Karen Walrond

When I gave notice at my last job, a lot of people naturally asked me what my plans were, and when I told them that I was planning on working for myself, they were incredulous.

"You?!" they would invariably respond.  "I don't see it.  You're such a social person.  You're totally going to miss being around people every day.  You're going to go completely mental."

Well, it's three years later, and I have to tell you: I don't miss going to an office at all.   (Related:  I don't think I'm as extraverted as most people believe.)

That said, every now and then I do get a bit of cabin fever.  It's not that I miss being around coworkers so much as I need a change of scenery.  So once a month or so, I take myself out for a business lunch.  I grab my work and my journal, find a restaurant (preferably with wifi), and go work there for 90 minutes or so.  I don't talk to anyone, and get a surprising amount of work done.  And the time away from my desk is enough for me to get back in my groove back home for another several weeks.

Yesterday was one of those cabin fever days, and I decided that I didn't want to go to any of my usual restaurants.  So I did a little online research, grabbed my cameras and headed over to Té House of Tea, a place Marcus and I visited three years ago, and always meant to return.  I'm so glad I did.

I love having meals by myself -- I always have, especially in places like this one, where people from all over and all walks of life walk in and out (in fact, I could identify at least 3 different languages in the hour and a half I was there).  As I sipped my jasmine tea and ate my very tasty Asian salad, I thought perhaps it might be fun to photograph a new "solo business lunch" venue every few weeks or so, whenever I get cabin fever.

So, you know, fair warning.

Song:  Go it alone by Beck

Five years ago (almost to the day, actually!), Marcus and I were preparing to move from Trinidad to Houston, and we were in the throes of house-buying.  Actually, Marcus was in the throes of changing jobs and employers, so I was the one charged with buying the house.  "I don't care what you choose," Marcus said.  "It just has to have an entryway."​

"What are you talking about?" I responded, not understanding.  "Of course it's going to have an entryway.  How else would you get into the house?"​

"No, not a doorway," he explained.  "An entryway.  Like a proper entryway.  So that when people come to the door, they don't just come right into the living room.  American houses all have those open plan rooms, where you just walk right into the house.  I don't want that.  I want an entryway, a room where I can decide who gets to come in."​

Marcus was adamant about this, and since he so rarely puts his foot down on things, I took it to heart.  I flew to Houston alone for a house-hunting trip, and saw 30 homes in one day; easy to do, when in several instances I could veto the house before we'd set foot in the doorway.  "Nope, we can't have this one," I'd say to our long-suffering realtor​, Jean.  "Marcus says it has to have an entryway.  There's no entryway in this house."

"You know, I never really did like him," Jean would drawl in her heavily-Southern accent, winking the entire time.  (I've known Jean since I was a teenager​, and have always loved her wicked sense of humour.)  Eventually, Jean and I narrowed our prospects down to 5 houses (all of which had entryways for Marcus, and other amenities for Alex and me).  We took Marcus to see them a week later, when he joined me in Houston.   And from there, it quickly became apparent that the house we currently live in was the perfect one for our family.

It's funny, but in a lot of ways our feelings about the entryway are almost metaphors for the ways Marcus and I enter into new relationships.  It could be cultural, I suppose:  in my case, when I meet someone new, I'm immediately open -- come! Have some rum!  Let's hang out!  This is, I think, a very American (and actually, Trinidadian) way to start a relationship, and the friendships I have with some of the most important people in my life started this way.  However, sometimes it becomes apparent that I have nothing in common with a new acquaintance  -- and then, well, we just naturally drift apart.  It's never personal, of course, and always very mutual: we continue to wish each other well, we're just not close.  I'm like the front door that opens into the living room:  welcome, and come in, but this doesn't mean that you get to move in.  As a result, I have a wide circle of acquaintances, but only a few tried-and-true friends (or "friends who would move a body," as my dear friend Brené would say).

Marcus, however, is very different, and much more like the formal entryway:  he meets someone warmly and is always very friendly, but it doesn't mean that he's automatically his friend -- it takes a few more evaluations, a few more encounters, and some time for him to warm up to the person.  But once he has, Marcus is never going anywhere.  He'll fully open up, and allow the person in.  Marcus doesn't have as large as a social circle as I do, but his friends are friends for life -- and the number of people he counts on as his nearest and dearest outnumber mine considerably, and more often than not, have been his friends since childhood.

Incidentally, I don't think that there's a right way or a wrong way to enter into a friendship;  I think some of it is cultural, some of it is personality, extraversion, introversion, all that.  But since buying this house, I've often wondered if​ the requirement of an entryway (or the indifference thereto) is indicative of how the people in the home enter into relationships.  

I bet someone's done a sociopsychological study on this somewhere.

Song:  How many of us have them (friends) as performed by Alana Davis

Life is really, really hard.

I don't say this flippantly:  life is tough.  There are people who are out of work.  People who are working, but still struggle to make ends meet.  People who are dealing with health issues, or the health issues of their loved ones.  People who have lost people who are important to them.

There is no doubt:  life is really, really hard.

I say this because I know that there are some who feel that I'm a Pollyanna, sunny-side-of-the-street type, who lives in a constant state of denial; or worse, leads some sort of preternaturally charmed life.  I assure you that this isn't the case: in the past couple of months, I've had people extremely close to me (including my mom) who have come face-to-face with their own mortality.  Marcus and I disagree, we wrestle with taxes and finances, we worry we're making proper parenting choices.  Make no mistake:  I deal with challenges in my life all the time.

And yet, over time, I have come to realize most of the difficult times that I deal with are often completely out of my control; furthermore, the only way I can make it through tough times -- the only way -- is to do as much as I can to check my attitude.  I try really hard to make a habit (and trust me, this is a conscious decision) of focusing as much as possible on what is going on that is good in my life, even if it feels like what's good is being greatly outweighed by what's difficult.  It's for this reason that I've made a solid gratitude practice a priority.  It's the reason I go on frequent media diets (most recently refusing to read or watch anything related to the US presidential election -- I'll pick it up again closer to voting time).  It's why I try to minimize how much kvetching I do online, refusing to amplify minor annoyances in my life, or give them more attention (or more of a spotlight) than they deserve.

For me, practicing gratitude and minimizing negativity are nonnegotiables.

So naturally, yesterday I was so grateful to a lovely woman named Heather who sent me the recent TED talk you see below.  I can't encourage you enough to take your cup of coffee (or tea or a glass of wine) and put aside 12-1/2 minutes and watch this very funny and informative video from Shawn Achor, a distinguished educator from Harvard University whose data indicates that not only is happiness not a biproduct of success, but rather that happiness fuels success, and that we are capable of reprogramming our brains to be more positive.

It's an inspiring talk, and has me considering additional ways to practice more positivity.

Enjoy, friends.  And go out and do something to add a shot of happy to your day today.

Song: Tightrope by Janelle Monáe

It's been really rainy all weekend long -- a situation which I suppose should be disappointing, but in fact, was just what we needed.  Marcus, Alex and I holed up at home for the entire 48 hours:  I journaled, Alex was introduced to Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck (thus completing her animation education, I'm thinking), and Marcus played Skyrim for a shocking number of hours (men and their toys, man).  It was positively heavenly.

I was also able to a considerable amount of web surfing as well (because I'm productive like that).  Here are some amazing things I found:

First of all, you guys know I'm a big fan of journaling -- well, check these puppies out.  THOSE, my friends, are journals.

Secondly, check out these amazing shots of The Great Depression.  I always imagine this time in black-and-white, but these images are in shocking, vivid colour -- some of the only colour photos of the time.  For whatever reason, this makes these images feel more real, you know?  Like the Depression wasn't that long ago.  Really stunning.

And finally, I've just come across Flakphoto.com, "an online art space that celebrates the culture of image-making by promoting the discovery of artists from around the world."  Talk about a repository for photographic inspiration.  Go take a look.

And with that, have a great week, everyone.

Song:  Rain by Madonna.  You know, in honour of her singing in the Super Bowl halftime show.

I love this chapel with a white-hot passion.  See that dark opening in the front white wall? That's the entrance.  Doesn't it look like a giant white curtain is being peeled back for you to slip into the nave?  (The chapel was designed by Philip Johnson. Of course.)

Last week, as I was coming off of my Klaus-ish mood, I decided to take a little break and wander over to the University of St. Thomas.  I hadn't been there in about 2-1/2 years, but I remembered that my last experience walking the labyrinth there was very peaceful, and peaceful was something that I was definitely in the mood for.  Happily, it didn't disappoint.

Just as I was leaving the house, however, on an impulse I grabbed the Hasselblad, hoping to try out the Fujicolor Pro 400H film at the university grounds, to see if I liked it better than the Kodak Portra (if you remember, I felt that the Kodak was stifling the imbuing of my spirit, or something).  I have to admit, I was a little nervous as I waited for the film to be processed:  if I didn't like the result, it meant that I was doing something technically wrong, as opposed to the hopefully-easy fix of simply switching film.

I'm thrilled to report that I'm thrilled with this film.

I just love it.  In full-on sunlight, this film seems to capture truer colour than the Kodak Portra does, so that I didn't need to do much post-camera processing; as a result, these images feel far more "me" than the previous Hassie images, while still maintaining the vibe that marks it as unmistakably film, instead of digital.

This has been such a good lesson, by the way:  I've learned that when it comes to film photography, finding the right film is almost as important using the right lens or the right camera settings.  It's all a part of creating the art.  Before embarking on this experiment, I think I would've thought that film was just film, and it was just a matter of getting a decent quality -- but it's not just about quality, it turns out.  It's about how the film communicates colour and light and shadow and contrast, and whether or not it does it in a way that satisfies the photographer and what he or she is trying to convey.  So to be clear, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the Kodak Portra -- in fact, it's probably perfect for another photographer, one who feels that it helps convey her art as she intends.  But for me, the Fujicolor film comes closer to allowing me to make that conveyance in a way that feels authentic.  It helps me communicate more accurately. 

I hope that makes sense?

Anyway, I digress.  After wandering around the grounds of the chapel and the labyrinth, I decided to stop by one of my favourite coffeehouses, to see how the film did in dimmer, indoor light.

It would've been nice to have his face in focus, instead of the back of her head, but oh, well.  Next time.

I love this photo.  Love.

People, I'm just so happy.  The colour feels just so rich and lush.  This is exactly what I was hoping for.

My second roll of the Fujifilm is currently at the processor's, and on that roll I shot more everyday stuff, so we'll see how it turns out.  But I'm feeling really energized about this film and taking more images with the Hassie.  Now it's all about tweaking technique.

Which is totally the fun part.

(In other unrelated news, I was busy over at Babble.com this week!  First, I talked about my new attitude with exercise.  Then, I got sick.  But as always, I was still very, very grateful -- and there was lots of evidence to this effect.)

And with that, have an amazing weekend, everyone.

Song:  More than words by Extreme

So yesterday, I shared with you a list of things I can't do, even though I should know how.  Today, I share the list of things I can totally do ... for no reason whatsoever:

1.  I've already mentioned this, but it bears repeating: I know all the words to Copacobana.  I don't know why, I have no idea when i actually memorized the song (I don't have any junior high memories of being able to sing it) and I've never had the opportunity to use this skill.  But I know that song, by gum.

2.  I can juggle.  It was on my life list, and even though i'm no pro, I can now do it.  For what reason, I have no idea.

3.  I can say the alphabet backwards relatively quickly.  Several years ago, I decided I wanted to know how to do this.  I do not know why.

4.  I know Act I, Scene I of Macbeth by heart.  I went to the sort of high school that made you memorize these things.  For some reason, I never forgot this particular exercise.  I have no use for this information.

See?  Totally useless.

(Still pretty cool, right?)

What about you -- any hidden talents that serve no real purpose?

Song:  World spins madly on by The Weepies

Since we're starting a brand new month today, all-clean-slate and all, I feel the need to come clean about my woeful inability to do the following:

1.  Make a decent cup of coffee.  Honey, I have tried. I've even followed recipes.  I cannot do it.  At all.

2.  Set my own alarm clock.  The damned thing completely confounds me.  If I have to reset it, I get Marcus to do it.  Or I rely on my iPhone alarm.  I know how to set my iPhone.

3.  Make an omelet.  It always turns into scrambled eggs.

4.  French braid.  Alex has the perfect head of hair to do it, too. 

5.  Frost a cake.  I can't do this and make it look like anything you'd want to eat.  Give me a poured glaze any day. Or powdered sugar! I can sift powdered sugar.

6.  Paint a wall.  Ask Marcus.  I am the Streak Master.  He always has to come back after me to make it all look right.

7.  Run.  At all.  Which is weird, because I can walk really fast -- as fast as a lot of joggers -- for an extended amount of time.  But as soon as I kick it up to a slow jog, my heart beats out of control, and I can't catch my breath and it's just very, very ugly.  I've always been like this, too.  Personal trainers stare at me in disbelief.  It's a bit shocking.  (An aside:  if you'd like to see my latest relationship with working out, click here.)

I have made peace with all of these things (even though I'm sure that Marcus would love if I would set my own alarm clock or made my own damned cup of coffee).  On the positive side, I can cook Trini food like a champ, hem a pair of trousers, and know all the words to Copacabana.  So, you know, there's at least that.

Song:  Son of a preacher man, as performed by Deni Hines.  You were afraid I was going to feature Barry Manilow, weren't you?  Never fear, kumquats, I might make you listen to me sing him at karaoke, but I'd never do that to you here on the site.

Incidentally, an AMAZING acapella version of "Son of a Preacher Man" is performed by Deni on my playlist this month.  Also, if you like the image above, it's this month's desktop wallpaper. 

Have a great February, everybody.

Still buried, friends, so in lieu of a proper post, I thought I'd share with you a list of beautiful things I've come across recently.

1.  Shop decor.  The abstract mobile above is hanging from the ceiling at a Free People store here in Houston.  Isn't it sort of glorious?  (An aside:  I can't help but wonder if the term "vegan leather" is really a nicer, more politically-correct term for "pleather," am I right?)

2.  The recipe for pesto.   Tell me the video below doesn't make you want to run into your kitchen, grab one of those rocking-knife-thingies and get to work:

3.  A thousand words.  This video is an oldie, but a goodie, exploring what happens when you take the opportunity to connect with someone.  And look, it features that cool actor from Saturday Night Live!

4.  A turntable that plays slabs of wood.  Consider this the song of the day:  this turntable takes the grooves from the rings of tree trunks, and translates them to piano.  Haunting, man.

Enjoy, friends.  Hope to come up for air tomorrow.

Seriously, it's the end of January already?

This month has flown by.  I have been positively embroiled in all sorts of very awesome plans for the site, and some writing projects, as well.  I cannot wait to share them all with you, in good time. For now, though, instead of my usual posts, I thought should at least give you a heads-up as to what's to come:

I'm in the middle of a huge redesign of the site.  I think I've finally outgrown this one, so I'm working once again with my insanely talented designer, Krystyn Heide (who expressed considerable dismay that I hadn't called her sooner).  We've been putting in long days and weekends, with her doing all of the design work and managing all the coding and technical stuff, and me reprocessing hundreds of photos for the new gallery formats that will be featured.  It's still going to take a couple of weeks more before it's ready to go, but I'm based on what I've seen so far, I think it will be well worth the wait.

Secondly, I know many of you have been asking about when the next Path Finder session will be:  my plan is to have it soon after the site redesign, probably early March.  If you've signed up for early notification, I promise I've received your email, and you'll be the first to know firm dates.

Thirdly, the second gratitude.2012 newsletter will be going out on February 1st.  I'm so proud of this little newsletter, and would love for you to join me, so if you haven't already and it sounds like your cup of tea, please consider signing up.

Fourthly, I would be remiss if I didn't let you know that Alex took the image above.  I needed a photograph of my hands and a camera for the new site, and Marcus was out on one of his epic rides with no sign of returning before the light dipped below the horizon, so I asked Alex to use my camera and take a shot for me.  And God bless her, I took care of all the settings, and she snapped away.  This was her first shot.  I think she's trying to work me out of a job, don't you?

With that, thanks for your patience, friends.  Tomorrow I'll return you to your regularly scheduled Chookooloonks.

Song: Superstition by Stevie Wonder