(that’s where I’ve gone.)

I will miss this little town.  But it’s cool, because my friends have agreed to not have any fun while I’m gone.  There will be no swimming at the swim hole, no frog-catching playdate-picnics at the park, no collective wine and/or coffee drinking… no fun.  What kind friends.

This sweet little smile, the pinching of skin at the sides of her eyes, the dimples below the corners of her lips.  That smile that is all mischief, the one that is pure joy, the one that is Ican’tcontrolmyselfgigglingbellylaughter.  The feel of her soft, curly, crazy hair.  The sound of her voice, babbling nonsense and forming new words. 

The knuckle bump.

The knuckle bump!

Her boodie-shaking, head-bobbing, arm-flailing, body-leaning, shoulder-bouncing dance style.  Her sweet, sweet singing voice.

I won’t forget any of this, will I?  How soft this forearm?  The exact curve of this cheek?  This precise intonation of the word she uses for “bird?”  Just how soft and snuggly?  I’ll remember every little detail, right?

Oh, please don’t answer that.  I already know.

Summer in our neighborhood means that there is never a shortage of playmates.  This group truly astounds me with their ability to play all day long with each other.  They even happily include Shortcake (who adores every one of them).  This photo was taken at the door of a fort made with lawn chairs, a toddler slide, sheets, and towels.  Seven kids were inside, sharing a communal lunch of fresh strawberries, cheddar cheese, crackers, and juice–arranged entirely by the kids.

This day, they were playing some crazy imaginative game, during the course of which I heard these snippets:

“OK, your brain surgery is now finished!  Let’s get out of here!  Quick!”

“…pretend you didn’t know I was an archaeologist.  You know now, but I told you I was just a scientist.  And you’re beginning to ask questions…”

“Oh no!  Something happened!  Dr. C!  Do you know who this is?  Do you know who I am?  (gasp)  He doesn’t know who we are!  Stay here, I need to go check out this alien!”

The entertainment is well worth the 100 popsicles a day.*

*mild exaggeration.  It’s more like 50.

http://whoopsiepoopsie.wordpress.com/

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.  (Henry David Thoreau)

I don’t know how I  feel about this quote, which I’ve only just discovered originated from Thoreau.  I’ve always thought it had to do with marching to the beat of your own drum, and I kind of like my version better, though it is less poetic.  I can make peace with it for the sake of Thoreau, however, by considering that “different drummer” to be the Muse, or that Divine Spark of creative inspiration.  I think my friend Henry David would be OK with that.

If… he weren’t dead. And… if he actually gave a sh*t what Terri Fischer had to say about it.

yeah, i said it again.  what.  blog-o-floor.

blog-o-floor.  hmph.

…then I will try to explain it all–where I am right now, what this photography upheaval means, the direction I’m headed, the cure for cancer, the key to happiness, the meaning of life.

Look at this kid.  How cute is this kid!?!?  Last night he gave himself a nawsty little road rash to the face.  To be sure, it is only the first of many (nawsty little road rash incidents).

You totally just kissed your screen, didn’t you?

Alakazam.

I feel like the magician standing on stage with the bird still in his hankerchief.

I said…  ABRACADABRA!

Go!  Fly!  Be free!  Disappear!

I’ve done what I thought I was supposed to do, and yet, here it is, my website, still here.  I have reinventing to do!  Go!  Shoo!  And then come right back.  OK?  (I’m talking to the website, here.  Not to you.  And not to myself.)

I think I forgot the pixie dust.

 I’m movin’ on up!

(Movin’ on up!)

Or, more accurately, I’m movin’ on down.  Sorta.  Maybe it’s more like sideways or diagonal or into the 11th dimension.  I am not movin’ to the East Side, nor am I movin’ to a deee-luxe apartment in the sky.

Either way, things (woah-ho-ho!), they are a-changin’.  I will introduce you to some of the craziness dancing around in my head and my heart and my soul and my shutter-release finger soon.

(woah-ho-ho!)

But I did want to let you know that my photography website will soon be non-existent.  The blog is staying–actually the blog will be it.  The place.  The thing.  The  blog.

In the process, I might disappear for a while.  No, not me.  The blog.  But  sit tight, and we (me and the blog) will BRB.  I’m not positive, but the “glimpse” preface might be dropped, too… so www.terrifischer.com will bring you right to the blog.

It is 2009.  You do know what “brb” means, right?

-Bellow, Saul

Today, for various reasons (including, but not limited to: lack of sleep, rain, cold weather, and greasy hair), I am choosing to remain holed up here in my hermitage.  Except it’s not a hermitage because it includes a certain 18-month-old and a certain 4-year-old.  And hermits live alone.

Sigh.  To be alone.

So, I am we are here at home today, fulfilling that stay-at-home stereotype.  Except we haven’t actually been home the entire time.  And we’ve only actually been inside for an hour and a half.  And…

Do you know what?  I’m just going to stop now, since it appears I cannot manage a coherent thought without contradicting it.  I really meant to post something about stillness, inner peace, creative reception.  I was going to tell you about the moments of quiet connection that my children and I have shared, and about the inspiration I have passively obtained. 

But all I’ve done is introduced you to my split personality disorder.  Which is fun, too.