Many thanks to all the good sports at Bridget and Ben's wedding who allowed me to play around with my new photobooth. I have had inquiries about this over the last year or two, but had not yet added this particular spinning plate to what we already do. But let me tell you, it was a flipping BLAST.

Here is my issue, though -- I need a NAME for this thing!! Whoever comes up with the winning name for this gets a $50 gift certificate to be used either toward prints or a portrait session, so PLEASE leave comments below with your ideas. Currently in the running: GoofBooth, CutLooseBooth, LaughBooth, SnapStation. Other ideas, please???

More sneak peek images from the wedding coming later in the week, along with three very fun engagement sessions!

Me with the B&G. :)

An amazing hand-made "Just Married" sign is en route from an Etsy artist to be used at my next [BLANK] booth!

When I was in my twenties I walked across Spain. It took a month and I covered roughly 500 miles (~800 km). It was an old path -- ancient in fact, that pilgrims have walked for centuries in search of healing, revelation and escape. I found all three, although not in that order. I arrived in Santiago de Compostela on the last day of August, so each year I stop and give thanks and remember what it taught me.

I tell stories with photographs now, but there was a time when I didn't pick up a camera for several years and felt sure that I wanted to be a writer. I wrote about my walk while on staff at a magazine, and was lucky enough to have it published in several different places, including in a collection of spiritual essays by women writers. Below is the essay, with special thanks to my friend and editor Jay Heinrichs.

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A man sleeping in the cot next to mine was snoring. He had a kerchief over his face that flapped each time he let out a breath. It was 2:30 in the morning. The other 50 or so people in the musty room of the monastery were sound asleep. I felt pale and soft and timid, among people who seemed to sleep the sound sleep of certainty. Roncesvalles, the monastery where we were all staying in the Pyrenees, is the gateway into Spain from France on the Camino de Santiago. It was my first night on the pilgrimage; I was the only American and one of the few women in the group, as far as I could tell. Most of the people were traveling in groups of three or four, some were couples. I was alone.

Sleepless, I walked down the three flights of wooden stairs, worn in a rut down the middle. They led me to a stone entryway, the spot that in a few hours would be the start of my walk to Santiago de Compostela, 500 miles away. There was a ring around the moon. The road faded into a gray, gauzy haze.

"Lord, hear my prayer."

The sound of my own voice, hollow and thin, startled me. I had long ago given up the idea that anyone or anything could hear me. Feeling chilled, I went back inside. (Click here to read more)