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It all starts with our new Mommie/Daddy and Me sessions on March 21st. You receive an artistic black and white portrait in a frame for only $69. Call Studio One at 517-782-3974 to schedule your appointment today! .com










30 years ago and aged 8 I started my first sporting scrap book. The first pages were of winning the league! Amazing to be able to show my 5 year old and to talk about all the legends







さとみくん。 いつもありがとうございます。 これからも、この先もずっと応援してます。 一緒にMemories作って行きましょ!




We noemden hem heeroom, de broer van mijn oma, die mij doopte. Een bisschop. In de Augustinuskerk in Amsterdam. Ver voor de nieuwbouw aldaar, aan de Postjesweg. Mijn oma stierf vlak daarna aan kanker. Veel te vroeg in 1958. Mijn eigen moeder stierf op 55-jarige leeftijd




We noemden hem heeroom, de broer van mijn oma, die mij doopte. Een bisschop. In de Augustinuskerk in Amsterdam. Ver voor de nieuwbouw aldaar, aan de Postjesweg. Mijn oma stierf vlak daarna aan kanker. Veel te vroeg in 1958. Mijn eigen moeder stierf op 55-jarige leeftijd




For all the 411 on EVERYTHING going on in and turn to the LEADERS Lockedin Magazine is your ONE SOURCE for EVERYTHING coming up! Stay with photographers are ready to make ?




Delighted to take my wee girl to the game tonight! She enjoyed it, but was a bit tired and bored (no wunner). Maybe wait a wee while til I take her again. Thanks to the staff at Ibrox for letting me take a pic of her at the front door 👍




Planning our days and we’ve got some crackers!! Giving the children a chance to have a day of fun and laughter that will hopefully stay with them for a lifetime.




I think about this moment often, Jason Lauren and I playing Tuskegee Airmen in a play with while in college. 



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you

save the last breath for me
let me take it away
one last time
let me down (gently)
watching the sunset, thinking of Then
it’s mostly abstract
and mostly about you

Those We Leave Behind

In Memoriam Elaine Maclean Miller (1952-2013)


Her knock on the door was always prompt,

her uniform spotless despite the

poverty of her house.

We held hands in those days when

five-year-olds took themselves to school,

me in charge, one month older.

Same family, different circumstances:

me urgently peering over the parapet,

seeking a way out of the North End;

her, kind, sweet-hearted but

unconcerned by horizons, staying within

walking distance of home.


Our side of the family live long:

hers die young, as did she,

bleeding out into soft furnishings,

her roots in the coffins of her kin,

mine waving about madly,

feelers in other air.

A phantom kiss on my lips

The sweet memory of what never came to be

The whispers of moments long gone

Echoing in the deepest corners of my mind

A gentle touch hidden from eyes that knew too much

That hurt too much

That took too much

One last hug that meant nothing

Yet everything

The undetermined wait

Teasing its eternity

It seats between my stomach and my heart

Weighting everything down

Refusing to leave its refuge

Threatening to take my soul to its very core…

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Surgical glove competency!!!

The solution I’m playing in is strawberry jello and a salt like substance we use to clean up spills. We were tested on being able to put on sterile surgical gloves without touching non sterile parts of us and than we played in the solution and than were tested on being able to take the gloves off without getting any of the solution in us or our surroundings. It was so much fun!!!

Memories of us

The memories of us threaten to drown me.

All I can think about is you,

About us,

About how we fit.

Remember,

Sticking glow-in-the-dark stars to my ceiling.

Straining to reach the far off places,

Stars gleaming in the dark,

And arms tangled together.

Remember,

The fair lights blinking around us.

Not once,

But twice,

In two different places.

Fingers hooked together,

Never straying from each other,

Stealing kisses as we brushed the sky.

Remember,

That day on the beach.

It will remain in my memory,

Even if we grow cold.

Windows rolled down and breeze warm,

Hands drifted the entire ride there,

And the ride back.

The waves seemed to come just for us,

As we cuddles on the warm sand,

Happy and content to just be together.

Remember,

All of our walks.

How many did we take together?

Countless.

Countless.

I remember one where,

we took the long way home.

Hands tangled together for the first time,

As we wandered from,

Streetlight to streetlight.

The sky star splatter above us.

Remember,

How we made love.

Interlocking limbs and shared breaths.

Our hips nestled together ever so sweetly.

It was only you and me;

No obligations.

No expectations.

You and me.

That’s all we needed,

All I needed.

But now they’re just memories,

While I ache for,

Your heartbeat beating in time with mine.

While I ache for,

Your breath falling in time with mine.

While I ache for,

Your skin against mine.

While I ache for,

Your soul to entwine with mine.

The place by my side is empty now,

And I drown in the memories of us,

Utterly alone.

~~wavewillow123

Our Once-in-a-Lifetime Trip to Rome
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So they tell me I, that in October of 2017, I took a trip to Italy. Supposedly, I spent days in Rome, visited the Colosseum, toured the Vatican, and did a fair bit of shopping. 

The thing is, I barely remember it. What I remember is being nearly bed-ridden. In the basket of western civilization, I was delirious. 

You can see it from my pictures. Very little is in focus. It’s even more poorly framed. But, I was there. 

And although I wasn’t able to eat much, and missed much of the nuance of the city, there are a handful of things I still remember.

1. On our first night in the city, we stumbled the side street of Rome until we came across the Pantheon. Needing dinner, we sat down at a street side table in a trattoria and discovered Italy’s greatest gift - spaghetti aglio e olio.

2. The outside of the Colosseum is awesome. The inside is just drab and brown. Everything around it, however is marvelous. 

3. You can’t go thirty feet in Rome without walking into the most beautiful church you’ve ever seen. Most of these are tucked quietly away among stores and restaurants like one of those great ethnic restaurants in an American strip mall.

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4. The best thing we did (and maybe I think this because it’s the only thing I remember) was the catacombs tour. We saw the tombs of early Christians, saw 300 years of history built on top of itself as we walked down a stair case, and saw alters made of monk’s bones. Also we learned that a cappuccino is named after the Capuchin monks because they all wear those brown robes and have white hair.

5. I could sit and watch the Trevi Fountain forever.

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6. Sorrento is known for two things: Limoncello and hand-carved wooden inlay. Both are worth the price of admission. We drank plenty of limoncello and I brought a blue wooden box back with me. 

7. Mostly it’s fine to step into any random church you pass in Italy. Mostly, they were empty buildings with a person or two praying. This isn’t always the case though. One time we walked into an avant garde photography exhibit. And then there was the time we walked into a funeral in Capri.

8. In Sorrento they have statues of fat little samurai everywhere. 

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9. On our last night in Sorrento, we went to a small fish ristorante. The food was fine, but we happened to be there with a massive wedding party. We went from a quiet dinner to a full blown sing-along with the owners in minutes (also I’m sure this is a nightly occurrence).

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(That’s the view from our hotel room in Sorrento)

“Generally people’s memories are precious to them. It is no accident that they are coloured by poetry. The most beautiful memories are those of childhood. Of course memory has to be worked upon before it can become the basis of an artistic reconstruction of the past; and here it is important not to lose the particular emotional atmosphere without which a memory evoked in every detail merely gives rise to a bitter feeling of disappointment. There’s an enormous difference, after all, between the way you remember the house in which you were born and which you haven’t seen for years, and the actual sight of the house after a prolonged absence. Usually the poetry of the memory is destroyed by confrontation with its origin.”

- Tarkovsky on memories and Mirror (Sculpting in Time)

Grace woke with a start, the haunting images from her nightmare lingering in her mind. She breathed heavily trying to remain calm.

It’s okay, it wasn’t real this time. You’re safe. You made it.

She tried to reassure herself. Unconsciously she rubbed at the scarred flesh of her left palm. Something Grace was prone to do these days when she needed to ground herself. The painful, visceral proof she’d survived the worst. Hero wiggled his way out of the covers, disturbing Lynx from her slumber. She gave an irritated twitch of her tail and moved herself to Grace’s pillows.

Hero jumped into Grace’s lap and put his paws on her chest, licking her face. Grace smiled and scratched his neck.

“It’s okay Hero, no bad guys here. Just bad dreams.”

Even though she spoke the words, Grace still felt a frightened chill run down her spine. She removed herself from the tangle of sheets. Deciding she needed some more grounding she climbed down the narrow steps in her home and shuffled to the back door. Hero trailed after Grace, leaping excitedly out the door as she opened it. She laughed, leaning against the door jamb to pull off her socks.

Grace stepped out into the dewy grass, digging her toes into the blades down to the loamy earth below. She breathed deeply, the crisp morning air clearing the rest of the cobwebs from her mind. Following after Hero Grace walked through the field surrounding her place. At least her fucker of an ex’s fortune could benefit her with this beautiful lot for her to start her new life. Hero found a patch of dirt and snuffled around in it. Grace grinned, following his path and tracing her toes into the soil. She already felt blahally better.

She turned back to her tiny house and admired it. Today, Grace would head into town and gather supplies to create a garden oasis.

I just remembered that time when I was a kid and my sister was sick and I said I felt sick too, but my parents didn’t believe me and thought I just wanted attention but eventually I threw up and had a fever so I was sick. or that time I fell from the stairs and they thought my pain was probably not that bad, but when I went to school they sent me to the hospital because my arm was broken. Great memories of invalidation.

I thought our love was stronger

And sometimes I wonder if you’ve ever known that you were my everything, that I loved you with my whole body, my heart and my soul. Sometimes, I ask myself if you ever saw my eyes when I talked about you, when I thought about you, when I looked at you. I ask myself if you ever saw the way my eyes lightened up. And finally, I wonder if you now know that I really did anything I could to help you, to make you happy, to be what you expected me to be. To have you looking at me as if you were still in love with me.


- E.

i wish i could find more angels who remembered being on earth.

i’ve met many lovely incarnate angels, but all of them lived in heaven. i was stationed on earth, so they don’t remember me. it’s difficult to find anybody who has memories of being with me, honestly.

but there are angels i remember. angels that i know are out there somewhere. i may not have known many of my siblings who dwelled in heaven, but my fellow earth angels will know me. i’m sure of it.

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