From my concept shoot yesterday - "La Femme Nikita" ...with Megan Thomas

Please have a look, if you would.

Well, apparently I need to learn how to make paragraphs on here. In my last post, everything ran all together, grrrrrrr. But it's worth reading anyway.

So...My name is Karen, and I'm the founder, creator, artist, graphic designer, and owner and CEO of Karen's Memory Treasures Photography, located in Wheeling, WV. More specifically, it's on Wheeling Island. I've wanted to start writing a blog for a long time. I used to write all the time on Myspace during it's heyday, but it's been awhile. I plan to use this blog to say what I want, what I feel, and all the things I don't feel comfortable saying on my Facebook. And I'll be posting pictures, usually the ones I think are the best. And lots of music. I finally started a blog not to be therapeutic, but because my eldest daughter Gretchen, age 20, is studying abroad in Japan for a whole year. She is on Blogger, and now so am I. I'm going to follow her journey, and see her year in Japan through her eyes. My hope for her, is that it is as magical as my first year in New York was for me. I was 24 when I left Wheeling for New York, with no plans to EVER come back. And so, it wouldn't be right if I didn't post this blog I wrote on Myspace in 2006, the year I had no choice but to come back. From my Myspace, 2006: "I'm remembering 20 years ago, almost to the month, when I first arrived in the amazing, wonderful, gothic, glittering, fascinating concrete jungle that is my beloved New York City. I came to NYC with about $300 in my pocket, and nowhere to stay. And I was in heaven. I was having the time of my life. And it was 1986, and one of the best years of my life - in fact, I'll rate it up there in the top 3. THAT'S how fresh and great life was to me back then. Is it possible to be in love with a place? Just $300 in my pocket, and I was loving it? Oh, you betcha I was. I was the "Princess" and I was the "Queen of Corona", and I suppose one could say, it was the stupidest thing I could have done, or the bravest thing I could have done. Depends entirely on who's doing the "saying". No intention of elaborating on that tonight. You all know who you are, and if you are part of the nay-saying crowd, well, you aren't cool enough to be here on MySpace, and if you ARE here (1 of you is, but you're NOT on MY friends list), guess what, you still ain't cool. I was 24 years old, and I had planned my escape from where I find myself sitting here typing tonight, since I was about 12 years old. It really started to gel when I was about 15. I knew for sure, that I would live in NYC in 1983, when I went there with my college drama club, and saw some shows. I swore I'd be back, and be back to stay, and DAMN if I wasn't living in NYC in 1986, with only 300 dollars. :) I remember...walking around, anywhere and everywhere, in Manhattan, with little direction, and it didn't matter. I was gainfully employed, it was my day off, and I happened upon a "garage band" type, playing Bob Dylan, down in the village, near Washington Square Park. I sat down on the huge nearby concrete fountain, with all the other "hippy" types, and knew Freedom, and I knew Happiness. So I guess you could say, I've known them at least once in my life. And I thought, this is MY song, this is MY town. And I was right. But strangely enough, the lyrics apply more fittingly to the situation I find myself trapped in now. Maybe this song isn't about that indescribable feeling I felt on the late summer day in the city, loving life and love..... but about being trapped, and I mean, truly trapped. And I know "how it feels". And now, at age 44, I finally know who the "mystery tramp" and the "diplomat" and "Napoleon", in my life, are... You just gotta love Dylan... here's the song: "Once upon a time you dressed so fine You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you? People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall" You thought they were all kiddin' you You used to laugh about Everybody that was hangin' out Now you don't talk so loud Now you don't seem so proud About having to be scrounging your next meal. How does it feel How does it feel To be without a home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone? You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely But you know you only used to get juiced in it And nobody has ever taught you how to live on out the street And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it You said you'd never compromise With the mystery tramp, but now you realize He's not selling any alibis As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes And say, do you want to make a deal? How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home A complete unknown Like a rolling stone? Ah, you never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns When they all did tricks for you You never understood that it ain't no good You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat Ain't it hard when you discover that He really wasn't where it's at After he took from you everything he could steal. How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone? Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts But you'd better take your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe You used to be so amused At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse When ya ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal. How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone?"

Tango Maureen - "RENT" the Movie

Les Misérables Movie- 'On my Own' scene - Samantha Barks

This. Made me cry. A must-read.

Dear Mom, I’ve seen you around. I’ve seen you screaming at your kids in public, I’ve seen you ignoring them at the playground, I’ve seen you unshowered and wearing last night’s pajama pants at preschool drop-off. I’ve seen you begging your children, bribing them, threatening them. I’ve seen you shouting back and forth with your husband, with your mom, with the police officer at the crosswalk. I’ve seen you running around with your kids, getting dirty and occasionally swearing audibly when you bang a knee. I’ve seen you sharing a milkshake with a manic four year old. I’ve seen you wiping your kids’ boogers with your bare palm, and then smearing them on the back of your jeans. I’ve seen you carry your toddler flopped over the crook of your arm while chasing a runaway ball. I’ve also seen you gritting your teeth while your kid screamed at you for making him practice piano, or soccer, or basket weaving, or whatever it was. I’ve seen you close your eyes and breathe slowly after finding a gallon of milk dumped into your trunk. I’ve seen you crying into the sink while you desperately scrub crayon off your best designer purse. I’ve seen you pacing in front of the house. I’ve seen you at the hospital waiting room. I’ve seen you at the pharmacy counter. I’ve seen you looking tired, and frightened. I’ve seen a lot of you, actually. I see you every single day. I don’t know if you planned to be a parent or not. If you always knew from your earliest years that you wanted to bring children into the world, to tend to them, or if motherhood was thrust upon you unexpectedly. I don’t know if it meets your expectations, or if you spent your first days as a mom terrified that you would never feel what you imagined “motherly love” would feel like for your child. I don’t know if you struggled with infertility, or with pregnancy loss, or with a traumatic birth. I don’t know if you created your child with your body, or created your family by welcoming your child into it. But I know a lot about you. I know that you didn’t get everything that you wanted. I know that you got a wealth of things you never knew you wanted until they were there in front of you. I know that you don’t believe that you’re doing your best, that you think you can do better. I know you are doing better than you think. I know that when you look at your child, your children, you see yourself. And I know that you don’t, that you see a stranger who can’t understand why the small details of childhood that were so important to you are a bother to this small person who resembles you. I know that you want to throw a lamp at your teenager’s head sometimes. I know you want to toss your three year old out the window once in a while. I know that some nights, once it’s finally quiet, you curl up in bed and cry. I know that sometimes, you don’t, even though your heart is breaking with exhaustion and the weight of crushed expectations. I know that some days are so hard that all you want is for them to end, and then at bedtime your children hug you and kiss you and tell you how much they love you and want to be like you, and you wish the day could last forever. But it never does. The day always ends, and the next day brings new challenges. Fevers, heartbreak, art projects, new friends, new pets, new fights. And every day you do what you need to do. You take care of things, because that’s your job. You go to work, or you fill up the crock pot, or you climb into the garden, or strap the baby to your back and pull out the vacuum cleaner. You drop everything you’re doing to moderate an argument over who’s turn it is to use a specific marker, or to kiss a boo-boo, or to have a conversation about what color lipstick Pinocchio’s mommy wears. I know that you have tickle fights in blanket forts, and that you have the words to at least eight different picture books memorized. I’ve heard that you dance like a wild woman when it’s just you and them. That you have no shame about farting or belching in their presence, that you make up goofy songs about peas and potatoes and cheese. I know that an hour past bedtime, you drop what you’re doing and trim the fingernail that your three year old insists is keeping her up. I know that you stop cleaning dishes because your kids insist you need to join their tea party. I know you fed your kids PBandJ for four days straight when you had the flu. I know that you eat leftover crusts over the sink while your kids watch Super Why. I know you didn’t expect most of this. I know you didn’t anticipate loving somebody so intensely, or loathing your post-baby body so much, or being so tired, or being the mom you’ve turned out to be. You thought you had it figured out. Or you were blind and terrified. You hired the perfect nanny. Or you quit your job and learned to assemble flat packed baby furniture. You get confused by the conflict of feeling like nothing has changed since you were free and unfettered by children, and looking back on the choices you made as though an impostor was wearing your skin. You’re not a perfect mom. No matter how you try, no matter what you do. You will never be a perfect mom. And maybe that haunts you. Or maybe you’ve made peace with it. Or maybe it was never a problem to begin with. No matter how much you do, there is always more. No matter how little you do, when the day is over your children are still loved. They still smile at you, believing you have magical powers to fix almost anything. No matter what happened at work, or at school, or in play group, you have still done everything in your power to ensure that the next morning will dawn and your children will be as happy, healthy, and wise as could possibly be hoped. There’s an old Yiddish saying, “There is one perfect child in the world, and every mother has it.” Unfortunately, there are no perfect parents. Your kids will grow up determined to be different than you. They will grow up certain that they won’t make their kids take piano lessons, or they’ll be more lenient, or more strict, or have more kids, or have fewer, or have none at all. No matter how far from perfect you are, you are better than you think. Someday your kids will be running around like crazy people at synagogue and concuss themselves on the handicapped rail, and somebody will still walk up and tell you what a beautiful family you have. You’ll be at the park and your kids will be covered in mud and jam up to the elbows, smearing your car with that sugary cement, and a pregnant lady will stop and smile at you wistfully. No matter how many doubts you might have, you never need doubt this one thing: You are definitely not perfect. And that’s good. Because really, neither is your child. And that means nobody can care for them the way you can, with the wealth of your understanding and your experience. Nobody knows what your child’s squall means, or what their jokes mean, or why they are crying, better than you do. And since no mother is perfect, chances are you are caught in a two billion way tie for Best Mom in the World. Congratulations, Best Mom in the World. You’re not perfect. You’re as good as anybody can get. -Lea Grover

How To Be Alone