I completed Janine and Thomas’ session photos and topped it off with this special layout for Nate’s nursery. Can’t wait to see it hung up.
So while I was traveling this week, I tried to multi-task and use my time wisely by editing photos while waiting in airports for my connecting flights.
Here’s the Lehman Boys’ Cross Country Team Poster for 2009.
Finished a custom engagement album for George & Jessica, the super fun couple that we did an engagement session for recently.
Check it out!
We are patiently waiting on the arrival of Baby Nathanial. Janine was Morgan’s kindergarten teacher and thus began a connection brought to us as a gift from God. That introduced us to Generations Church and then Kristin and Geoff. Friday evening we had a double header photo shoot with Baby Allison and then Janine and Thomas.
This is just a sneek peak…enjoy!
Kristin told me that when Geoff proposed to her years ago he presented her engagement ring inside of a mini-pumpkin. So we thought it appropriate to get a picture of their most precious gift, Allison Kate, inside of a pumpkin. She went to the pumpkin patch and picked out the perfect pumpkin, carved it out and we met Friday evening at the pumpkin patch. Allison Kate didn’t like it very much, but we got our picture.
It won’t take you long to fall in love with this adorable baby girl! She is absolutely precious and a joy to photograph. Here is a sneak peek. I have one more batch of mother & daughter shots in the nursery I’ll post soon.
Thank you to Geoff and Kristin for giving me the honor.
So there was a post here of pictures from the 100th Anniversary Gathering of the American Clan Gregor Society. Mail On Sunday chose one of the pictures to use in Fiona Armstrong’s story which ran in the October 24th, 2009 edition. It was most thrilling to see one of my pictures. Here is the story and a link to the actual site.
Life in the tartan army: We Armstrongs could start a fight in a phonebox…but not with MacGregor of MacGregor
By Fiona Armstrong
Last updated at 10:16 PM on 24th October 2009
Broadcaster Fiona Armstrong may be best known as a newsreader for ITN and GMTV, but since marrying Sir Malcolm MacGregor of MacGregor, 24th chief of the famous Clan Gregor, her life has become consumed by the skirl of the pipes, the blood-soaked history of the Scots and the intricate steps of Highland dancing.
As Lady MacGregor of MacGregor, Fiona is in demand at Scottish events all round the world. She and Sir Malcolm have just returned from the centenary gathering of the American Clan Gregor Society in Charlottesville, Virginia. Here she writes about her tartan life…
The vast Martin Luther King Boulevard in the baking humidity of Chattanooga, Tennessee, was where it first hit me what it means to be married to a Clan Chief.
I was slowly marching – like any good wife – a step behind my husband, following the rather moth-holed pleats of the old kilt that his grandfather had worn. Before us was a band of pipers, behind us, an army of red, green and black tartan-clad supporters.
Our little band of Bravehearts was on a melting dual carriageway with a parking lot on one side and a shopping mall on the other.
It was a Saturday afternoon. To our left, cab drivers were leaning out of their windows honking their horns. To our right, shoppers in the mall laughed and clapped as this snapshot of ancient Scottish life passed by.
In my other world as a TV reporter, I might well have been on the sidelines filming this strange scene. Now I was on centre stage, slowly cooking in my hat and heavy tartan suit and rather envying the men, who at least had fresh air wafting up their kilts.
It was a definitive How Did I Get Here moment. Back home in Scotland, attitudes to the ancient clan system are mixed. To some, it is an intrinsic part of their heritage and identity. Others find the tartan and shortbread image rather ridiculous.But there is no doubt that those whose forebears left Celtic shores to make a new life in the New World love the whole piping, caber-tossing, Burns-reciting, haggis-hunting thing.
Yes, the Americans are big on Scotland. And just like the old days, there are thousands of clansmen and women who will follow – and even offer to die for – their chief.
America is a young country and membership of a Scottish clan offers an unbroken heritage stretching back a thousand years, a real link to the MacGregors’ battles with the Campbells, to Rob Roy and the Jacobite uprising.
Every year there are 400 Highland Games in the USA and Canada and for those in the Clan Gregor, my husband is the living, breathing embodiment of all that their Scottishness means to them.
Of course, I didn’t start out as a MacGregor and my interest in Scottish history and the ancient clans far predate my links to Clan Gregor. My own Clan, Armstrong, a lowland tribe from the border country, does not have a chief.
He was hanged by the English in 1611. I have pored long and hard over the history books in the hunt for a living descendant of the chiefly line, but no one has come forward to claim the title.
The Armstrongs were to the Scottish Borders what the troublesome MacGregors were to the Highlands – ‘unruly and very ill tae tame’ – is an old description. A more modern saying is that the Armstrongs could start a fight in a phone box.
That’s one reason I think that I’ve met the right man. We don’t fight (not yet anyway!) but our two clans have the same story.
Both were persecuted and eventually forced out of their country. We Armstrongs were shipped to Northern Ireland. I also think it is fitting that we met on the banks of a salmon river – though not by the Spey, Tweed or Tay, but in Alaska – where I was fishing for monster salmon and Malcolm, a landscape photographer with an international reputation, was working.
MacGregor the Younger, as he was when I met him, is a handsome, if at times eccentric man.
He frequently disappears into the desert or mountains, tells me that ammunition is not my concern, and always puts sherry in his soup. Irritating as these traits may be, they are not grounds for divorce.
When his father died in 2003, Malcolm became the 7th Baronet of Lanrick and Balquhidder and 24th Chief of Clan Gregor. The title of clan chief is more important, for it goes back centuries to the ancient Kings of Scotland.
The baronetcy came much later to an ancestor who devised an accounting system for the Indian army that saved the exchequer millions of pounds.
Given the history of Clan Gregor, whose members include the infamous Rob Roy MacGregor, it is a miracle that the chiefly line survived. Outlawed in 1603, members of the family had been forced to flee to the hills.
Their men folk were hunted down with bloodhounds and their women branded on the face with hot irons.
But survive it did, which is why I flew to Washington DC with my husband earlier this month to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the American Clan Gregor Society, one of the oldest of hundreds of clan societies in the USA.
The society was formed in Virginia in 1909 by a Dr Magruder. Don’t be confused: many MacGregors changed their names to escape persecution.
These offshoots – Gregg, White, Black, MacAlpine and, yes, MacGruders or Magruders – are known as ‘septs’.
In a black-and-white picture taken of the founders they all look very serious. It is interesting that there is very little tartan in evidence, just a small square on jackets.
Our 21st Century snaps with their seas of colour show an almost Hollywood vision of a Highland Gathering.
Remarkably it was my husband’s ancestor Sir Evan MacGregor of MacGregor who helped spread the craze for tartan.
The fabric had been banned after the Jacobite uprising of 1745, but when George IV came to Scotland in 1822 in full Highland dress, it suddenly became de rigeur.
During the visit, Sir Evan was asked to raise a party of men to escort the Crown Jewels up the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. He kitted out all the men with fancy kilts and silver dirks and in the process nearly bankrupted the family.
Centuries ago, the trade-off of belonging to the clan was that you fought for the chief and he saw you clothed and fed.
These days we can hardly run to keeping ourselves, never mind providing for the hundreds of thousands of MacGregors around the globe. But my husband takes his job seriously; his role is to be an authority on clan history and the wider Scottish story and an active figurehead for the name.
And in crossing the Atlantic, we were keeping up a family tradition. My husband’s parents were there in 1959 for the 50th anniversary. Mind you, times were different then.
My husband’s father waltzed through customs carrying a small armoury of ceremonial metalwork – highland broadswords and dirks – while his mother carried the family tiara wrapped in a brown paper bag to fool would-be thieves.
Nowadays even the skean dhu – a tiny dagger – is impossible to take through American customs. As for our passports, they really confuse the immigration officials. We get ‘MacGregor – Lady – now that’s a real nice name,’ or ‘Hey, Lord, my brother’s called Earl.’
This time my husband’s weaponry was strictly limited and confined to hold-baggage alongside the belts, buckles and brooches and an ancient sporran found on the field of Culloden.
Any smuggling was confined to three eagle feathers. A clan chief needs three eagle’s feathers for his bonnet and strictly speaking they violate international agreements on importing endangered species.
When we arrived at our destination – the delightful colonial town of Charlottesville – I wished I had brought the tiara. It would not have been out of place among 300 MacGregors in silk and satin tartan, their sashes carefully tied.
There were the odd exceptions; someone wore a ballgown with a pair of cowboy boots, for example. But the manners were impeccable.
I felt that I stepped back into the deep south and half expected the ladies to have to retire when the after-dinner whisky came round. The drams, by the way, were supplied courtesy of Clan MacGregor Scotch Whisky. The occasional case or two is another chiefly perk.
We stayed to watch the extraordinary sight of a ballroom full of men singing Sir Walter Scott’s MacGregor’s Gathering, a poem which tells of the nameless clan who will not be kept down – ‘While there’s leaves in the forest and foam on the river, MacGregor despite them shall flourish forever!’
At this point, with much hollering, the gentlemen stand on their chairs, put one foot on the table and brandish their weaponry. Many of those who join clan societies have been in the forces, and their chests are covered with medals. I wouldn’t be surprised if their sporrans contain small guns.
Dress is everything at these events. When MacGregor of MacGregor wore the red and black ‘Rob Roy’ tartan, so would I; ditto with the red and green.
In Scotland, no one bats an eyelid when they see a piece of tartan but the Americans are mad keen to touch it. I was told I am ‘just like’ Princess Diana (I wish).
My husband was informed that, after Prince Charles, he was the world’s best-dressed Highlander (he wishes that, too).
‘I love your kilt stockings. Where can I buy those?’ one admirer asked my husband. It was explained that these knee-high socks, in a chunky red and black diamond pattern, were 100 years old and irreplaceable, having being knitted by his great-grandmother.
‘Gee, that’s great – will she knit me some, too?’, came the answer. The bonnet was also noted.
‘God dammit, he’s got chicken feathers in his head,’ someone shouted. But anyone daring to ask MacGregor of MacGregor what he wears under his kilt will get short shrift.
There is, of course, a correct way to wear the kilt, but Americans pay scant attention. We saw them teamed with leather jackets and kiss-me-quick T-shirts, worn back to front and, shock horror, even ladies wearing them.
Of course these clan societies may not be the most accurate reflection of Scottish traditions, but they do spread the Scottish story and bring people together in fellowship.
What’s more, they do wonders for tourism and Americans will put their hands in their pockets to make sure the story continues.
It was an American MacDonald who funded the fabulous clan research centre on Skye and the American MacGregors who offer scholarships to needy students and donate tens of thousands of pounds to help preserve the ancient clan burial stones at Dalmally in Argyll.
Though I asked myself, in Chattanooga, what on earth I was doing there, I know the answer. We may be separated by thousands of miles, but we are linked by shared history. As one American MacGregor told me: ‘How do you know where you are going if you don’t know where you come from?’
Emily informed me last night, as she often does, that SHE has decided to run for student council vice president along with her best friend August who is running for president. Of course she assures me this won’t be too much on her plate and no skin off my nose, right? Right! Then she requests that I print out pictures of her and August so they can make posters. Ugggggg! I’d rather do them myself and avoid the mess and headache. Plus it’s cheaper in the long run. Exactly. So here are the three designs I put together and sent to print. Way too cute, I thought???
Saturday we had the honor of photographing the sweetest couple, Bobby and Sarah. Sarah grew up in the picturesque Hill Country town of Wimberley. Famous for its shady pools beneath towering cypress trees, and cascades on the Blanco River and sparkling Cypress Creek, it is here that you can see the beautiful Texas Hill Country and enjoy recreational communities, bed and breakfasts, vacation resorts and youth camps. What a beautiful backdrop for our session. Here is just a sneak peek at some of our favorites.
This past weekend our new living room furniture arrived. Well most of it anyway. John’s chair-and-half with matching ottoman will be in at the end of the month. But the sofa and loveseat arrived. It’s amazing how the family room completely changed with the new colors. It’s been more than 7 years since we bought our previous furniture and I was tired of the color scheme.
We spent several months hunting far and wide for just the right look, fabric, size etc. When I found this one the only thing I wasn’t crazy about were the contrast pillow fabrics and the amount of pillows. But that is easily changed by recovering the pillows in the fabrics of my choice and moving some of the excess pillows to the box window in the kitchen.
I was even more thrilled to see how the colors were further complimented by the Fall decorations I brought out. Next project are the curtains. I have a roll of fabric matching one of the pillows to work on soon.
