Weaving In and Out

Losing a loved one is never easy, and we all have a different story to tell.  One thing that seems consistent is wanting to gather memories of that person to help you remember their life. Pulling together photos of weddings, mother and child, silly times goofing around, some photos in black and white others on paper that have become orange with age suddenly become so important  to find and celebrate.

Recently, a family that I care about very much lost their mother.  She was their rock.  She was their beacon.  She was the glue that kept them together geographically, and emotionally.  One of the sisters, Jill Elliott, is a photographer.  Jill took those beautiful photos of my children this Fall, amazingly a few of them have my husband or me in them, which was very special since I realized their have been very few since they were babies, as my husband or I am always the one taking the photos.

Jill wants to help others by preserving their memories.  A portion of her fees will be donated to helping those struggling with cancer.  Check out her website http://www.jelliottphotos.com/.  She also has a public facebook page showcasing more of her photos... http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Jillian-Elliott-photography/155311427832800.

Check out another blog post about Jill and her beautiful initiative:  Weaving In and Out

Good Bye to the Boston Phoenix

Last week I learned that the alternative weekly newspaper I'd worked for in the early 2000s was closing. I've been feeling very nostalgic about the paper itself and ultimately the job that simultaneously nearly ruined my life and was the most fun a 20-something could have... ever.  There's a lot that's been written lately about the special place The Phoenix held in Boston media.  It was a significant source of alternative news, the premier resource for arts and music coverage, and at one time, prior to Craigslist, the best place to find an escort. As a reader, it was all those things (minus the escort-stuff ) to me, and more.

In 2000 I was hired after applying for a job posting in the paper.   I had spent my years right after college making pennies at an advertising agency, so it came as quite a shock that I might be able to make some decent money selling ads for a paper I truly enjoyed reading.  I moved from a cubicle near the famed smoking room on up to a job I coveted at their nightlife bi-weekly STUFF@night, a brief stint in National Ad Sales working for the Everett Finkelstein, fantastic micro-manager, and over-all conflicting personality to me.  During my stint at the Phoenix, I was trained to be a very decent advertising sales rep (get the contract!), met everyone in Boston nightlife, and got to go to work at the kooky-iest place on the planet.

While other workplaces had sexual harassment training, I learned to accept sexual harassment as an essential part of the workplace.  It was filled with characters.  The storied Publisher Stephen Mindich was small in stature but large in personality.  Always sweet to me, he was known to throw punches at staffers at the annual Holiday party, but welcomed me back to the Phoenix after a failed job attempt elsewhere, and truly cared about the quality of his paper (and almost as much about the radio station and the fluff nightlife pub I worked) and its legacy.

The place nearly destroyed my personal life: it may have given me (and many others) a drinking problem, and inspired numerous breakups with my now-husband.  It was like college, only better.  Many parties, many open bars, and never having to stand outside of a club or bar in a line, were just a few of the perks.

As with any quality media outlet, there was a division of church & state between the editorial staff and the sales staff and the two sides only met in the smoking room.  While other workplaces banned smoking in the early 2000s, we embraced our smokers and their rights.  I loved that smoking room, and I loved the eccentric personalities in that room.

The Phoenix was a revolving door for talent.  Great writers, creatives, and sales people got their start here and moved on to bigger and better things.  It gave me the confidence and entrepreneurial fearlessness to start my own business before I was thirty.  Thank you Boston Phoenix for all your life-changing experience.  I'll not soon forget, and Boston will never be the same.