The Beautiful Interruptions
NAPERVILLE - WHEATON - GLEN ELLYN - ELMHURST - GENEVA - ST. CHARLES - BARRINGTON - BARTLETT PHOTOGRAPHER
Roses Blanches by Alicia Staley Johnson
Happy Sunday my friend!
The studio kept us busy with several senior sessions, headshots, and a sweet newborn session, while the editing queue has been overflowing with images from our Oregon Senior Model trip, our family vacation, four-month portraits of my newest grandson, and a couple of senior sessions we photographed just before leaving. Needless to say, my computer and I have become very well acquainted this week.
In between work, we've enjoyed our weekly Mimi & Papa sleepover party, plenty of time with our grandsons, and lots of experimenting in the kitchen with fresh vegetables and herbs gathered from the garden.
It's been one of those weeks where my carefully made plans took a few unexpected turns. As I sat down to write this week's essay, I found myself thinking about those interruptions—and how often they turn out to be the very best parts of the day.
A few snapshots from some of our perfect daily interruptions.
Soft Focus: The Beautiful Interruptions
Every morning begins with a list.
Sometimes it's written on paper.
Most days it's simply written in my mind.
There are gardens to tend.
Photographs to edit.
Newsletters to write.
Emails to answer.
Ideas I don't want to lose before they disappear.
I usually wake up already thinking about the day ahead, mentally arranging the hours before my feet have even touched the floor.
I've always been this way.
Whether it's an artist's mind, an entrepreneurial spirit, or perhaps just a touch of obsessive determination, I don't know. I simply love making things. Building things. Working toward something meaningful.
There is deep satisfaction in crossing something off a list. It gives me the comforting illusion that life is moving exactly as planned.
But the older I get, the more I realize that life has very little interest in my plans.
Especially in a multigenerational home.
There is almost always someone here.
Someone stopping by for a cup of coffee.
Someone wanting to share a story.
Someone needing help finding something they swear they just had.
Someone asking if we can watch the grandchildren.
Someone simply wanting to sit together for a while.
Our house has become less like a carefully scheduled home and more like a village.
The doors are always opening.
People wander in and out.
Coffee is almost always brewing.
Conversations begin without warning.
For years I would have looked at that and thought it sounded chaotic.
Now I simply call it home.
This morning was a perfect example.
I woke up at 5:30.
I've learned that if I want a little quiet, that's the hour I have to claim it. Summer mornings in the garden are cool and peaceful before the humidity settles in. The birds are awake. The flowers seem to greet the day before the rest of us notice it has begun.
It has become my favorite time to write.
Or read.
Or simply sit with a cup of coffee and nowhere to be.
But instead of getting up, I lingered in bed.
It was overcast outside, and I convinced myself I had plenty of time. I didn't have a photo shoot until one o'clock.
Surely my quiet morning could wait another hour.
When I finally wandered downstairs, Dan already had coffee waiting.
We headed out to the garden, mugs in hand, and I carried my notebook with every intention of writing this very essay.
Within minutes my dad came over, hoping for a cup of coffee of his own.
Not long after, my daughter-in-law and grandson wandered outside to say good morning.
Instead of writing, we found ourselves talking.
Laughing.
Instead of writing, we lingered over coffee, passing my grandson from one set of arms to another. It wasn't what I had planned for the morning, but somehow it felt exactly like where I was supposed to be.
Eventually everyone drifted off to begin their day.
Perfect, I thought.
Now I'll write.
Just then my phone rang.
My daughter wondered if she could come over to use the gym.
Would we mind watching our grandson?
"We'd love to."
There has never been a moment when I wouldn't happily answer that way.
Once again, the writing would have to wait.
If I'm honest, there are moments when I feel a tiny flicker of frustration.
Not at the people.
Never at the people.
At the interruption.
At the list that suddenly won't get finished.
At the project that will have to wait until tomorrow.
For years I thought that feeling meant something was wrong with me.
Shouldn't I simply enjoy every interruption?
Shouldn't gratitude erase impatience?
But I've come to believe that two things can be true at the same time.
I can love my work.
And I can love the people interrupting it.
I can feel disappointed that my plans changed...
while still feeling grateful that someone wanted to spend part of their day with me.
Those things don't cancel each other out.
They simply remind me that life is rarely tidy.
I've learned not to stay in that moment of frustration very long.
Instead, I gently remind myself of something.
Somewhere today, someone is sitting in a house that is painfully quiet.
Someone wishes their phone would ring.
Someone would give anything for a child to stop by unexpectedly.
Someone longs to hear little footsteps running through the kitchen again.
Someone would gladly trade an afternoon of uninterrupted productivity for fifteen minutes with someone they love.
That thought changes everything.
The interruption no longer feels like something standing in the way of my life.
It is my life.
I've started noticing something.
The things that derail my plans are almost never emergencies.
They're conversations.
Coffee in the garden.
A grandchild asking me to play.
My dad wanting some company.
My daughter needing a hand.
Small moments that don't seem important enough to make a to-do list.
And yet, I have a feeling they'll be the moments I remember long after I've forgotten what was on the list.
It's funny, isn't it?
I spend so much of my life trying to create a beautiful one.
I photograph it.
I write about it.
I plant gardens to surround it.
I preserve memories for other families, reminding them how quickly children grow and seasons change.
And yet, every now and then, I catch myself trying to hurry through the very moments I know are the ones worth preserving.
There is a quiet irony in that.
Perhaps that's what I'm slowly learning in this season of life.
We spend so much time protecting our schedules, guarding our plans, and trying to accomplish everything on our lists.
But life has a funny way of reminding us that the most meaningful moments rarely announce themselves.
They don't ask us to put them on the calendar.
They don't wait until we're finished with our work.
They simply arrive.
Sometimes carrying a coffee mug.
Sometimes wearing muddy little shoes.
Sometimes asking for help.
Sometimes just wanting us to look up from whatever we're doing.
Someday this house will be quieter.
The grandchildren will be older.
My parents won't wander over for morning coffee.
The phone won't ring quite so often.
There will be entire afternoons to write, tend the garden, and finish every project I've been putting off.
The lists will finally have all the room they've ever wanted.
And if I'm being truthful...
I don't think that's the day I'm hoping for.
Because I've begun to understand something that I hope I never forget.
The work will always be there.
There will always be another photograph to edit.
Another newsletter to write.
Another garden bed to weed.
Another idea waiting patiently for tomorrow.
But these interruptions...
They're only here for a season.
One day, without even realizing it, they'll stop.
So these days, whenever someone walks into the room while I'm in the middle of writing, or the phone rings just as I've settled into my plans, I try to remember something.
They're not keeping me from my life.
They are my life.
*This essay and more can be read on my Our Cozy Compound substack
WHAT I’M LOVING THIS WEEK
Inspiring Follow: @fluffyfeatherfarm
This week's recommendation is a little different than my usual "Inspiring Follow," but I have a feeling many of you are going to fall in love with it just as I have.
If you're looking for a place on social media that simply makes you smile, you need to follow Fluffy Feather Farm.
Our friends Mike and Adam traded suburban life in Naperville for a breathtaking 140-acre family farm in Harvard, Illinois, where they're raising miniature Scottish Highland cattle (their famous "pasture puppies"), donkeys, goats, chickens, ducks, and two wonderful boys who are just as much a part of the story as the animals. Family, transparency, and kindness are at the heart of everything they do, and it shows.
What I love most isn't just the adorable animals—although trust me, they're worth following all by themselves. It's the joy. The laughter. The genuine love their family has for one another, their animals, and the life they've intentionally built together.
Every time Dan and I leave their farm, we comment on how welcomed we feel. It's one of those rare places that leaves your heart just a little lighter than when you arrived.
And if that wasn't enough, they've also created Fluffy Feather Farm Charities, a nonprofit dedicated to spreading kindness through comfort, care, and community. Whether it's bringing smiles through initiatives like Tucker the Teddy Cow or finding meaningful ways to support families, their mission is simply to make the world a little gentler. It's a beautiful extension of the generosity you already see in everything they share.
Their videos have become one of my favorite feel-good corners of the internet. If your social media feed could use a little less noise and a little more joy, fluff, laughter, and genuine kindness, I think you'll love following along as much as I do.
What I’m Loving: The Artist And The Feast
I'm only partway through The Artist and the Feast by Lucy Steeds, but I already know it's one of those books I'll be thinking about long after I turn the final page.
One of my favorite parts of reading is when a story transports you somewhere you've been before. As the characters wander through the French countryside and Paris, I find myself smiling because I've walked many of those same streets and wandered through those same places. It adds an extra layer of magic, bringing back memories of my own travels while allowing me to experience them through someone else's eyes.
The writing is beautifully atmospheric, and I find myself reaching for "just one more chapter" before bed... which, as you can imagine, rarely ends with just one.
If you're looking for a novel to savor this summer—especially if you love art, France, and richly descriptive storytelling—I have a feeling this one deserves a spot on your reading list. I'll report back once I've reached the last page, but so far, I'm thoroughly enjoying the journey.
Local-ish: Mindy’s Bakery
If you ever find yourself wandering around Chicago with an empty stomach (or even if you aren't), do yourself a favor and stop by Mindy's Bakery in Wicker Park.
This isn't the kind of bakery where you pop in for "just a muffin." It's the kind where you'll stand at the pastry case trying to convince yourself you only need one thing... and leave with a bag that's mysteriously much heavier than when you walked in.
From beautifully flaky pastries and inventive bagels to cookies, coffee cakes, and seasonal specialties, everything is baked with incredible attention to detail. The menu changes often, so every visit feels a little like a treasure hunt—and if there's a line out the door, don't let it scare you. That's usually a very good sign. Just be sure to arrive early because their most popular items have a habit of selling out.
Whether you're planning a day in the city or simply looking for an excuse to treat yourself, Mindy's Bakery is absolutely worth the trip. Just don't blame me if you leave wishing you had ordered one of everything.
1623 N Milwaukee Ave, Chicago
Studio Happenings
I have a fun update to share—and a little story on myself.
A few weeks ago, I excitedly told you that my photograph Red Dress: A Tale of Melancholy had been selected for the 40th Chelsea International Fine Art Exhibition at Agora Gallery in New York City. As it turns out... I misunderstood the announcement.
When I viewed the list of selected artists online, each artist's name appeared with an image beneath it. Naturally, I assumed that image represented the artwork chosen for the exhibition. It turns out it was simply a portfolio image representing each artist—not necessarily the work selected for the show.
The exciting news is even better than I originally thought.
Not one, but two of my fine art photographs have been selected for this year's exhibition: She Was, She Is, She Will Be and Eternal Beauty.
Both pieces explore themes that have become central to my work—finding beauty in every season of life, honoring both what is blooming and what has already begun to fade, and reminding us that there is grace in every stage of becoming.
As if that wasn't exciting enough, I later discovered that Agora Gallery had emailed me asking to see more of my portfolio because they were interested in exhibiting additional work. Unfortunately, that email found its way into my spam folder, and by the time I discovered it, the submission deadline had already passed.
Of course, I was disappointed.
But only for a moment.
Then I reminded myself of something I've been thinking about a lot lately: it's easy to focus on the opportunity we missed instead of celebrating the one we've been given.
To have two photographs selected for such a prestigious international exhibition—alongside artists from around the world—is an honor I never imagined.
This August, two pieces of my heart will be hanging on the walls of Agora Gallery in New York City's Chelsea Arts District.
I still have to pinch myself.
If you happen to be in New York—or you've been looking for an excuse to visit—we would absolutely love to see you.
The 40th Chelsea International Fine Art Exhibition will be on view August 1–15, 2026, at Agora Gallery, 530 West 25th Street, New York, NY 10001.
Dan and I will be attending the Opening Reception on Thursday, August 6, from 6:00–8:00 PM, and it would mean the world to meet any of you there. One of the greatest gifts this newsletter has given me is the wonderful community we've built together, and being able to share this milestone with some of you would make it even more meaningful.
Agora Gallery is a beautiful contemporary gallery in the heart of Chelsea, one of New York City's most celebrated arts districts. Its 4000 sqaure foot light-filled exhibition spaces and soaring ceilings create the perfect setting to experience artwork from artists around the world. Knowing that my photographs will be displayed in a space like this makes the honor feel even more surreal.
It's amazing where a camera—and a willingness to follow your curiosity—can take you. I never imagined it would one day lead me to exhibiting my work in New York City. Hope to see you there!
FROM MY KITCHEN
Recipe and image from Pinch of Yum
Sheet Pan Meatballs with Tomato Salad and Green Sauce
Every once in a while, I stumble across a recipe that I know immediately is going to earn a permanent spot in our dinner rotation. This was one of those recipes.
OH. MY. GOODNESS.
I made it for the first time this week, and by the end of the week I had already eaten it three different times! Dan declared that it tasted like something you'd order at a really great restaurant—and then added that it's exactly the kind of meal he'd happily order again and again. My daughter-in-law gave it a 10 out of 10, which is about as glowing of a review as you can get around here.
The bright, herby green sauce paired with the juicy meatballs, fresh tomato salad, creamy tzatziki, and crusty bread is one of those combinations that just works. It's fresh enough for summer, hearty enough to satisfy everyone at the table, and packed with incredible flavor in every bite.
Needless to say... this one is officially staying in our family recipe collection.
Serves: 4
Ingredients
Green Sauce
2 garlic cloves
1 cup fresh parsley
1 cup fresh cilantro
¼ cup capers or pitted Castelvetrano olives (I used capers)
½ cup walnuts
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt, to taste
Optional: Red pepper flakes for a little heat
Meatballs
1 large egg
1 tablespoon paprika
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup panko breadcrumbs
1 pound ground beef
Tomato Salad
1 pound cherry or grape tomatoes, halved
1 cucumber, sliced
1 garlic clove, finely grated
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon vinegar or fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh parsley
½–¾ teaspoon kosher salt (or to taste)
For Serving
1 small rustic baguette
1 cup tzatziki (store-bought works beautifully)
Instructions
Preheat your oven to 425°F.
While the oven heats, prepare the tomato salad. Combine the tomatoes, cucumber, garlic, olive oil, vinegar (or lemon juice), fresh herbs, and salt in a bowl. Toss well and set aside so the flavors have time to mingle while the meatballs bake.
In a food processor, combine the garlic, parsley, cilantro, capers (or olives), and walnuts. Pulse until everything is finely chopped but still has texture—you’re looking for a consistency similar to a coarse relish, not a smooth pesto. (You can also finely chop everything by hand.)
Divide the herb mixture in half. Place one half in a large bowl and reserve the other half for the sauce.
To the large bowl, add the egg, paprika, salt, panko, and ground beef. Mix gently with your hands until everything is evenly incorporated. Roll into meatballs and arrange them on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake for 10–12 minutes, or until cooked through and lightly browned.
To the reserved herb mixture, stir in the lemon zest, lemon juice, olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. If you enjoy a little heat, add a pinch of red pepper flakes. The finished sauce should be loose enough to spoon over the meatballs, similar to a chimichurri.
To serve, spread a generous spoonful of tzatziki onto each plate. Top with the warm meatballs, add a scoop of the marinated tomato salad, and serve alongside slices of crusty baguette. Finish with a generous drizzle of the green sauce over everything and enjoy!
Tip: This recipe is just as delicious served family-style, with everything arranged on a large platter so everyone can build their own plate.
with love and light,
Alicia Staley Johnson
of Alicia’s Photography
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