Her New Coiffe

HerNewDoo

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Her friends thought her new doo was a tad overdone for everyday, although it definitely DID make a statement.
She assumed their stares were that of envy and admiration, so she struck the pose and imagined it immortalized in People magazine.

Oh, Snip-Snap!

The Thing About Sax

saxophonelove_1

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“Excuse me for horning in, but I…” he started to say.
“You big blow hard!!” she interrupted. Ooo, she was mad.
“Okayyy, but I just wanted to note that…”
“Can’t you REED??” she blurted, pointing furiously at the page on the stand.
He tried using his most calming voice, hoping it would help.
“I think you meant to say “read”. And yes I can.”
“Don’t patronize me you, you… gooseneck!!”
He paused. Gooseneck? No one had called him that in years. He kind of liked it.
“Name calling now, are we… Licorice Stick?” He purred her old stage name so quietly he wondered if she heard it. But apparently she did.
“You remembered.” she whispered.
“How could I forget, Clar?”
“Oh Sax!”

In that moment, “Canon in D” became “their” song.

Take My Hand

He stood transfixed. Staring. He had thought she was a mannequin. She was so... still. Waxy. Not living. Not breathing. No warmth. In one gesture, his world turned over. Along with his stomach.

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He stood transfixed. Staring. He had thought she was a mannequin. She was so… still. Waxy. Not living. Not breathing. No warmth. In one gesture, his world turned over. Along with his stomach.

“Take my hand” she whispered. Like dust. Like static. The sound of her voice made his ears itch.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her hand, extended so gracefully. So invitingly. So lifelessly. Every hair on his body stood up and screamed… “RUN”.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off her hand.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! MMMwwaahhhhhh!!!

The Moment After She Left

On the platform she waited for the train that was coming.Her demeanor was calm. Inside was a whirlwind. Would it work, this plan she dreamed of last night? Would they come? Could they hear? Would it fly?The unknown was always a gamble. She took a deep breath as the air pressure changed. It was time and her train was approaching. It would be her last ride on this route she had known. Her last wait at this particular station. She'd miss it in ways, with it all so familiar... But her heart wouldn't let her sit still. The train glides up to the platform. She smiles. Steps onto the ride of her life. As the train disappears, the station grows quiet.Less oxygen now. Her light has moved on.

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On the platform she waited for the train that was coming.
Her demeanor was calm. Inside was a whirlwind.
Would it work, this plan she dreamed of last night?
Would they come? Could they hear? Would it fly?
The unknown was always a gamble.
She took a deep breath as the air pressure changed. It was time and her train was approaching.
It would be her last ride on this route she had known.
Her last wait at this particular station.
She’d miss it in ways, with it all so familiar…
But her heart wouldn’t let her sit still.

The train glides up to the platform. She smiles.
Steps onto the ride of her life.
As the train disappears, the station grows quiet.
Less oxygen now. Her light has moved on

Dramatic. Glamorous.

dramatic.glamorous_1

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Sometimes nature is so very dramatic and glamorous. She’ll just go for it. Break out her finery and sweep into that sky like the MEGA star that she is.
I love it when she does that.

I caught her this day in her explosionary finale of an intricately choreographed dance that took about an hour or so to create. She was deliberate. Detailed. Left no swish unswirled, yet no one could say the effect was overdone. No, it was… perfect.

When the grand finale finally burst into living technicolor oranges and reds with just a touch of peachy goodness, I swore I could hear the final strains of Ravel’s Bolero. Oh my. It was dramatic. And most definitely glamorous.

Convict Lake

My first visit there. I love that feeling of the first time... your heart quickens, your eyes get all sharp and darty at the new sights, even my stomach jumps around a little at the excitement of NEW. I'm big on the story too - and I love hearing them about the places I visit. Convict Lake was named after an incident in 1871, where a group 'o thugs, er, 'convicts' escaped from prison in Carson City. That's 200 miles away. So a buncha lawmen, er, a 'posse' chased those buggers all the way down here, where they had a shootout. The sheriff was killed, as was his Indian guide. They named the lake after the convicts, the mountain (Mt. Morrison) after the sheriff. Nobody named anything after the Indian guide, which strikes me as just pure ungrateful. It was a moody, weathery day... kinda fitin' with the story that goes with it. But I just went with the vibe and took this photograph to remember it all by.

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My first visit there. I love that feeling of the first time… your heart quickens, your eyes get all sharp and darty at the new sights, even my stomach jumps around a little at the excitement of it all.

I’m big on the story too – and I love hearing them about the places I visit. Convict Lake was named after an incident in 1871, where a group ‘o thugs, er, ‘convicts’ escaped from prison in Carson City. That’s 200 miles away. So a buncha lawmen, er, a ‘posse’ chased those buggers all the way down here, where they had a shootout. The sheriff was killed, as was his Indian guide. They named the lake after the convicts, the mountain (Mt. Morrison) after the sheriff. Nobody named anything after the Indian guide, which strikes me as just pure ungrateful.

It was a moody, weathery day… kinda fitin’ with the story that goes with it. But I just went with the vibe and took this picture to share with y’all.

Humphrey Bogart Was Here

He was going out. He didn't know when he would be back. Or even if he would. It was secret. Top secret. The call came in on the untraceable phone. The message was in code. Translation;  grab the bag by the door and leave now. He learned long ago to act first, question later. Which he did now. But this time as he left, he looked back. Took a mental snapshot of door, the steps, the way the  single lamp post draped light across the railing like a wing of an angel. Like the woman he'd left in the bed. She'd awaken without him.  And wonder why.

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He was going out. He didn’t know when he would be back. Or even if he would. It was secret. Top secret.
The call came in on the untraceable phone. The message was in code.
Translation; grab the bag by the door and leave now.
He learned long ago to act first, question later. Which he did now.
But this time as he left, he looked back. Took a mental snapshot of door, the steps, the way the single lamppost draped light across the railing like a wing of an angel.
Like the woman he’d left in bed.
She’d awaken without him. And wonder why.

She Looked Away

shelookedaway

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I caught her gaze for just a moment. It was unexpected. Startling, even. She looked into my eyes without flinching, without even a flicker of self consciousness. Her luminous beauty, her subtle yet undeniable strength, her utter equanimity at being both a fleeting visitor and an immutable force in the world sat lightly with her.
She was transcendent.
In that sudden and unexpected moment, I knew what it meant to be alive.
Really. Truly.

Before I had a chance to smile and nod, she looked away.

Dr. Who’s Time Travelin’ Time Lord Bar

acesbar_1

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Isn’t this a nutty shot? So, I decided it’s Dr. Who’s traveling time lord bar. Cause I think Dr. Who must need a snort every now and then to unwind after a long day on the Time Lord time clock. And he sure wouldn’t want to run the risk of being stuck in some godforsaken dimension of No Fun At All, seeking said snortage. Hence the need for a time travelin’ Time Lord Bar. See, it’s time-tethered to the Tardis, thus always available. Genius.

I managed to snap this just as it was taking off, about to wink out of this particular time-space continuum. Who says digital cameras aren’t fast? Ha.

Yeaaahhhhh… welcome to Mental Movies by Karen. This is what a long day of recording incredibly dry narrations will do to a girl. Tall, cool one, anyone?

Thrive

tree1c_1

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I’m learning all new levels of letting my life’s muse, the universe, the powers-that-be… whatever you want to call it… have a say in the flow of things. This has meant giving in to photography… while STILL thriving in my voiceover career. The way each informs and enriches the other kinda blows my mind. When I was younger, I thrived on excelling in multiple areas. Figure skating, equestrian sports, dance, acting… all professionally. But photography just wouldn’t leave me alone. (I studied in junior college and wanted to go pro, but darkroom chemicals had other ideas about that). Still, I couldn’t stop seeing the pictures in my head any more than I could stop hearing the voices in my head! Jeez. Nag, nag, nag.

So when my husband handed me a Canon T1i at Christmas 2009 and said “Go for it.”, I’m not sure he really knew what he was saying. I’m not sure I did either. But I had a piece of my soul back, that’s for sure. So I ran with it. To where – well, I guess time will tell. IS there a “there” there? Does it even matter? This has become my life’s current experiment: what happens if I let myself just do it? Be the best voice professional I can be… AND let myself be whatever my heart and soul thinks is a good photographer? No strings attached. Just let it rip. Which brings me to this photograph.

It’s one of several I was asked to shoot for a book cover. Right? I was asked to shoot a book cover. I mean, how does this stuff happen?? Follow the Muse. The book is about thriving. I think this one has become my personal icon for Thrive. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded to follow my muse… the light… that ‘spark of divine inspiration’- that guides my life to its inspired happiest, funnest, most fulfilled … most THRIVING version of itself. Whatever that brings.

Daggers and Fingers in Clouds… Oh My!

daggerysunset-2011_1

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Glenshire Pond, August, 2010. The clouds were just breaking up from an afternoon thunderstorm. It seemed like everyone who lives at the Pond had set up camp on their decks or in their yards for this light show. People driving by were even stopping their cars and getting out to watch.
Yeah, it was that amazing.
I heard cheers, gasps, laughter, “Oh my god”s and “Did you see that?”s… and for the first time, actual applause for a sunset.

I guess mother nature really is the best show on earth.
I kinda feel like her staff photographer.

Skybird

Skybird

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The little bird stood on the railing, thinking. His name was Skybird on account he lived at Skybar in Los Angeles, California.

“That french fry on that lady’s plate looks awfully good,” he thought.
“Cor blimey. I bet I could drop in, nick the one top and be up in the rafters before that cow could blink an eye.”

The other birds lined up on the rafters to see what Skybird would do. He had quite a reputation, y’see. Not only was he blessed with gorgeous plumage… but his french fry nick rate was the envy of all the birds. He was fearless he was.

The other birds started chanting, “SkyBird, SkyBird, SkyBird”.
An’ as ya see here, his concentration was unbelievable.

And in the very next moment, he dropped from railing, nicked that french fry and was up in the rafters before that cow could blink an eye.

They don’t call ‘im SkyBird for nuthin’.

Red House on the Roaring River

redhouseonriver-1_1

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Winter 2010-11 kicked our butts. I know we weren’t alone, but up here in the Sierra Nevadas, we had match-point record snowfall. At 50-60 feet depending on where you were standing, it didn’t actually break all the records… but it was jawdropping all the same. And interminable. I mean, people tunneled down into their homes, okaayyy? I mention this because when you have record snowfall, it means record snowmelt too. This was the Yuba River near Big Bend on July 4th. Water level higher even than it was 2 weeks before… and so dangerous even the gnarliest kayakers were benched. This house had the best view… although I think if you lived there, you’d have gone deaf from the constant roar. Man, nature amazes me.

Behind The Green Door

greendoor_1

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I love crazy old doors. What’s behind them? Who passes through them? How long have they been there? Now clearly, there’s alot going on with this one right here. It’s a storybook door. And judging by the individual frames on this door, the age old push me, pull me, hit me, hang me, shake me, beg me, dress me, undress me, implore me, bestow up on me, gimmegimmegimme lifestyle has been going on for quite some time now. But what is the whole story here? Who was the original artist? Who commissioned him? And why? I have no answer. This kinda bugs me. Do you know?

Night Befits The Louvre

louvrereflect3_1

 

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Paris. The Louvre. Midnight.
We had the best adventure EVER that day – that will forever define our first visit to Paris.

It included walking 8 miles through the streets of Paris, experiencing the wonder of the Louvre at midnight – with the place to ourselves and magic all around, missing the last subway at 1am, consoling ourselves with wine, cheese and the most delicious chocolate ever made at 2am on the Champs Elysees.

The stuff dreams are made of, baby!

InSeine Sunset

thebridgeoverseine-ity

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This was my first time in France, first gaze upon the Seine river – and first full view of this gorgeous city so full of art, history and promise.

It even had proper lighting. Heavenly. So I made it look the way it felt.

I couldn’t believe this sunset. People said it was unusual, but it was my first time in Paris, so how would I know? The thought did cross my mind; “Gee, it’s just like the Glenshire Pond!”. Then realized I’d probably committed some kind of mental crime de comparison.

The bridge is the Pont des Arts. It was a tit bit nippily in December when we were there. Snapping this shot in all my layers and full length down coat I could hardly imagine it – but during the summer it becomes a “studio en plein air” – a spot for painters, photographers, and other artists, and a picnic grounds for locals. Hey – let’s go there then! Wanna?

 

Princess Dahlia

PrincessDahlia

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For a snippet of time, she lived on her family’s estate in Butchart Gardens, Victoria, B.C. In the bloom of her youth, Princess Dahlia was the envy of all who happened by. She favored the front and center position, greeting visitors who arrived in bermuda shorts from the land of “Oooo and Aaahhh”, who regularly expressed their delight at her extraordinary beauty and countenance.

She loved it when they expressed their delight.

The snippet of time passed by quickly however, as snippets of time are wont to do. The breathtakingness that was Princess Dahlia waned and faded, and eventually passed completely. Yet she did live on…  in an online photo gallery owned by one of the visitors from the land of “Oooo and Aaahhhh”.

Who, although she didn’t wear bermuda shorts, Oooh’d and Aaahhh’d with the best of them as she captured the frames that lead to the digital magic that meant Princess Dahlia would live forever.