It just occurred to me that I talk about Paris a lot here.  It’s kind of funny, actually, as I’ve only been there twice. But the references abound. Might be my affinity for macarons and Oscar Wilde.

This photo was from my very first trip there. We watched skateboarders at le Palais de Tokyo. As tourists wielding cameras unabashedly, I snapped photos of the kids doing tricks and documented the grafitti like an urban anthropoligst. (How cliche, right? Little did I know, I was only just getting started on my grafitti safari.) Visually, this isn’t the most striking street art, but I love the expression. Google tells me it’s French translation of a film called Now You See Him, Now You Don’t. Seems quite apt.

I wonder if it was one of tho who created this grafitti (our entree into the world of Euro street art). Translated

Maybe that’s where the (hopelessly trite?) obsession began.

Here’s another one from the photography class archives. Shooting my friend Lydia for my portrait assignment was not only fun (Tyra/’smizing’ jokes aplenty) but also seemingly effortless. Photogenic and comfortable posing, Lyds was a natural–the dream subject. There were introspective poses, flirty poses, costumes and even an attempt at faux nudity (tube top, natch).

But of the 100+ images from that day, this one is my favorite. Taken during some down time (costume change?), it’s the only photo in which she’s not posing. It’s a lovely natural moment capturing the simple ritual of getting ready.

Summer is far away, but we can dream, at least, of spring–that first day of the year when it’s nearly temperature-less: not hot, not cold, not really anything you can perceive. You might think you can guess the temperature, but you don’t think that far. You’re just comfortable. (Those days, I’ve found, are rare.)

This was taken on a sweltering one in Brooklyn last June. We were at a swap meet when I spotted this sweet group of three, enjoying some beers and some of Brooklyn’s finest people watching.

My husband’s uncle has a cigar room. Yes, an actual room devoted to smoking cigars. And maybe drinking some whiskey, for good measure. It’s a tiny, exposed-brick  nook  in the basement, well appointed with a few stools, a fancy humidor and racks of dusty wine bottles.

I played the voyeur once again–albeit with family and at much closer range–snapping this photo of my husband and my father-in-law in deep conversation. I wish I remember what they were talking about.

I fondly remember this languid May afternoon ambling around Berlin. It was a quick solo trip–purely to obtain a Visa–but I figured I could afford to explore a bit before boarding the train back. I took lots of photos. Of everything. Trees. Buildings. Things that had no direct connection to Berlin. (I did get a few of the Wall, of course.)

It was just that type of afternoon: aimless, endless, free.

This roguish fellow must have shared my spirit of adventure. Admittedly,  his dodging guards at the somber Holocaust Memorial was disrespectful. But it is a very interactive space. People walked through the columns, exploring the monument’s maze-like configuration. And I just watched them all. Children playing hide and seek. Solemn visitors paying their respects. And this kid–facing off with the scary Berlin police.

Amazing how a little white paint and imagination can brighten a day. This otherwise nondescript interior design studio in the western burbs seemed to jump on the cute bandwagon with these charming little planters. I like to think I eschew whimsy, but what the heck, I think I like these.

I took this photo as part of my photography class, and yet I don’t remember the assignment. Capturing motion? Regardless, I like the layers of activity–the brief aftermath of someone breezing through a door and heading out to the busy street.

I visited a lot of cemeteries during my year in Europe. Père-Lachaise, with its crumbling tombs and illustrious tenants. Numerous other graveyards with lesser pedigrees. The New Jewish Cemetery in Prague was across from my office, on a busy street. It didn’t attract the tourists that flocked to the Old Jewish Cemetery, in Prague’s Old Town Square, where hordes of travelers marveled at the haphazard layers of stone on stone, sardined slabs leaning precariously. But the New Cemetery held its own treasures. This structure held individual cases with flowers, meaningful talismans, perhaps even ashes, though I can’t be sure. For something so solemn, they struck a bright, colorful chord in the sea of gray stone.

I guess I was feeling like I wasn’t doing enough with my new-found photography skills, that my hobby lacked structure once my class wrapped. Whatever the reason, I joined a Chicagloand photography Meet-Up group, flush with optimism that this would be what motivated me to shoot. Camaraderie, assignments, specific subjects and goals: That was my ticket.

I only made it to one meeting.

Fermilab, the “proton-antiproton collider” in Batavia didn’t rank high on my list of photography subjects. But we were promised buffalo sightings in the prairies. We didn’t see them that day (were they hiding?), but amid the foreign scientific stations dotting the campus, there were some compelling sights. Proof that there’s style even in the most unlikely of places.

I love when nature takes me by surprise. Is this heart-shaped leaf some sort of sign or message? No. But it’s still lovely.