There are certain photographs that have a magical hold on me. It's as if there is an invisible cord tethering me to them, rendering me unable to refrain from looking at them, again and again. It's when the image speaks to me and makes me wonder what the story of the austere visage looking back at me is; it's when I wonder what was surrounded the photographer as the image was captured; it's when I see something new and intriguing each time that I know it's truly a good photograph.

It's when I feel these feelings bubble up within me that I remember why I'm a photographer, why freezing moments in time is my passion. And it seems that more often than not, these photos are black and white. I have an emotional attachment to images that are only colored in grey, black, and white dots. When the distraction of colors is taken away, it seems that the viewer can look straight into the heart of the subject -- when subject become more than a subject but an actual human being.

Being a photographer means capturing a soulful expression or mellifluous laughter of a child. Like a writer paints a picture with words, a photographer tells a story in a single square of colors. And black and white images seem to be the driving force behind this passion of capturing everyday moments. Because while color photographs are good and lovely and have their place, there are certain things that can only be seen through the eyes of black and white.

What do you prefer -- black and white or color?

xoxo

I remember that fateful September morning vividly. The day dawned, with crisp, clear blue sky and the sun shining down brightly. It was a just a normal morning. Then the call came. It was my grandmother, who still lived in Germany at the time. She heard the news before us and called to see if we were okay. We went to a neighbor's house and sat glued to the television, watching something that looked out of a  movie. I remember the disbelief, the tears, the uncertainty. I remember wondering why and mourning the loss of so many lives. September 11th. It's a day I will never forget as long as I live.

Time is fleeting all too quickly. The tenth anniversary of 9/11, ten years that passed so quickly, reminded me of this fact. I think often about how each day that passes is a day closer to the day of our death. That may sound pessimistic, but it's a thought that enters my mind often. Now that a routine has resumed, I hate getting lost into the monotony of it all, each day passing identical to its predecessor. I'm striving to make each day unique, special, even if it's just in a small way, instead of letting it pass like any other day. Because we don't really have time for wasting days -- instead, I'm vowing to seize the day. I'm vowing to stop wasting time and do what can be done now instead of waiting for a tomorrow that may be nonexistent. It's an uphill battle, honestly. I'm human. I'm weak, I fail, I'm a sinner. It's only through the grace of Christ that I can make it another day.

We walked along the river -- which, thanks to the drought, is really more of a big puddle than a river -- yesterday. My sisters walked hand in hand with my parents, my brother wove between them on his ripstik, and I strayed behind them, photographing and lost in my own world. And as the sun slipped behind the horizon, spilling dappled light on the world, I took mental images, willing myself not to forget these moments.

The weekend was one of remembering and recalling, bunting and ice cream socials in the backyard, friends and laughter, long walks in perfect weather and the sparkling of sunshine on the water. And I had my first root beer float of my life. Really. I can't say it was my favorite, but hey, I tried it and that's all that matters.
Each precious moment was like a brushstroke of color in the painting of life. The challenging, stressful moments outweighed by the sun drenched, smiling, heart warming moments in the intricately, carefully painted canvas of life -- a piece of artwork that's still being worked on by the master artist.

And today? It's Jeremiah's birthday. A whole eleven years have passed since he entered this world a slippery pink screaming baby. A whole eleven years that he's brought joy and laughter to the family. He's the one who will always laugh at my jokes, that one who I can tell anything, the one I can be silly and bust out my dance moves with. Happy birthday, Jeremiah. I love you. So much.

Happy Monday, friends.

-carlotta

The sound of the whisk in the metal pot was steady, around and around the metal wires went, stirring the sauce. But this wasn't the only sound -- or smell. No, there was the sound of butter sizzling in a sauce pan, threatening to burn. The pot of water was at a roiling boil, begging for noodles and sending a pillar of steam towards the ceiling. Beneath the smells of butter and cheese and milk, there was a distinct burning smell. And I was ready to cry.

I'm not a chef. A baker, perhaps, but most definitely not a chef. I find baking more soothing -- there aren't usually four different pots on the stove, each demanding attention. Instead, it's just quiet sounds of flour mixing with eggs and sugar -- simple, predictable, relaxing. But cooking? That's a whole other realm, a realm of the kitchen I'm a bit intimidated by.

One of my favorite dishes is baked macaroni and cheese. Bubbly, creamy, perfectly cheesy noodles topped with a layer of crunchy bread crumbs is a thing of beauty.
My mother went out for lunch today with a friend, leaving me with seven kids and a father to feed. She suggested I make macaroni and cheese for the crowd, and because it's a dish I can't resist, I agreed. I'd watched Mom make it before -- but I'd never made it on my own. Watching her, though, effortlessly combining and stirring, it looked easy enough.

I entered the kitchen with confidence. I mean, how hard could it be? I preheated the oven, set a pot of water on the stove to boil, and poured milk in a pan. Things went downhill from there. While the butter was melting, I got preoccupied and only snapped back to reality when I smelled the rich aroma of butter just about to burn.
Then the cheese decided to clump up on me (because I used mozzarella accidentally. mozzarella melting in sauce=clumping.), which left me with a sauce of milk, flour, and butter with a glob of cheese. And then there was the mistake of using two pounds of noodles instead of one and not having the tomatoes the recipe called for. Let's just say I was close to tears by the time I slid the pans into the oven. It wasn't pretty.

But by some miracle -- or maybe it was the Lord having mercy -- the noodles were bubbly and creamy and delicious when the timer beeped. If only cooking could be as neat and perfect as it is on Food Network...but that's not real life. Real life is mess ups and accidents and things going wrong. I guess you could say my macaroni-and-cheese-making experience taught me more than just how to make a dish. Although, I'll have to muster up some courage before I attempt to cook something again. Ahem.

Enjoy, lovelies. And do yourself a favor by not using mozzarella cheese. Don't be like me. It's a bad idea. Trust me.

baked macaroni and cheese
adapted from ina garten's mac & cheese


ingredients
-1 pound elbow macaroni
-1 quart (four cups) milk
-8 tablespoons (one stick) unsalted butter, cubed
-1/2 cup all purpose flour
-12 ounces gruyere cheese, grated (4 cups)*
-8 ounces sharp cheddar, grated (2 cups)*
-freshly ground black pepper, to taste
-sea salt, to taste
-3/4 pound fresh tomatoes (4 small), optional
-1 1/2 cups fresh white bread crumbs (5 slices)

*feel free to subsitute with any cheese you'd like -- just be wary of mozzarella.


directions
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Add salt to boiling water and pour in macaroni. Cook according to package directions and drain well.
Meanwhile, heat the milk in a small saucepan, being sure not to boil it. Melt 6 tablespoons of butter in a large (4-quart) pot and add the flour. Cook over low heat for 2 minutes, stirring with a whisk. While whisking, add the hot milk and cook for a minute or two more, until thickened and smooth. Off the heat, add the Gruyere, Cheddar, 1 tablespoon salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Add the cooked macaroni and stir well. Pour into a 3-quart baking dish.

Slice the tomatoes and arrange on top. Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, combine them with the fresh bread crumbs, and sprinkle on the top. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the sauce is bubbly and the macaroni is browned on the top. Serve warm with extra grated cheese and a sprig of basil.

xoxo

Dear blue skies,

your clear, cerulean loveliness never fails to reel me in. And when you're almost as blue as New Mexico skies...well, consider me a goner. This summer, Oklahoma weather had me begging for mercy -- I'm so glad it's been able to prove me wrong and put an end to my complaining. And fall fashions? I'm all over them.

Dear fall fashions,

After a long, hot summer, it makes me giddy to be able to wear chunky knit sweaters and boots. Stay awhile, why don't you?

p.s. I'm really loving all the stripes and colors for this fall.

Dear blog designing,
I guess you could say we have a love-hate relationship. You frustrate me sometimes, but creating something I'm completely happy with makes up for the frustrating feeling. (thoughts on the new design?)

Dear snail mail,
you make me so incredibly happy, as do sweet friends who send letters filled with all sorts of lovelies (aren't those bracelets she sent me just perfect?). I suppose my love for the postal service and hand written letters is one of the reasons for the format of this post ;)

Dear Germany,
I miss you. And my family there. A year ago today we had just arrived -- I can't believe so much time has already passed. I'll come back soon, promise.

Dear sunsets,
will you marry me?

Dear family,
I love you. Even if it does take twenty minutes to take a group shot;) Thank you so much for always putting up with me and loving me through everything. You're the best family a girl could ask for.

Dear resident monkey,
you're cute. Can I keep you?

Dear readers,
you're amazing. That is all.

Love,
Me

p.s. credit for this lovely idea goes to hannah; while I try to be original and come up with my own ideas as a blogger (although being original in blogging is really purely hypothetical, but that's beside the point ;)), but I loved this idea too much not to use it. hope you don't mind, hannah!