So I find myself in San Francisco, on an ordinary day or so it seems. It is 4:47 AM and I am loading up my sisters mini van, removing the children's car seats and setting them under the awning. The only light is a flood on the side of the building. The weather said clear and only a 10% chance of rain despite the downpour from yesterday. My shot list is tucked into the console along with a group of printed Google maps.
At 6:30 AM I arrive at Lauren Warner's home in San Francisco. It is still dark outside, sunrise is not until 7:20 AM. I decide to call rather than ring the doorbell because I was worried about ringing the wrong doorbell. Lauren answers and graciously invites me into her home. I walk through the old Victorian flat and into the kitchen where her husband offers me a coffee. Of course I take it and walk into the makeup studio. Old Jazz and Hollywood images and paraphernalia are prevalent throughout the room in an eclectic mix.
As I am waiting, through the kitchen Betcee May walks into the room. She is wearing a simple tan slip, she introduces herself and for the first time I see her eyes and wonderful smile, something that even the best images only attempt to represent. Behind her small gentle voice is a creative force to be reckoned with.
Today is going to be an amazing day and it is good to be me . . . really good.