Yes Doctor?


Hawks Pride

Growing up, Dad and I would always make it to a few Blackhawks games a year, but as the years passed and tickets got more and more expensive, we went to less and less games. All I can remember from the last game we went to is gorging on Connie's Pizza and nearly losing it all as we were screaming in the closing seconds of the game. Fond memories....

When I came across tickets from a co-worker a few weeks ago I knew it was that time again. They were in the third balcony, seats 7 and 8 but I didn't care we were going to a Blackhawks game.

So there we where, standing on the edge of the balcony watching as players whizzed below us. My childhood heroes, all long gone of course, replaced by players barely as old as I.
We took our seats as the anthem rang through the rafters. The puck hit the ice and I looked over at Dad who was on the edge of his seat clapping and cheering as he so often does in his black leather arm chair.
Many a time has he relayed the story of staying up all night as a kid listening to the Hawks on an AM radio under the safety of a bed sheet. I can't help but imagine that kid sitting right next to me; if he would have guessed this is where he would be so many years later, a successful business owner with his son, a day before his 24th birthday, cheering as if they were the only ones there. Riding high with every goal and shouting what the call "should" have been because we obviously saw it better from the third balcony than the referee who was on the ice.
I never knew that kid under the bed sheet, just the man I grew up calling Dad, but I know tonight, as candle number 24 is blown out, I will come one step closer to understanding the kid under the sheet that was sitting in seat 8.

Go Hawks




Less the ryhme or reason

Still in clean up mode getting all the photos up from last year, so this is just a jumble for your jubilation.


Connect Two: Hugs.


Connect Four...



A toast...

...to photos that never made print. May they still be enjoyed by someone.


Grain fed



When Donna Dwyer lost her son in a drunk driving accident she lost a big part of who she was. The day I met Donna was at her work, which is the funeral home where her son had his wake. "Most people don't get it," Donna told me when I asked her how it felt to work there. "They never will. It is just my way of coping with the sadness."


The writings on the wall



Since the holiday season is officially over now refrigerators and freezers around the country are bursting with holiday leftovers as is my to be blogged folder. In an effort to start fresh this new year the next few posts will be a smorgasbord of leftover treats and tidbits from 2010. Enjoy the second helpings and please, come back for more when your finished.


Flying high

I forgot about this one as I went back through my take following the Solgos family.
Carter got sick of waiting for his new sister to get of the elevator, so he made like an airplane and flew through the walkway inside O'hare Airport.



We had a fresh layer of ice coating the Fox Valley a few days ago, so I spent some time practicing my fine art and stock photography skills.