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“Yet you sound like you’ve been asked to photograph death row inmates,” she offered with her usual sarcasm and a hint of confusion.
I sighed, because Pippa was a successful restaurant manager several times over, so obviously she didn’t get it. She’d been working and making her mark on the world for decades while I was just getting started.
“Death row inmates would be more interesting to photograph.” I sighed, unsure how to explain it without sounding like a whiny little brat. “I just want to be inspired Pip. I don’t need to work just for the sake of having a job and bringing home a paycheck, I want to be inspired by my work. I want to feel passion or what I do.”
“All right, what would you like to do?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s the question isn’t it?”
“A pretty important one, I’d say.” Pippa flashed a toothy grin and picked up another cookie. “So let’s hear it. I know you’ve got a picture in your mind of how your photo studio should look. Tell me.”
“I don’t mind subsidizing my passion with studio photos for the high school, baby’s first pictures and all that. It’s a great way to keep my skills sharp, and keep me operating in the black.”
“But?” She rolled her wrist in the universal sign for get on with it, sister.
“But I’d love to do boudoir photos, maybe even head shots for the wannabe musicians flooding the area. I want to sell photographs of the beautiful Tennessee landscape.” It had always been my dream to travel the world with my camera, capturing images of foreign people, unique landscapes and different cultures. But an early marriage and a decade of miscarriages had shifted my priorities. Instead of being a divorcee starting over, I was a widow who finally got to pursue her dreams. “Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does, and I think you should do that. When you have time, head out to the mountains and snap some photos. Show the wildflowers as they start to bloom and sell them, inside the studio and online. Keep going from there.”
“It sounds so simple when you say it.”
Pippa laughed. “That’s because it’s easy for me to say, but it’s not easy to do. Pursuing a goal or a passion never is. It’s going to take work Val, but I know you’ve never shied away from hard work.”
“True.” But Pippa made a good point, I should just do it. Grab my gear and take photos of something, anything that captured my attention. “Thanks Pip.”
“You’re welcome. Now help me up so I can creep on your hot young neighbor.”
With a laugh I asked, “Gearing up to become a dirty old lady?” I gripped her forearms and Pippa gripped mine back and we worked together to get her to her feet.
“Damn right I am.” She rubbed her growing belly and nodded towards the front bay window just as the doorbell rang. Pippa’s blue eyes rounded in shock. “Maybe he’s shirtless and sweaty and in need of some ice cold lemonade?”
I rolled my eyes and beat her to the front door where I hesitated for just a moment before opening the door. “Ryan, hi. Come on in.”
Pippa’s husband was rock star gorgeous in his own right, but he didn’t hold a candle to the man next door. “Hey Val. Good girl talk?”
“Yep. Write any songs lately?”
His smile widened. “So many. It turns out that being in love produces even better music than heartbreak.”
“Good. I think The Gregory Brothers fan groups might start an intervention once your new album drops.” I turned to Pippa, but she hadn’t made it from the kitchen yet. “Pippa bring the cookies with you, Ryan’s here.”
Not even five seconds later, the distinct sound of three sets of excited footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Uncle Ryan is here!” Bridget made it to the bottom of the steps first and wrapped her arms around her newfound uncle.
“Hey kiddo.” Ryan was still getting used to the affection of pre-teen girls. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” Belle added after getting her own hug. “We’re just hanging out with our new friend Keri.” She motioned to the little girl in cut-off denim shorts and a faded Allman Brothers t-shirt. “Keri, this is our Uncle, Ryan.”
Keri’s big brown eyes widened comically. “Holy crap, you’re Ryan Gregory of TGB!”
Ryan flashed a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his long hair. “Guilty. Aren’t you a little young to be a fan of ours?”
She nodded with a half-shrug. “My momma, Martina, is a huge fan of you and your band. Well she was, but she died a few months ago.” The weight of her sadness wore on Keri for a quick moment, but it was replaced by a wistful smile. “She always said you were a poet, and we used to dance around the living room to your songs. I know them all,” she said proudly.
