The Grace of Gracie

The true grace of Gracie wasn’t merely her mighty leaps into the air at phantom faeries,
nor her long, balletic slides at ends of hallways.
No, the true grace of Gracie was simply that Gracie was.

The Thing About Sax

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“Excuse me for horning in, but I…” he started to say.
“You big blow hard!!” she interrupted. Ooo, she was mad.
“Okayyy, but I just wanted to note that…”
“Can’t you REED??” she blurted, pointing furiously at the page on the stand.
He tried using his most calming voice, hoping it would help.
“I think you meant to say “read”. And yes I can.”
“Don’t patronize me you, you… gooseneck!!”
He paused. Gooseneck? No one had called him that in years. He kind of liked it.
“Name calling now, are we… Licorice Stick?” He purred her old stage name so quietly he wondered if she heard it. But apparently she did.
“You remembered.” she whispered.
“How could I forget, Clar?”
“Oh Sax!”

In that moment, “Canon in D” became “their” song.

Take My Hand

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He stood transfixed. Staring. He had thought she was a mannequin. She was so… still. Waxy. Not living. Not breathing. No warmth. In one gesture, his world turned over. Along with his stomach.

“Take my hand” she whispered. Like dust. Like static. The sound of her voice made his ears itch.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her hand, extended so gracefully. So invitingly. So lifelessly. Every hair on his body stood up and screamed… “RUN”.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off her hand.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! MMMwwaahhhhhh!!!

The Moment After She Left

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On the platform she waited for the train that was coming.
Her demeanor was calm. Inside was a whirlwind.
Would it work, this plan she dreamed of last night?
Would they come? Could they hear? Would it fly?
The unknown was always a gamble.
She took a deep breath as the air pressure changed. It was time and her train was approaching.
It would be her last ride on this route she had known.
Her last wait at this particular station.
She’d miss it in ways, with it all so familiar…
But her heart wouldn’t let her sit still.

The train glides up to the platform. She smiles.
Steps onto the ride of her life.
As the train disappears, the station grows quiet.
Less oxygen now. Her light has moved on

Dramatic. Glamorous

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Sometimes nature is so very dramatic and glamorous. She’ll just go for it. Break out her finery and sweep into that sky like the MEGA star that she is.
I love it when she does that.

I caught her this day in her explosionary finale of an intricately choreographed dance that took about an hour or so to create. She was deliberate. Detailed. Left no swish unswirled, yet no one could say the effect was overdone. No, it was… perfect.

When the grand finale finally burst into living technicolor oranges and reds with just a touch of peachy goodness, I swore I could hear the final strains of Ravel’s Bolero. Oh my. It was dramatic. And most definitely glamorous.

Convict Lake

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My first visit there. I love that feeling of the first time… your heart quickens, your eyes get all sharp and darty at the new sights, even my stomach jumps around a little at the excitement of it all.

I’m big on the story too – and I love hearing them about the places I visit. Convict Lake was named after an incident in 1871, where a group ‘o thugs, er, ‘convicts’ escaped from prison in Carson City. That’s 200 miles away. So a buncha lawmen, er, a ‘posse’ chased those buggers all the way down here, where they had a shootout. The sheriff was killed, as was his Indian guide. They named the lake after the convicts, the mountain (Mt. Morrison) after the sheriff. Nobody named anything after the Indian guide, which strikes me as just pure ungrateful.

It was a moody, weathery day… kinda fitin’ with the story that goes with it. But I just went with the vibe and took this picture to share with y’all.

Humphrey Bogart Was Here

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He was going out. He didn’t know when he would be back. Or even if he would. It was secret. Top secret.
The call came in on the untraceable phone. The message was in code.
Translation; grab the bag by the door and leave now.
He learned long ago to act first, question later. Which he did now.
But this time as he left, he looked back. Took a mental snapshot of door, the steps, the way the single lamppost draped light across the railing like a wing of an angel.
Like the woman he’d left in bed.
She’d awaken without him. And wonder why.

She Looked Away

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I caught her gaze for just a moment. It was unexpected. Startling, even. She looked into my eyes without flinching, without even a flicker of self consciousness. Her luminous beauty, her subtle yet undeniable strength, her utter equanimity at being both a fleeting visitor and an immutable force in the world sat lightly with her.
She was transcendent.
In that sudden and unexpected moment, I knew what it meant to be alive.
Really. Truly.

Before I had a chance to smile and nod, she looked away.

Dr. Who's Time Travelin' Time Lord Bar

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Isn’t this a nutty shot? So, I decided it’s Dr. Who’s traveling time lord bar. Cause I think Dr. Who must need a snort every now and then to unwind after a long day on the Time Lord time clock. And he sure wouldn’t want to run the risk of being stuck in some godforsaken dimension of No Fun At All, seeking said snortage. Hence the need for a time travelin’ Time Lord Bar. See, it’s time-tethered to the Tardis, thus always available. Genius.

I managed to snap this just as it was taking off, about to wink out of this particular time-space continuum. Who says digital cameras aren’t fast? Ha.

Yeaaahhhhh… welcome to Mental Movies by Karen. This is what a long day of recording incredibly dry narrations will do to a girl. Tall, cool one, anyone?

Tree of Thrive

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I’m learning all new levels of letting my life’s muse, the universe, the powers-that-be… whatever you want to call it… have a say in the flow of things. This has meant giving in to photography… while STILL thriving in my voiceover career. The way each informs and enriches the other kinda blows my mind. When I was younger, I thrived on excelling in multiple areas. Figure skating, equestrian sports, dance, acting… all professionally. But photography just wouldn’t leave me alone. (I studied in junior college and wanted to go pro, but darkroom chemicals had other ideas about that). Still, I couldn’t stop seeing the pictures in my head any more than I could stop hearing the voices in my head! Jeez. Nag, nag, nag.

So when my husband handed me a Canon T1i at Christmas 2009 and said “Go for it.”, I’m not sure he really knew what he was saying. I’m not sure I did either. But I had a piece of my soul back, that’s for sure. So I ran with it. To where – well, I guess time will tell. IS there a “there” there? Does it even matter? This has become my life’s current experiment: what happens if I let myself just do it? Be the best voice professional I can be… AND let myself be whatever my heart and soul thinks is a good photographer? No strings attached. Just let it rip. Which brings me to this photograph.

It’s one of several I was asked to shoot for a book cover. Right? I was asked to shoot a book cover. I mean, how does this stuff happen?? Follow the Muse. The book is about thriving. I think this one has become my personal icon for Thrive. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded to follow my muse… the light… that ‘spark of divine inspiration’- that guides my life to its inspired happiest, funnest, most fulfilled … most THRIVING version of itself. Whatever that brings.