Some photographers shoot weddings. I don't.

It's not everyday I attend slaughters.  It's just one of those events I rarely find myself at.  They aren't like concerts or baseball games, you don't buy tickets, grab yourself a cold one and find your seat.  But this morning some friends were gracious enough to let me attend their "event" (if such a moniker fits) and shoot some images for an upcoming project I'm working on.

Dan greeted me warmly as we forewent the obligatory handshake due to his blood stained hands.  The spatter on his face was the first indication I was in the right place.  The crew was already hard at work.

The scene before me was not what I expected.  It was tidy, orderly, everyone doing a job.  The slaughter itself was fastidious, timely, an exercise in efficiency aided by modern technology - not the 'swinging axe, chicken running around with it's head cut off' stereotype that most of us probably envision.

A slaughter, whether it's of a single animal or many, as was the case today, is a necessary action to procure what most of us take for granted: a neatly wrapped chicken breast in a supermarket, conveniently affixed with a recipe for easy preparation at home in the comfort of our kitchens.

This is the reality.  Something we're far removed from in our modern society.  This is where it comes from. Work is involved.  Blood is involved.  Killing is involved.  Most of us will never see it.  It's not disgusting.  It's not repugnant.  It's life - and death.  A reminder of our distant past, one where killing was a way of life.  One where death was a necessary and visible component of the sustenation and proliferation of our own species.

This morning chickens gave their lives for the betterment of humanity.  There does not exist a more honorable death than that.

We all get hungry, even on the moon.

There I was again, shoving a scone in my face, a piroshky melting in my mouth, wondering if I'd washed my hands after petting those goats.  All while gazing longingly at the elephant ears strolling past carried by eager hands who at that point would probably do anything their owner's mouths asked, including reaching into their wallets to purchase more fat and sugar-filled delectable morsels of fair food.

Ah, the Fair - late summer days, warm summer nights, more good food than you can shake a krusty pup stick at - but wait, this wasn't summer, it was spring, it was almost 80, and there were more people walking around in Puyallup with smiles on their faces than there were after it was announced that the Beach Boys were no longer touring the fair circuit.

As I munched the last of my piroshki the light beaming from behind these floating bubbles caught my attention and I felt like I was on another planet.  That is until another waft of cinnamon and sugar filled the air and I was off in search of the source, the thought of goats long gone from my mind.  But maybe I'll wash my hands just to be safe.

Let the games begin.

Spring keeps rolling on here in Olympia. The temperature is climbing day by day, the rains have subsided and the grass is growing full-tilt. That means yardwork, if at the very least lawn mowing. In our case it's garden creation day. A yard of compost awaits my eager shovel in the front yard. And the rototiller, still silent from a cold winter on leave has no idea it will once again be dragged from it's garage bunker and called in to duty to go into battle with it's mortal enemy, sod.

Before the landscape carnage begins I took a moment for reflection in the garden and captured a purple hyacinth happily awakened from her winter's slumber.

Yellow with envy

Spring has sprung. So said the daffodil. And that's what I thought too this past Saturday when the sun made an appearance. The Northwest's never-ending winters invariably drag on while we, the sun loving photographers sit and wait idly, patiently, for the day when we can finally pop our tripod feet in the sand and capture a backlit burgundy sky over the sea. Or hike up to catch a fleeting glint of sunlight trickling through a shaded wood deep in the backcountry. These days are coming for sure but when we do not know. For now we'll have to settle for a fleeting sunbreak.

Still the daffodil says spring is here. She's proof of one thing: you can't always trust a pretty face.

What to do if your friends aren't models

There you are in your studio, trying out some new lighting equipment, you look through your lens and what do you see? Is it a pair of piercing blue eyes beaming back at you from a pale white face? Is it a head of glowing black hair flowing down around a pair of pronounced shoulders before disappearing into the black of the backdrop? No, it's a mass of wiry beard hair surrounding a wide pair of lips that are saying, "Do you want me to take my shirt off?"

Some people say it's easy to take good pictures when you have a beautiful model to photograph. I wouldn't know. My models drink all my beer.

But my solution was simple.

Change models.

It's never too late to join the circus.

If you shoot it they will come. Perhaps it's not that simple. Or maybe it just depends how you look at it.

Over the past few months I've been feverishly working at creating a business for myself, something that I can be proud of and that will get me out of this daily commute to a job in which I'm quite literally spinning my wheels. We all want to be happy, not just in our jobs but in our daily lives. We all want to grow, not just financially but metaphysically, emotionally – whether we want to admit it or not. Then why do so many of us spend so many hours a week doing something that does nothing to improve the levels of our our bodies and minds – giving us what just enough to survive and keep us complacent enough to come back for more. You, like many people, may have enough to pay the mortgage, put food on the table, dump a bit of money into savings for the month (if you're lucky) and think to yourself, “We're doing alright.” You may even have enough for a vacation, yes those one or two week per year jaunts that make you smile and think you've got it really good. But inevitably, invariably you will end up back at work, putting more time in so that you may once again repeat the cycle for the next month or the next year. Or the next twenty.

Well I want out of that cycle. I've never been that person who would work his whole life dreaming of the future, working toward that ever-elusive and highly-sought-after word: retirement. The very word sets emotion on fire in some people. It's that golden time in our imagined future in which we can wake up and do what we want, not answering to anybody, travel, live where we want to live, finally be who we want to be. Well that's not me. I'm not going to delve into the 9 to 5 just so one day I can hope to be my own person and once and for all have my freedom. More often than not by the time you're able to support yourself and finally “retire” you're no longer young anymore. And all those things you dreamed of doing, all those places you dreamed of seeing may not be as easy to get to as you once imagined. What a pity it would be to have given all my good years away to someone else.

So here I stand with camera in hand, rain on my shoulder and determination in my soul putting my best foot forward. If this doesn't work I'll try a different approach, a different angle, a different filter. I know if I shoot it they will come. That's how I see it.

And to all a good night.

You wouldn't think it would be that hard. But after spending no less than three hours on two different evenings I have given up on taking a picture that captures some bit of holiday spirit downtown. Maybe Olympia is just too small and doesn't have the money to decorate it's tree-lined streets with a bunch of lights. Or maybe they've just had their hands full with 'Occupy' and don't have the time (or gumption) to worry about it. Or maybe I'm just not creative enough.

Yes, the blue snowflakes on Capitol Way and 4th Ave are nice, they're festive. I just feel they fall a little short of what I'd expect from a Capitol city. Even the decorated tree in Sylvester park looks like it's missing something - like it's lacking some luster, like someone hastily wrapped clear lights around it and declared it Christmas.

Maybe that's all it takes these days, a few blinky lights here and there and a ho-ho-ho and it's suddenly Christmas. And here I am searching, peering into the darkness, looking for something, anything that says, "Hey, it's Christmas! And it only comes once a year! Rejoice and be happy!"

Maybe the city thought that would just be too hard.

Merry Christmas.

Puget Sound Wellness Association, making connections

Even near freezing temperatures and a thick blanket of fog couldn't stop our PSWA troopers from manning the booth at the Lacey 'Turn Back the Clock' run this Sunday. We made many connections and were so happy to be a part of such a lively event. Looking forward to next year!

In this photo (above) from left to right: Max and Debbie Barnes-Allan of Ayni Shaman Energy Medicine, Caroline Pettepiece (Anderson) LMP, PSWA President, Holly Glennon LMP, RN, Reflexology Practitioner, new member Sandra Hayner, LMP, KMI Practitioner and Joanna Power, PSWA Executive Director.

The circus director's letter of apology

I'm shifting gears. I've put Terminal away.

And as I wrote those words above I could hear Simone screaming at me. She's furious that I could have the gall to leave her alone in that little town in the San Juans with that best friend of hers that keeps going in-and-out of psychopathic episodes, disappearing for weeks at a time and killing people all while having no recollection of any of the events. Relax Simone, I'll be back, sit tight. Lock your door, quit answering your phone, you'll be okay. After all, you're just make-believe. It's just that right now it's hard for me to concentrate on fictitious characters and relationships when I've got so much going on in the non-fiction book that is my life. No, no one is trying to kill me. At least not literally.

I'm getting married. In just over five months my life will change dramatically and I'm working on coming to terms with that in the very little time I have left as a bachelor: 157 days, 7 hours, 5 minutes and 16 seconds. (Not that I'm counting.)

And yes, I am excited to be getting married. Mostly because my fiancee is the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to me and I know I'm the luckiest man on earth. But marriage is one of those higher institutions that I had no intention of ever applying to, no intention of even considering sending a transcript. I grew up in a household full of divorce and separation and spent much of my childhood deciding which parent to live with for that year.

I saw more of the dark-side of marriage. My observations of relationships were more 'Deathstar' than 'Endor'. I don't think it's a coincidence that dark-side, deathstar and divorce all begin with “D”. And while no one ever whispered to me, “Luke, I'm your father...” it was still interesting having people other than my parents around on both sides of my family.

So as the clock ticks on my single life I have some questions I need answered. The biggest one being: “Why?” Why do we do this? Why do choose to bind our relationships with a legal document that can cost an arm and a leg to dissolve and can trigger litigation that can last for years? Is “I love you” just not enough? Have we lost the value of a promise and have to make someone sign on the dotted line to prove it?

I intend to find out. Over the next five months I'll be interviewing people on-camera. From the recently engaged and the newlyweds to the 70th anniversaries' couples, the sworn singles and free-wheeling bachelors in an attempt to answer my question. Yes I'm using my last summer as a free man constructively and hopefully when I'm done I'll have something that resembles a film. So with nothing but a shoestring budget, mediocre equipment, a reluctant camera crew and a drive to find the truth I'm setting out to make a film.

And with any luck people will want to talk to me.

Except Simone.

The trapeze artists never looked so good.

It's fall again and with the inevitable shift in seasons comes that old familiar feeling. You know the one. It comes every year no matter how you try and prevent it. That one that makes us dread the cold and the rain that fall escorts in so proudly, like an usher leading your loud and obnoxious cousin who talks with a lisp to sit next to you at the wedding. It's the feeling you would get if you came home to find your home ransacked and everything important to you not only stolen but set ablaze in your backyard. That feeling that you get when you've made a mistake that you want to take back, wishing with every part of you that you could just turn back time a few minutes, or hours, or days and try again. Well you can't. And all your belongings that are incinerating in your backyard, it's too late for them. And your cousin? Hope you brought a handkerchief, because he's not going anywhere. That's right boys and girls, fall is here. And this year, as every year, he's brought a friend, Winter. And by the time he gets here you'll have wished for death so many times you may already be dead and not know it.

But it doesn't have to be that way. And I'm not saying everyone feels this way. Just those of you with brains. Summer is fun and if you don't feel that way why don't you just move to the north pole and leave the rest of us sane folk to talk amongst ourselves and go to the beach. If you don't like sun there's a probably a shuttle going to Pluto sometime next year. Please be on it. Let's face it, misery loves company and this year is no exception.

But like I said, it really doesn't have to be this way. And you don't have to abandon ship and move to Arizona or Florida with the rest of the aging octogenarians who have already decided it wasn't worth the trouble. You just have to take a deep breath and look up long enough for a drop of rain to go in your eye to realize that it's not acid, it's water. And you're not going to melt. And every giant maple leaf that flutters to the ground isn't a Chinese Throwing Star with your name on it. And every mud puddle that forms isn't a pit of quicksand waiting to swallow you up. In fact, I'll bet once you put on that favorite warm coat and hat of yours you're going to feel a whole lot better. That's right, zip it up and pull that warm hat down over your head. Feels good doesn't it? I know it does. Let's face it, it feels good to be wrapped up, cozy and comfortable. So twist that scarf around your neck and let that wind blow, not even Old Man Winter's ice-chisel can penetrate that armor. Now open that door, head out into the storm and smile as you turn your face into the wind. Because you know it, and so does everybody else, you look good.