may flowers / do you know the feeling?

ever get into slumps when you just don't feel like you? from january to april i was in one. it felt like being wrapped up in someone else's clothes, living in someone else's home. & knowing i was tucked away underneath those layers --but a little too cold, a little too sleepy to come out. like hibernating. 

but then may came. and she changed everything. she buffed out my scratches and hosed me down and boy, i have never felt so good. i've been buzzing at a higher frequency -- my camera's been filled with photos, my notebooks bursting with written word, my home feels homier than ever before. i feel closer to myself, to my passions, and to the divine than ever. i feel bright. do you know the feeling?

snap fest: flower filter

something to try this week: next time you're out & about taking snaps, find a flower (or other piece of foliage) & hold it in the corner of your lens to create a pretty filter effect on your photos. for these, i used a tiny purple flower i found on a walk with my favorite model-muse, lane. 

p.s. i like the idea of incorporating something you find on your walk so it has a more organic feel. but, another option: fetch some fake flowers from your craft store.

love notes

i make robbie photo love notes while he works in the walgreens pharmacy. 

i send them to the photo counter for 1-hour print. 

he picks 'em up on his break. 

see more here. 

age of innocence

in my childhood yard there were several trees. on the front lawn was one as fat as it was tall. it loomed, like an angry god over the front lawn, and in the fall its leaves became the color of red delicious apples. when the leaves turned, the tree seemed to fatten -- welling up like a hot face. in the backyard were many, but one cherry blossom tree that soared higher than the rest. i climbed that one often (when mom wasn't watching), and curled into a branch near the top with a book. one day i fell asleep and tumbled off, landing, twisted, on a bed of fallen blossoms. i writhed, but couldn't let on where i'd been, hobbling back to the house, back to the wood floors and wide windows, and the bathroom with the promise of a bathtub and bandaids in the cabinet. 

and those were the big, long-living trees. 

but there was another tree. a tiny, little thing that burst out of the grass in the middle of the yard. it didn't seem like it belonged there, and i don't think it did. (like the one spring when my brother planted corn in the yard, and just one ear grew.) it was an ugly tree -- maybe three feet tall, scrawny, and whitish. i named it pat. i loved that tree. it was too tiny to cast shade on a tiny body, but i'd sit beneath it. the shadows crossed delicate like a spiderweb across my face. 

and when i think about childhood i think about a lot of skinned knees and lemonade stands and nights chasing fireflies -- but then i always remember that tree, too. that thing that registered weed to every adult eye scanning the yard, but how perfect it was to me. and i was just thinking about that little tree -- and the sepia-toned nature of children's eyes. i am a good person. but i can be better. i can choose to love the things that others find unlikeable, that i find unlikeable too. goodness starts with loving a weed. goodness starts with me. 

the potato on the sidewalk & a drowsy-told compendium of today's other happenings

this is how the day began: lo & i met for coffee downtown at the tattered cover. i complimented her hair -- it's a new color. i said things like, "it makes you look so tan! your eyes -- they pop!" and then we sat in the sun, and joked about how when you ask strangers to take iphone photos for you how they're always so crooked and so awkward and so weirdly-lit. so, on the sake of principle, we had a stranger take our photo. she used flash? she mumbled a lot. it was so much better than we even anticipated. then we walked around, and smack dab in the middle of a hot, city sidewalk, we found a potato. we've been laughing and texting about it…all. day. long. what does it mean?! 

 & lo gave me this vintage skirt (and another!) that you'll have to personally rip from my body (as i brandish my merciless fingernails) if you ever want to see me without it. it's bright, and floral, and it's heavy. there's so much fabric, that, i swear, if you take two sides of it, it stretches across the room. it is really good for spinning in & laughing in. especially in narrow hallways where your husband is standing so that he has to say, "yes. it's cute." just one more time, please. 

& then i had a photoshoot in broomfield. which, FYI is 20 minutes away. but since the shoot started smack dab in the middle of rush hour, and i'm a stickler for being on time…or because i'm terrified of being even a minute late...i went, like, two hours early. 

& since i'm actually bananas and there was no traffic and i didn't get lost….means i got there two hours early. so…what else? i had a jam session to fleet foxes in the car. i drank coffee at the starbucks inside a grocery store. always keepin' it classy. and i wandered across the street...

& found this LUSCIOUS rose garden. 

*in the hobby lobby floral aisle.*

we wear shorts now

i've always had a prejudice against shorts (& pants, for that matter). i'll always prefer skirts & dresses. that's just a fact. & robbie's not a big shorts fan either. 

but in the last few weeks…we have a newfound love for shorts. we each thrifted a few pairs, and have been adventuring in 'em. do shorts do that to you? they sure make me want to explore all over this gorgeous state of ours, with a camera in hand, of course. and roll in the mud a little. or at least not mind if rolling in the mud should become necessary. now, i don't think you'll see me replacing my dress-uniform anytime soon…but ya may see me in a pair of cutoffs once in a while -- on top of a mountain, or standing in a stream, with muddy knees and elbows. 

snap fest: fave nonessentials for photographers

1. a toy camera: 
       something that inspires you to take less-perfect & more-fun photos. 
       take a friend. give 'em a film snap or two. 
       i like lomography cameras. 
2. a good, small backpack:
       one with a sturdy bottom so your stuff won't sink…
       but not so big it deters you from the task at hand: adventure. 
       i like herschel supply co. 
3. a mini notebook.
       stuff it in your pocket. get it muddy. press found flora inside it. 
       and don't forget to jot down your thoughts. 
       i like field notes.
4. wellies.
       go where it's wet, but stay dry. 
       best in a happy hue. 
       i like hunter. 


p.s. "snap fest" (name in progress) is a new series covering all things photography. some tips & tutorials for pros, and other light & fun things to inspire pros & iphoneographers alike. drop me a line if there's something you want covered! 

boho bridget // spring in denver

blouse: thrifted (originally UO) / skirt/bangles: forever21 / sandals: target

the past week has been gah-lourious, you guys. 

the sun has been shining, we've been going short-and-sans-sleeved, and our coffee's been poured over ice. we went hiking in golden, made a video in the flatirons…we pretty much give the whole thing a big thumbs up. 

one thing i notice every spring & summer is how much my style changes to accommodate the new season. especially here in colorado where it gets so darn hot…i tend to like my clothes a little simpler, a little looser, less structured. translate: i turn back into boho bridget. she kind of recedes in the cold weather -- haven't yet mastered the art of winter boho without looking like a bag lady. if my winter uniform is a fit & flare dress, tights, cardi, skinny belt, fixed hair, and bright lipstick…then my summer uniform is all maxis, messy hair, nude lips, bandeaus & bangles. but seriously, guys…i haven't done my hair in two weeks. 

today, in three parts:

 today: 

 1 // coffee over ice in newly thrifted glasses.

2 // my favorite photo of robbie ever, taken last night while making a video in boulder.

3 // a craft, for someone special. 

still life

the other night, i drove to the hospital to pick robbie up from work. he had to stay late, so as dusk descended, i wandered about the surrounding streets. there were kids, jumping over sprinklers in small front yards, their moms watching on & exchanging gardening tips, and guessing at each other's birthdays. the houses were painted in alternating candy colors, ivy crawling up the sides of some. purple flowers flecked buzzing lawns. shut front windows cradled cats on display -- stretching and yawning in the evening light, but most were thrown open, gaping like dogs' mouths in warm, idle air. not the slightest breeze inched the flowers from their spots in pots and where they were planted in the grass where they posed like still life. as did i, walking in a slow, sunspot-lighted haze down a street i didn't live on, consumed in it but not a part of it. 

a bag for adventuring

this little lady came home with me from the thrift store wednesday. isn't she fun? when i spotted her it was one of those magical thrifting moments when your heart kind of skips a beat. she's soft, and light, and positively kaleidoscopic -- and a blanket, lunch, sunnies, and a couple of books fit perfectly inside. i can't wait for her to get tossed around this summer -- on the grass at picnics, in the car on roadtrips. 

one good line

failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged. 
missing me one place search another, 
i stop some where waiting for you. 
-song of myself, walt whitman


other good lines. 

and the thunderstorms come in the afternoon

i love the dry air in denver. and in the spring: the hot mornings, when the thunderstorms come in the afternoon and cool everything down. we prop open the windows -- they creak when pulled wide, and bits of paint chip off. the wind picks them up, pulls them into the storm. we watch. there is lightning over there -- count the seconds to measure the miles. and then there are the fresh flowers in the windowsill, and paperbacks to be leafed through, to enjoy, to laugh at and cry to, as the light becomes grayer in this place -- gray and grayer, still light enough to read. there are the boxes of old photos. there are the skirts that need buttons re-sewn. there are the shoes, piling up, in the hallway. there is mud on those shoes from walks off the path of the park, down to the water, ankle-deep in the sand. there is fresh laundry, tossed on the bed, soft & smelling of lavender and ready to be put away. i hear him sip water, sigh, then set the glass down on the counter. he leaves his bowls & water glasses everywhere and i wouldn't have it any other way. these are the sounds and the smells of the days that are slow, and are meaningful, and are the quiet before and after, and in the middle of storms. these are the days that reverberate in our heads, as we fall asleep, about to dream them, relive them -- we think we are pressing on, and we are, but we are here, too. we are here now.