“Matt – watch out!” Ivy shouted.
I stopped walking backwards, camera to my face, and jumped out of the street and back onto the sidewalk. Seconds later a Ford F-250 truck blazed down the road right where I had been. Texans are generally very friendly, but on several photo sessions I’ve had the joy of discovering the “hunter” complex they have. Whether we’re taking photos downtown or in the country, Texans are infinitely warm and friendly towards the couples we’re shooting – but the photographer? Step into the street and it becomes a game of “how-close-can-we-get-to-the-photographer-with-our-huge-truck.” (I still like to believe that they’d never actually run me over, but I don’t plan on experimenting to find out.)
Thankfully I have Ivy.
It’s obvious at these moments, when she’s helping me dodge crazy truckers or saving me from falling into a canal, that we’re quite the tag team. But its the other moments that make me especially appreciate the extraordinary catch I made when I married Ivy. It’s in the less-dramatic times, when Ivy surprises me with a new book she happened to find in the science section at Barnes & Noble, or when we’re working and she turns my incoherent photographer babble description into a photo that completely exceeds whatever I had in mind, or when she simply knows what I’m thinking by the look on my face – it’s at those times that I love it. I love what we do together… what we make together… what we are together. I love us.
I love her.
Thanks for being on my team, babe.