Apologies from Colette and I for our general absence lately.  The computer has not been working properly, and now must be sent in for repairs.  So it will be a while before we're really back.  :(

Happy New Year to all!

Wish he was under the mistletoe.

No ride sweeter than Johnny Mercer.

Can I do Christmas without him?

I've been stopping time since my ninth birthday. That's when I got my first camera, some rinky-dink little point and shoot with a roll of Kodak 400 Gold. I'd finished it off before the party was over. The pictures mostly suck, since I didn't understand the concept that sun behind a person puts them in shadow, but there were a few that turned out okay. Not too shabby for an overeager beginner, I think.

As the years went on, I got better. Photography classes and higher end cameras definitely helped, but I think that a large part of it was the fact that as I matured, my aesthetic sense did too. I learned to appreciate the way the light filtered through the moss on a summer afternoon, that sometimes minimal is best. My framing got better, too. All of it to help me capture those moments that I wanted to keep forever.

One of my favorite pictures ever is from the day of Jess Marie's wedding. They had hired a professional to do the fancy official portraits of everyone, but she still wanted me to go camera happy before the ceremony and during the reception. We were in Forsythe Park, next to that big white fountain that Clint Eastwood kept showing in Midnight and the Garden of Good and Evil. Everyone was nervous and jittery, so Bret (the groom) decided that everyone should run around and play tag. In their tuxedos and gowns. The picture I snapped is a black and white of Bret grabbing Jess Marie from behind as she runs for the fountain (which they declared base). It has that classic look, like it's straight out of a movie. I had just turned sixteen, and that was the epitome of romance to me. Still is, really.

Then there are the pictures from my wedding. The ones that make it impossible to forget just how wonderful it was. Pictures of my niece in her poofy pink flower girl dress stealing my daddy's glasses. Of Jess Marie, eight months pregnant with my nephew, looking absolutely gorgeous in her bridesmaid outfit. JJ primping in the mirror before the ceremony, and then falling over drunk at the reception. But my favorite ... it's blurry, dark, and poorly framed, but it's the picture I carry with me everywhere now. It's Lucas, pulling the camera out of my hands so I could walk down the aisle. The picture was an accident; I was just trying to hold onto the camera when my finger pressed the shutter. I remember it so clearly, the way he laughed and ran off with it like he was running for a touchdown. (And God, I loved him, but if he had dropped it, I would've killed him right then and there in front of everyone.)

It's the picture that captures the way we were, better than any other. In that 4x6 glossy print lives my husband, my love, my marriage, my life.

I never have to wish for time to stop.

To be able to go back and change things is a different story.

I missed the first twenty minutes of Lucas's funeral, and that was after they started a half hour late at my mother's insistence.

Just how in the hell was I supposed to stand at the front of that church in front of all those people? I mean, really. My husband is here one minute and gone the next, and I'm supposed to stand there and be the picturesque portrait of a silent, grieving woman everyone expects of me?

Hell no, thank you very much.

JJ and Jess Marie had to drag - and I do mean drag - me out of the car and into the church. And then? They couldn't get me past the back row, not until I had to deliver that eulogy. And halfway through that? Jess Marie had to walk me to the foyer, and poor JJ had to pick up where I'd left off.

Honestly, I would have been content to mourn in private and spread his ashes in the river with just our immediate families around. I didn't want a big funeral, but the in-laws asked for it. And ... well, they're sweet people, and it was important to them and their family, so I agreed. Sure as hell wish I hadn't had to go, but I guess that's the way the wheel turns.

I was late to the wake, too, but for a different reason. See, after the funeral, there was a bit of a tussle. One of Lucas and JJ's old friends from high school said something not too terribly nice about me (who knew their buddies saw me as the Yoko of their little clique?) and ... well, JJ decided to set him straight, bless his heart. Of course, that meant two hours in the emergency room to get his hand fixed, and another hour explaining to the police what had happened. Luckily that son of a bitch had the decency not to press charges since ... well, he asked for that broken nose.

Of course, when I finally got to the house - our house - one of Lucas's aunt tried to guilt trip me. Kept pestering me about how a widow's responsibility is to be there for people to pay their respects, blah blah blah. Course, this woman ain't even been married in her life, but she's one of those kinds of folks feels they're entitled to tell anyone and everyone what they should be doing.

I'll be straight. I slapped that broad so hard my hand went numb. I'm fairly sure my in-laws snickered, and maybe even applauded. Then I went into the kitchen and got JJ some ice for his hand and some Jim Beam for the rest of him, because that's how little sisters should take care of their big brothers.

That was Saturday, a week after he'd died. Monday, I was back at school.

I think I was late then, too.

I am not a Southern stereotype.

Yes, I am proud of being Southern. But that's because Savannah is a beautiful little city with a lot of history and a lot of class. I can't imagine living anywhere else.

Yes, I say "y'all" and "ain't" and all those lovely little colloquialisms, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to use proper English. One of my my majors is in writing, thank you very much, and I come from a long line of people with college educations.

Yes, I was married at nineteen. No, he wasn't my cousin or any other relative he was my brother's best friend, but that's not the point, and no, it wasn't a shotgun wedding. I married Lucas because I was in love and I knew that he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

No, I do not carry ten cans of hairspray and a ton of makeup around with me. Like I said, I'm from Savannah, not Little Rock. We know the meaning of tasteful here.

No, my family did not establish itself through plantations and slavery. We're actually descended from pirates.

And no, "Dixieland" is not my very favorite song of all time. Those would be "Georgia On My Mind" and "Skylark".

My sight is the most important thing I have. My whole life revolves around it. Without it, what would I have, what could I be?

... Well, I could always try and be the next Ray Charles, but I don't think people would buy a blind white girl as much as they did a blind black guy. I just don't have the same appeal.

I'm a photographer. Everywhere I look, I see a picture. The way the sun is falling on that building across the street. The way those trees are framing that window. The way that kid is skipping down the sidewalk, or his momma's yelling after him.

My house is full of pictures. Pictues of family, pictures of friends, pictures of vacations and Savannah. Pictures of Lucas, pictures of us.

I know I could never forget him, but to see him every day smiling at me from that frame ... if I didn't have that, I really wouldn't have anything. If I couldn't see the smile on my niece's face when she comes to visit, or the absolute beauty of this city, I would lose the things that define me.