Notes From Home Plate

Photographing Munchkins and Travel Plans

Published on by Lisa

Nick and I are back under the same roof, thank the good Lord.

Last week he left for El Salvador for a five day trip and I headed to Cincinnati for a wedding reception. I stayed with old friends, Julie and Pat (aka Goatee) Ryan with their too cute progeny, Nathan, (aka Sideshow). The Ryans live in lovely house in Loveland and I had shuttled myself between Loveland and downtown Cincy with trusted traveling icon, Moses (our GPS). It was a a terrific weekend.

One of my biggest fears of photography is photographing children. Wait, I should more accurately write, one of my biggest fears is photographing children with hyperphoto parents. In my quest to single-handedly bring down the portrait department of Walmart, I have begun studying the technique of photographing children. There’s not much that can be done in terms of lighting, grips, lens, and aperture when children are just scared of this gigantic black device with a huge glass eye staring them down in the face, all the while you have stuffed animals flying behind them and high pitched voices asking them to smile. If I were a toddler, I’d start crying too.

But, I had the challenge to try and photograph Nathan, aka Sideshow, who is one of the cutest babies around and he’s a completely adorable ball of fun. And then yesterday, I went to my first pumpkin patch with my niece nephews. It was another portrait session with Halloween and fall colors as the background. In both cases, it’s hard to keep kids interested. Thankfully Goatee and Julie and my brother and sister-in-law are NOT the overeager, piggybacking the photographer kinds of parents.

In other news, Nick returned Sunday night from Latin America with a renewed spirit and commitment to social justice. We fell asleep that night, he – exhausted from travels and El Salvador, me – exhausted from driving and Cincinnati, mumbling about our plans to live a more intentional life so we can give more to those who are in true need around the world.

Our travel plans continue: this Thursday we leave for my cousin’s wedding in New York City. We’ll be driving with my sister and her boyfriend for one of those three day fancy schmancy weddings which we love to attend as guests. It’ll be a nice Factora family reunion with lots of folks coming in from all over the country to party it up at Cipriano’s.

While I continue to send pitches to magazines and reputable presses, i’ve also received a few inquiries into my photography services. YES! Continue to spread the word: I will travel whenever, whereever, and will be an awesome smiling photographer on your special day. In the meantime, more resumes are flying around like the dried out autumn leaves. Nick actually asked if I would be interested in working at a bank while something more permanent rolls around.

A bank?

Like, working with numbers?

The only award I ever received that included numbers was in the 4th grade playing travel when we had to memorize long division drills.

I don’t think banking is for me. Just sayin’.

TO SEE SOME PICTURES OF FOUR SERIOUSLY ADORABLE CHILDREN, CLICK HERE.

Does NO ONE need a therapist anymore?

Published on by Lisa

Or a photographer? Or freelance writer?

Those are the three avenues of job hunting that I’ve been doing.

If you’re new to the Ratcho’s life you need to understand something kind of obvious: I’m a writer determined to have my way with the world.

Now that we’re all on the same page, you can understand that writing, unfortunately, does not come with any guarantees. It has the stability of, say, a 10 year old boy surfing out on Australian coastlines. It’s volatile, my friends. (No McCain pun intended there at all.) And so, that means I must find a way of finding a sustainable income. First there’s the practical part of me: the part that is a-d-d-i-c-t-e-d to all things academic and mental stimulation and books and theory and debating and learning. That’s the part of me that loves to counsel, fight for women’s interest issues, and psychology. The downside is that NO ONE IS HIRING BECAUSE OF THE LOUSY ECONOMY. Now, if I had fulfilled my mother’s wishes and my father’s demands to go into healthcare (Dad: Medicine is the ONLY noble profession. Or law, that’s ok too.”) (Mom: “Why not nursing? You’ll always have a job! You can do anything!”), I would be set here in Cleveland, home to approximately 298716 hospitals and medical centers. With Cleveland Clinic so close and Case Western around the corner, medprofessionals are cruisin’ the good life here in Brownsfanville.

Then there’s photography. Ahh, my third love (Nick #1, Writing #2)…photography is this artistic release for me. It’s the one thing that I seriously feel I could do all day and feel like I have not worked at all. It’s simply a joy to look through a lens and calculate white balance, lighting, exposure, ISO, and all these other acronyms that I have no idea of what their function is (but I sound smart so I use them like I know what I’m talking about). I started shooting photography the moment I could afford a camera. If you didn’t know this about art (especially photography and painting – my other obsession) they require quite the pretty penny; something without a steady income makes the starving artist/starving wife not very happy.

So, I’ve been doing a few weddings here and there just for fun and then Nick started getting on my case, “Why don’t you just do this as a side business?”

My standard reply, “Once I start doing it for money, the fun leaves. That means I’m responsible for someone’s wedding photos and I don’t want to be the photographer that forgot to turn something on and -oops- I missed the bride coming down the aisle.”

One thing you have to understand about wedding photography is that it’s just like trying to find a home – there are mansions, impressive houses, condos, and apartments – lots of variety and it’s all about fit. Some are definitely better than others and everyone has a price and quality they aim for (both customer and photographer). My pitch isn’t for the population that can spend thousands upon thousands of bucks on photos. I want clients who want good photos that capture a story and who can’t afford a great photographer. For folks struggling to make a wedding happen or just have a memory preserved, I want to be able to provide that for folks who may not otherwise be able to afford it. So, yeah, I’ve got a price, but I’m working on a sliding scale. As Nick loves to gloat, “You’re not only awesome, but cheap, too! You’ll be a hit!” I’m not looking for the mansion clients, just good people.

So after about, oh 3.5 years of shooting weddings for fun, I finally broke down and announced that I’m available for hire. Yep, I teamed up with a web designer to create: Lisa Factora-Borchers Photography

Preserving your memories since 2008!

Just kidding, that’s TOTALLY not my tagline.

If you’re interested and know of anyone needing portraits or a wedding photographer – go to my website:
lisafbphotography.com and you’ll see my current work in progress.

My New OB/GYN is, I swear, Mrs. Potts

Published on by Lisa

My new gynie is the human personification (her smile is DEAD ON) of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast. So, cheers to this fantabulous womyn who has set the standard for what healthcare providers should be: kind, sharp-minded, thorough, patient, and professional.

Fork in my Life

Published on by Lisa

The first blog I ever read was Brownfemipower.com.  I found it when I began searching for “women of color feminism.”  Since then, I’m thousands of posts in, and I still wonder what the “meaning” of my blog is.  Whether it’s been to inform, vent, or share my life – it’s always been a reflection of what is going on in my mind and heart.  

And so, with this blog, I am beginning new phase in my life and my blog shall be heir to a decision I made to bring new life into the world.
I’m not pregnant, far from it.  48 hours ago, I attended my first appointment with an ob/gyn in Cleveland, my home now for the past 6 weeks, and uttered the words aloud for the first time: I want to have a baby.
I was alone, intentionally.  In this woman’s office, looking deep into her dark blue eyes and she smiled right back at me.  There was an enormous glass window to my left and a windowfull of sunshine poured on my skin as I said it aloud.  I felt amazing, beautiful even.
My reproductive system has always been tumultuous.  An early onset of my period, extremely irregular cycles, and a ovarian tumor and partial ovarian removal surgery at age 20 has decorated my life with frequent visits, medication, pain, and wondering.
I want to a child.  
Adonis and I have been talking about this for awhile and while millions of womyn become pregnant all the time, I can honestly say that it feels like you’re the only one who’s ever been done this road before.  It feels like I’ve had a shot of hypervigilant meds that cause me to worry over my body and become acutely aware of ever pain, however slight.
I’ve heard women, who are in a position of privilege to choose pregnancy, say that there is a line that you cross when you become pregnant.  I disagree.  For me, the line was crossed once I decided that I wanted to have a child and was going to do whatever I could, within reason, to go through a pregnancy.  No exaggeration, I felt different when I said those words aloud.  
I want to have a baby.
It’s funny how I was and am one decision  away from keeping my life the exact same: happy, childless, filled with open moments and a carefree schedule.  Or, I can begin this journey of medical intervention, appointments, evaluations, analysis, research, learning, health, and the emotional rollercoaster involved with healthcare, insurance, fertility, and diagnosis.
I don’t know much more than the average women, average feminist.  I know that prior to Monday I felt the same as I always had for the past 29 years, but then, once I sat in that bright doctor’s office, having a consultation, something changed.
When I left, I cried in my car.  I don’t know why.  The samples of blood, the possibilities both good and bad, the miracle, the chances this may not work, the medicines, THE HORMONES.  It all just coated my body and the steering wheel was the shoulder I had.
Today I went back to the hospital for more tests.  Another ultrasound and a transvaginal test.  A trans-what?  I asked.  As if holding in 32oz of water in your bladder while someone rolls a wet mouse-like contraption over your lower abdomen is not enough, this transvaginal exam (conducted AFTER I got to pee, thank the Lord) was basically inserting an instrument the length of a pen and the width of a medium carrot into your special spot and pressing it in various places for 18 minutes.  (There was an enormous clock, so, yes, I literally watched the minutes go by.)  All the while someone asking you gently, “Any pain here?  Here?  How ’bout here?”  I don’t know, how painful do you think it is to have a e-carrot exploring your reproductive organs all in the name of a hopeful pregnancy?
I left in a trance.
I parked my car in a shopping complex and wandered from store to store, staring past everything and wondering what in the world I was doing.  I came back to life when I realized I had stopped in the cheese section of Whole Foods, where I cannot afford to shop, and was munching on sample cheese with sample crackers with sample pineapple and sample guacamole like I was at Old Country Buffet.  The produce worker was staring at my disheveled state.  
I grabbed an organic spaghetti squash and pretended I was going to buy it to normalize my appearance.
Is this normal?  Wandering around Cleveland in shock after having your whoo-ha examined for 45 minutes and you end up stealing sample munchies from Whole Foods?
Well, for me, it’s normal.
I just had my 1999 surgical notes and pathology report sent to my current doctor, who is, by the way, a human Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast.
Test results back in a few days.

Taking the Good and the Bad: A Poetic Update

Published on by Lisa

With gaining a brother (in-law), you lose a sister to Knoxville
A brand new front loading washing machine, a leaky valve
Fresh black tires for the Corolla means a new rustling noise for Bill to diagnose
A gorgeous wedding in Long Beach Island, New Jersey lends itself to overeating in a major, major way

Hitting Philadelphia traffic is nauseating, but we were able to visit the Rocky statue (aka the most important monument in my life)
October Fall means trying to understand how to turn on a furnace for the first time
Nick leaving for El Salvador in 36 hours means begging my sister to move in for a few days
An impending fun Cincinnati trip this weekend means more traveling in the car
Wonderful opportunities to write means harsh editors and quick deadlines

Sending out resumes for awesome jobs means email rejections from time to time
Having so many terrific friends who choose the same Saturday wedding date means horrendous choosing for us (our 100th apology and love to Meg & Dave, Cara & Drew, and Kerri & Chris)

SIGH
[end of poem]

On deck: trip to Cincy for me, trip to El Salvador for Nick (5 days)
And then: NYC wedding for my cousin
And then: OSU vs. PENN State game for me, Nick sweating somewhere else in Columbus area

Putting the "Big" in Big Fun: Part II

Published on by Lisa

After we completed as many tasks as we could, Keith arrived.

Perfect timing. He was all smiles.

By Thursday evening, everyone was tired, but every 59 minutes someone would say, “Thank God the hall is done.” That would followed by a chorus of, “yeahhh….TOTALLY…”

We watched a little sneak peak of the slideshow because Kay “does not want any surprises,” and I agreed. It’s better to get the crying out now, I thought.

Of course there were tears and it was the first time I managed to stay dry eyed throughout it. I love watching people’s reactions when they see funny or moving pictures set to music. It’s almost like you can see their memories popping up in their heads.

FRIDAY
We woke up early and immediately went separate ways. Ron went on errands. Kelly went to go get her manicure and pedicure. The boys went golfing. Kay and I went to go get the dress. Ben Norris’ wife and daughter, Bhumika (pronounced: Boom-ick- cah) (nickname is Bhum- prounounced “Boom”) and Lilly were at the house while everyone disappeared to get the last minute things finished. When we picked up the dress and dropped it off at Kay’s parents house, we hung it up and fluffed it out. It looked majestic. I didn’t know if Paul would leak out a tear or two, but all seemed dry when we were on our way out.

“We better get going,” Kay said to her parents after we were done hanging the dress.

“Yup,” Rose would agree.

I started inching near the door thinking that was our cue to leave.

“Bhum and Lilly are at the house waiting there. We might go back there and take them to the hall.”

“Oh, okay!” Rose said.

Paul was confused, “Who’s BLOOMING LILY?”

I nearly fell over laughing so hard.

“No,” Kay said, “Bhum – short for Bhumika – and her daughter Lilly. Not ‘Blooming Lily!'”

We made it back to the house and began to get ready for the rehearsal and dinner.

The closed and ripped up roads provided a bit of struggle, but eventually everyone arrived at the rehearsal. It was a great time, including when Tim had to pull out his cell phone to practice his vows. Apparently, Kelly texted what he was supposed to say and it was held in the cell. Always a good resource, that cell phone.

Fireside, an old winery, was the perfect backdrop for the rehearsal dinner. Rog Borchers and Don Cordonnier were the trusty bartenders that night and were quite generous with the Crown, I must add. It was a great evening, but the highlight was the “siblings’ speeches” that took place after dinner.

Nick, Keith, and Jay were all giving individual speeches and toasts for Kelly, a moving gesture I thought. Once I heard the plan I thought, “Oh, this’ll be a ride on Disaster Transport. They’re going to be bawling their eyes out.”

Before rehearsal, Keith asked me to hear him out and I did. Twice. In the garage and then Kelly’s empty room. It was good. Poor guy, I thought, he’s going to bawl like a baby.

Then at the church, Jay asked me to read over his speech, handwritten in green notebook. Poor guy, I thought, he’s going to cry himself to sleep tonight.

Nick jailed himself in the basement refusing any help or rehearsal with his speech.

So, the three musketeers marched up to the front of Fireside and stood shoulder to shoulder to deliver their toasts to their one and only sister, Kelly. I had Ron’s video camera and thought it’s be fun to get it all on tape.

First up: Keith. Funny, moving, delivered well. Choked up midway. Glanced at Kelly – bawling her eyes out.
Second: Jay. Bawling throughout. Miracle all the words came out. Glance at the audience. 65% crying. Kelly – still crying.
Third: Nick. Walks from side to side, dry eyed. Calm and sincere. I hear a whisper, “He talks like a pastor!” Glance at Kelly – tears are under normal control. Glance at self, train wreck. I’m bawling like a big fat baby and can’t stop. Why do I have the camera? Whatta horrible idea.

We get through rehearsal and decide to end it around 11pm-ish.

I spot Tim and Kelly alone outside and hear her say good-bye to him. In reply, Tim says, “Next time I see you, you’ll be walking down the aisle in your wedding dress.” Another hug.

I look at Nick and start crying again. That’s what you get for eavesdropping.