lori vrba photog blog

Seeing Stars

I FORGOT TO TELL YOU...you'll never guess who I saw at the Texas airport...well, Beck guessed in a second, but she can read my mind so it doesn't really count.  Ya ready?

LYLE FREAKING LOVETT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was hustlin' to the gate cuz I now have a phobia about missing my flight (look in the archives under "airport hell" and you'll understand)...I turn the corner and there he is, sitting there getting his boots shined, like some glorious mirage from my wildest dreams.  The only people around him were all the shoe shine guys.  So I went up to him, introduced myself and we had a nice chat.  Now if I had any wits about me, I would have asked to photograph his BOOTS and then he could have autographed MINE.  But I didn't.  I was concentrating on being cool and hoping he would proposition me.  But he's a gentleman you know, and married.  Oh, that's right...so am I.

But there he was.  Lyle-I've-Loved-You-My-Whole-Life-Lovett

Finding My Way

Oh this sad, neglected blog o' mine...ugh.  The problem is this...There is so much going on in my life and the lives of those most dear to me...BIG stuff.  I am not capable of small talk these days.  There is no room for small talk.  And the big stuff should not be up for public cyberspace consumption...so the blog is neglected.  Sorry.

I attended a funeral last weekend in Texas.  A 19 year old girl, with tremendous potential and a beautiful spirit, was killed in a car accident.  I was at the hospital on the day she was born.  She is the only person I've ever known from her first day till her last.  I have been a part of her family since I was a kid.  

The service moved me in profound ways.  Her Aunt, Grandmother and Mother each spoke of her eloquently.  They faced the enormous crowd and took a deep breath and read poetry, told her stories and touched the hearts of everyone there.  It was the women of this family that mustered up the strength to face the crowd and inspire us all.  The Women.

The graveside service was for immediate family only.  They asked me to photograph it.  In a tiny town, my hometown, in a little cemetery, under a cedar tree...we gathered.  Old Baptist Hymns were sung, the last words were spoken and then the family buried her.  The family patriarch, with his long white beard...looking like God himself...took the shovel, passed it around, helped the youngest grandchildren...but they buried her.  It was one of the most breathtakingly beautiful things that I have ever witnessed.  

I was reminded how precarious life is.  I was inspired to clean up my own.  I was moved once again by the quiet strength of womanhood.  And I left the cemetery that day determined to do something positive with such a tragic loss.  In her name.  In my father's name.  In the name of those who don't have this day or any other.  This day and every other, counts.  To squander it would be the ultimate tragedy.

Awakenings

There seems to be an epidemic amongst the Sisterhood.  We are all hovering around the mid 40's mark and I believe this age is significant for women.  All the babies have become little people...our days are no longer filled with the singular goal of keeping tiny humans alive.  Our children's independence frees up a little more time for us mommies to take a look at ourselves and our lives and make choices.  

Dead marriages are being laid to rest.  Unfulfilling careers are being abandoned.  Nearly forgotten dreams are reborn.  The pot is being stirred.  I see brave women all around me choosing to live authentically, awake, engaged, making every day count.  I don't know if it is the female version of a mid-life crisis.  I'm sure an awareness of our own mortality is a factor.  But the messiness of re-inventing one's self and one's life doesn't seem to be slowing the Sistahs down.  Some are taking it one step at a time and some are hauling ass and jumping off the cliff...but everyone is moving.

And I know that each of us are only able to do that because of the power of the whole.  The safety net is full proof.  Its easier to move when you've got the force of womanhood blowing at your back.

 

girl power

Well.  Honestly, I'm tired of lookin' at my blog, tired of managing myself FOR the blog, tired of showing up as anything other than the truth.

The truth is...my life is complicated like everyone else.  I struggle to manage how I'll work and how i'll mother.  I have moments of glory, when i've taken care of a sick kid who needed it...and no one coulda done it better.  Or when a show comes in...and for THAT moment...i feel confident and some momentum.

And the next day, my kid is heartbroken, or too sick for me to fix , or some submission is rejected...and I am a freight train headed to hell in a hand basket.  I don't have anything figured out.  I take it day by day.  Anybody who knows how to do it better...CONTACT ME.  I welcome the advice.  I'm just here...like a million other artists in the world...trying to STAY IN.  trying to push thru.

I am further down the path than I was a month ago.  I tell myself to just keep moving.  I have a beautiful force behind me.  These women who hold me up.  They never fail me.  

ever.  

Heaven and Hell

A dear friend of mine (who I know would prefer anonymity), took a good deal of his time this week to help me with some technical difficulties.  He stopped his crazy busy day and graciously walked me thru my problem, then checked back throughout the day to be sure it was working.   It reminded me of one of my favorite passages from Barbara Kingsolver's "The Bean Trees."  To set the stage for you...a group of friends are having dinner together, using chopsticks and a two year old named Turtle is hungry and frustrated.

"Tortolita, let me tell you a story."  Estevan said.  "This is a South American, wild Indian story about heaven and hell."  "If you go to visit hell, you will see a room like this kitchen.  There is a pot of delicious stew on the table, with the most delicate aroma you can imagine.  All around, people sit, like us.  Only they are dying of starvation.  They are jibbering and jabbering but they cannot get a bite of this wonderful stew God has made for them.  Now why is that?

"They are starving because they only have spoons with very long handles.  As long as that."  He pointed to the mop.  "With these ridiculous, terrible spoons, the people in hell can reach into the pot but they cannot put the food in their mouths.  Oh, how hungry they are!  Oh, how they swear and curse each other!" he said.

"Now, you can go and visit heaven.  What?  You see a room just like the first one, the same table, the same pot of stew, the same spoons as long as a sponge mop.  But these people are all happy and fat."  "Perfectly, magnificently well fed, and very happy.  Why do you think?

He pinched up a chunk of pineapple in his chopsticks, neat as you please, and reached all the way across the table to offer it to Turtle.  She took it like a newborn bird.