He bailed hay, he tended the animals, he remodeled our house.

My daddy is the hardest working man I know.  And he’ll tell you he worked is tail off all year for this one week.  This one week where he took his kids to the happiest place on earth.  One week where we made some of the best Tate family memories.

Disneyland was opened in 1955, my dad married my mom in 1963 and they’ve been making family memories at Disney ever since.

This image is of my sister, Gina, and brother, Troy, in Disneyland.
Circa 1970

Fast forward 22 years later.  This image is of me and my brother, Kevin, in Disney World.
Though Kevin and I are nearly 20 years apart in age from Gina and Troy,
the resemblance is remarkable.  Those pigtails… they never go out of style. ;-)
Circa 1992 

Still with my hair in braids, I love Disney just as much as I did 20 years ago.
May 8th 2012 

Mom and Dad, though the rides may change, new characters are introduced, Walt Disney World is still the happiest place on earth cause you are there.  Thank you for yet another wonderful vacation of Tate family memories.

I love you,
René

Half of 8 is 3

04.04.12 personal

We always talk about how different we are.  How we couldn’t have more opposite styles of communication.  He’s broad.  I’m detailed.  He listens.  I talk.  But for the record, he loves the details.  He loves to listen.  He always asks, “How’s every little thing, baby girl?”

But there are days when he fails to communicate and we get in trouble.  When we double book ourselves.  When he has expectations that aren’t said.  When I have expectations that are unrealistic.  Classic, right?

For the most part we read each other’s mind.  We’ve started to train ourselves to think like the other person.  I have been known to ask myself, “WWJD?”  What would John Do?  So like I said, most of the time we read each other’s mind, except this one time that always stands out.  We use it as reference for when we’re thinking two totally different things.  We joke, “Oh that’s was another one of those half of eight is three moments.” 

We were driving somewhere.  The destination escapes me, but if I had to guess we were making our way to dinner.  John loves taking me out to dinner.  More than likely, we were out claiming a Restaurant.com gift certificate.  John also loves taking me out to dinner, especially when an R.com is involved.  We love R.coms.  Anyway, he was driving, and I in the passenger seat of his little Honda.  And for whatever reason, he was trying to remember my house number.  At the time is was 2453.  It was one of those moments that was almost a test.  He knew he should’ve known my house number by now.

He hmmm and hawwed and eeked out the first three numbers… “Two… Four….” and with a rise of the eyebrows to make sure he was on the right track, “Five…?”

“Yep, you’re doing great!  Keep going.  One more.”

He sighed as he racked his brain, “Two, four, five….”  He struggled.

Giving mercy to the boy, I thought of the first hint that came to mind: “Okay, I’ll give you some help with the last number — it’s half of an eight.”

“Four!” He loudly exclaimed.  ”I got it! 2454.”

“Noooooo,” I whined.  ” I said, half of AN eight.  Like, cut it in half.  Down the middle.  If you do that, it’s a 3. 2453 is my house number.”

He rolled his eyes, thought I was a little crazy and anyone in their right mind would say half of an eight is a four, but then just to push my buttons he said, “But, if I were really to cut an 8 in half, I’d do it hamburger style and have a 0.”

….

Enter the right brain, left brain… Saw this on Facebook a while ago and immediately thought of John and myself and our crazy half-of-eight is-three moments.  Can you guess which one I am?

Left
I am the left brain.
I am a scientist.  A mathematician.
I love the familar.  I categorize.  I am accurate.  Linear.
Analytic.  Strategic.  I am practical.
Always in control.  A master of words and language.
Realistic.  I calculate equations and play with numbers.
I am order.  I am logic.
I know exactly who I am.

Right
I am the right brain.
I am creativity.  A free spirit.  I am passion.
Yearning.  Sensuality.  I am the sound of roaring laughter.
I am taste.  The feeling of sand beneath bare feet.
I am movement.  Vivid colors.
I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas.
I am boundless imagination.  Art.  Poetry.  I sense.  I feel.
I am everything I wanted to be.

So let’s hear it… Which side dominates you??

Hasselblad Days

22.03.12 personal

Annie Leibovitz once said, “Computer photography won’t be photography as we know it. I think photography will always be chemical.”

I’ve had this notion stirring inside me for quite sometime now.  Simply put, I just don’t feel like I can call myself a photographer until I can be confident in the basics.  In the beginning.  In developing solution and fixer, perfect agitation and wash baths.

Digital photography is getting too easy now.  With the ability to fix your boo boos and enhance your images with the click of a mouse, it’s just too easy.

I needed a challenge.

Back in November I was spilling my heart out to my friend Monty from Pictage.  Telling him my frustrations with the industry.  Telling him my hunger for more.  To get back to film.

A few weeks later a package arrived on my doorstep.  It was one of Monty’s Hasselblads and a roll of film.

Now that is a friend.

Since then, I’ve been carrying it all over.  Documenting my family and friends.  My brother, Troy, and I had a Hasselblad day not too long ago and developed our film.  I finally got some scans made of the negatives from the last few months.

Here are few favorites, straight out of the camera, not retouched, not adjusted, just made.

 My bright, energetic friend, Erin.  Paris on the Platte | Feb 2012

My persevering, wise friend, Nicole.  Paris on the Platte | Feb 2012

My sweet, brilliant boyfriend, John.  New Mexico | Jan 2012

My mysterious, detailed brother, Troy.  Denver | Feb 2012

Me.  Denver | Feb 2012
By Troy.