HAZY HEAT

 My intention was to post these photos tomorrow to welcome in October, the spookiest and best time of the year. But then I began to think about the day I actually took them. It was a summer afternoon, maybe late June or mid-July, and for whatever reason I was on my own with no plans. I ventured out with my camera to see what I could find, a decidedly typical move for me in the wake of idleness. It was a gorgeous day. The sun shone and the grass glowed. The green in the trees was lit up by the clear blue sky. It did not at all resemble today, gray and windy and leaves changing, where one might expect to find themselves in cemetery from the 1800s. Yet that’s precisely where I ended up. Call me cliche, but I'll never turn down a walk in a cemetery no matter the weather. You can't take the emo out of the girl. These stones did not scare me as much as they saddened me. Some were marked with simple one-word titles. Many of them that included names also included dates, showcasing the

Remember live music? Me too.  I read a New York Times  article  last night that chronicles a single weekend in New York through the lens of the performing arts amidst the COVID pandemic. The loss is vast - one single weekend held what seems like hundreds of performances, from ballet performed in gilded halls to bands raucously selling out underground clubs. Outdoor pavilions would be booked and performance centers would be prepped. No matter the schedule or socioeconomic status, any person in New York could have found a way to indulge in the arts that weekend. This was not the reality. Playwrights who were gearing up to premier their newest (even their first) written works are now instead teaching classes over Zoom or driving for GrubHub. Performers with years of experience and discipline in their craft are now having to dip into their retirement savings. Smaller rehearsal spaces, clubs, and performance centers are barely staying afloat. Many have already closed. This beautiful, well

Hazy Heat has made its way to Spotify, my dudes. A highly intentional, personally curated playlist has always been a love language to me. I've put together so many mixes in my life, so many playlists, for all different people and all types of reasons. They can break through or communicate with any emotion. Loneliness, happiness, anger or hope, all that can exist in between. It has seemed since I was young that any way I feel can be captured, tamed, or celebrated by the right songs put in the right order. I have memories of spending hours creating CDs for others. Hours of choosing and ordering each song meticulously in an attempt to tell my story just as I mean it. Hundreds of mixes categorized by moods, times, people – it has always been a type of journaling for me. An exploration of self. There is something highly special about receiving music that was curated just for you, just as it is highly special to curate for someone else. I  have a deep desire to show you all the same type

New week, new photo dump. These were taken late March, I believe, so not exactly new. My current shooting-to-posting lag now spans several months (not ideal.) But I have a bunch of newly developed film on the way and my goal is to post photos with at least somewhat semi-chronological regularity. Unless I happen to not feel like it. I'm getting better, I promise. This was a time that I can  categorize  as the beginning of uncertainty. So much of the way I've navigated the last six months harkens back to this time, this introduction of pre- and post- pandemic life. Our lives as we knew them shared a firm handshake with the vagueness ahead and the greeting left nobody at ease. Katie and I would spend hours on our bikes exploring to occupy our minds. Little adventures keep our hope intact, both then and now. Each one is a lesson in just how far a little can go. I am still very much a student.  Additionally, but more importantly, you can click  here   for resources  on how to check 

It's Friday, my friends. If you are reading this, please know I'm proud of you. The fact that you were able to trudge through the unknown (or maybe the too well known?) of another week is something to celebrate. I tend to live in my own head and can often forget to expand myself out to the bigger picture. Steps forward are still steps, no matter the pace. The amalgam of everything we are is far more incredible and long-lasting than any time you misstepped or misspoke. And if this week was terrible, the worst week of your life, I am truly sorry. I am thinking of you and sending you love. I am holding for you the earnest belief that you will survive far beyond anything that you are being faced with now. While the week may be at an end, we have the power to treat it as a beginning if we so choose. One of the small beauties of life.  Per a typical Friday, I woke up to Spotify alerting me of a whole slew of new albums and singles released at midnight (Alicia Keys' new album &quo

It has become easier and easier to feel small. People and places we hold dear are unraveling into either a distant memory or something we do not recognize. The idea of things ever being "normal" again is unfathomable to me. Though there are many "normals" that deserve the boot and should never return, there are other "normals" that are delicate and unique and make us each who we are. As simple a thing as people watching on your favorite park bench can lead to sadness or anger. Not knowing when you'll get to safely sip a beer at your favorite open mic or sweat shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of strangers at a house show. I love traipsing through libraries and bookstore for hours, reading the spines of the books in all different sections and wondering about the stories inside them. It is overwhelmingly beautiful to think about all the universes that exist through worlds in one simple building. I love to spend my days at a coffee shop, or at a spot near

Snapshots of a day in April, one like any other. My partner and I spent most of the spring and summer filling our time with walks or bike rides. We are lucky enought to live in at a fairly central point in town. Ten minutes in one direction leads us downtown while ten minutes in the other leads us to prairies, trees, and midwest country roads; a river runs adjacent to it all. We discovered places we'd never been before, from winding new bike paths to beautiful corners of the neighborhood to new places by the river where we sit and enjoy our coffee together. She and I developed a deep appreciation for the things we see all the time. Our town is filled with character and we often feel the kindness of both neighbors and strangers alike. To turn a seemingly boring act into an adventure started out of necessity, but it's grown into a practice of gratitute. A beautiful, intentional nurturing of the way we exist within the world around us. I hold a special place in my heart for it all