—  Ken and Vesta  —

Wedding and Portrait Photography

541 773-3373

If you would like to download any of the photos below, just click on it and you’ll be taken to a gallery, where you can do that, because each photo will have a download button under it. Or you can just drag it off. But you’ll get a larger, better quality image if you go to the gallery and download it.

As for how they’re arranged, the first photo or photos of anyone or group of people would have been taken with an iPhone 14 and the the last photo or photos would have been taken with a Canon R6. For example, if we photographed a few photos of somebody, the 1st two or three would have been taken with the iPhone and the 2nd two or three, would’ve been taken with the Canon.

Oh yes, please click on the Instagram links in the menu bar above and follow us. We’ll love you forever if you do and we’ll follow you back. Following us on one of our Instagrams would be wonderful. Following us on both would be out of the world. Out of the world for us anyway.

This is our twenty-second day of this project, March 3rd, 2023 and also, we are photographers so if you have a wedding in your future, need engagement, family, graduation or even real estate photos, we’d be honored if you checked out our prices and gave us a call.


Ken and Vesta

PS. Just incase you don’t know, and you probably don’t, I’m a writer and I finished my last book, a sort of thriller, when we were locked down in Reno. It’s about a hundred thousand words, which is way too long and I haven’t gone over it or proof read it. Actually, I just sort of forgot about it.

So, at the very end of these posts, I’m going to post around 1500 words of the story everyday. It’s called CLEAN SLATE. And today’s post is the 20th installment of that. If you wanna read it from the beginning, you can just go to www.kenandvesta.com/Photography/PROJECTiPHONE14 and click on the PROJECTiPHONE14-3 post below. It’s the one with the photo of the girl in the cowboy hat on the large thumb nail.

And if you do decide to read it and you think something sucks or I made a horrible grammatical mistake, please text me at 541 773-3373 and let me know. I'd be forever in your debt if you did that.

Here are Casey and Angel. Casey’s the human and Angel is the dog with a look that almost says she’s a movie star dog and would I please get on with the photo, because she’s got much better things to do. And as for Casey, she looks like somebody I should know, maybe somebody we all should know, but I can’t put my finger on it.

It’s like I’ve seen her on TV or the big screen. I don’t know. But if someone reading this knows, please test me at 541 773-3373 and tell me, because it’s really bugging me.

Here is Andrea wearing a Dodger hat and I really need to get one. I’ve got a lotta baseball hats, but they’re all Wolfpack ones, because in Reno, everybody loves the Pack. However, we’ve been here a year and still no LA hat for me. Which is a shame, because my brothers and I grew up with the Dodgers.

Carl Erskine and Ed Roebuck, both Dodger pitchers, lived on our street. We played baseball with Carl’s kids. We’ve been to more games than I can shake a stick at. Especially those first few years when they were playing at the Coliseum. Yeah, I gotta get a Dodger hat.

Also, you can really see the difference between how the iPhone and the camera render colors in both the photos of Andrea and the ones of Casey above. I guess it’s a matter of preference, but I think I prefer the Canon’s colors.

We wandered into the Van’s store on 2nd Street, because Vesta has like twenty pair and she’s always looking for something new. And while we were in there, we met Aiden and Hanna. Aiden’s the guy in the photo above and below and Hanna’s the girl in the two photos below Aiden’s.

As for Van’s, I have to confess, I’ve got six pair myself and two of those pairs, match a couple of Vesta’s. So we really look cute when were out and about in matching shoes. One would think people wouldn’t notice, but thy do.

Untitled photo
As you can see James and Cal are masked and we think that’s a smart thing. Vesta and I don’t wear masks when we’re outside anymore, but maybe we should, because we meet a lot of people. However, we do wear them inside and by inside, we mean inside just about everywhere.

And I just love, love, love wearing a black N95 with dark sunglasses into the bank. How cool is that? And actually I kinda like the idea of all those cameras they have out there spying on us, being a little confused about who we are. You, because they can’t see our mouths and noses through the masks.

And even now, five hundred people are dying everyday from Covid. It’s the the third largest killer of people in America as I’m writing this. Maybe five hundred doesn’t seem a lot, but if it’s you or a loved one who dies, it’s a big deal, so maybe masking up isn’t so silly after all.

When we stopped Robert and Raylene and asked them if they’d like to be a part of this project, Robert said they would, because they were planning on having some pictures taken of them, so it worked out well that we happened upon them.

Oh yes, the top two photos were made with the iPhone and the one below with the Camera.

These lovely ladies are October and Danielle. I’m guessing October was born in October, but there might’ve been another reason her parents named here that and I’m kicking myself for not asking. Anyway, we’ve been photographing strangers on the street long enough that we can sense who’s going to say yes and who’s going to say no.

And these two had vibes which were virtually screaming, TAKE OUR PICTURE. They were wearing smiles a block wide as they were talking and laughing. So when we got within talking distance, I asked and here they are, wearing smiles to die for.

The top photo was taken with the iPhone, the bottom two with the camera.

Here are from right to left, Katie, Liz and Jade, but there are actually five people in this photo, six if you count Football Guy, who we counted as a human in a past post. I know, if you count them, you only see three young women, but Liz and Jade are pregnant, so that makes five.

How cool is that?

The dog doesn’t belong to the girls. He sorta wandered into the photo.

And we have Vesta below, who, like I said above, owns a lotta Vans. I think she’s sending me a message here.


CLEAN SLATE - Chapter 9, 2d Part.

“Hey! Anybody home down there?” The shouting voice was accompanied with a loud knocking on the hull, jarring Kennedy out of a deep and dreamless sleep.

“Hold your horses!” Chloe shouted up as Kennedy threw on her robe.

“Who is it?” And why are they banging on our hull in the middle of the night. It could only be bad news. Was it Norris? Did something happen to one of her boys?

“I don’t know,” Chloe said as Kennedy came into the salon.

“Let’s find out.” Kennedy went on deck with Chloe right behind.

“It’s about time.” He was young, maybe thirty. Strong looking, tan, with jet black hair in need of a haircut and he seemed upset. Maybe even angry.

“What’s your problem?” Chloe wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“Where’s Wind Dancer?”

“Cool it with the attitude or I’ll call the cops.” Chloe whipped her cellphone from a hip pocket.

“You heard me. I wanna know what happened to Wind Dancer. Where’s Connor?”

“Punching in nine one one now.”

“Okay, okay!” He put his hands up in a sign of surrender. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be shouting. It’s just that I’m really worried.” He smiled, looking contrite.

But Kennedy didn’t think he meant it. He’d come on like a bully and that’s exactly what she thought he was.

“So who are you and what do you want?” Chloe said, taking charge.

“I’m Willie Fox. I’m Connor’s mate. I was supposed to be gone till midnight, because he had a date with you and he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Kennedy was about to interrupt, tell the guy the date had been with her and not Chloe, but Willie’s tight lips slipped into a smirk, like he knew how that date was supposed to end. So she kept her mouth shut and let Chloe continue.

“Well, I’m sorry.” Chloe smirked back. “I guess he didn’t like the way the date worked out, cuz he left. That’s what happens when a weak ass son of a bitch gets shut down by a strong woman. They turn and run.”

“He wouldn’t have gone without me.”

Chloe turned toward the empty slip. “Well, the boat’s not there, so I guess he did.”

“While I was ashore, I picked up the check we got for delivering Sea Witch from St. Martin and for taking Wind Dancer back. With expenses, it’s fifteen thousand dollars. Half of that’s his. No way would he have gone without it.”

“I wish I could help you, but I can’t. The date didn’t work out the way he wanted and he left. That’s all I know. Maybe he’ll come back for you. Maybe he’ll call. I don’t know and I don’t care.” She pinned him with a stare. “I got enough problems of my own, without worrying about yours.”

“I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight,” he looked even more contrite, “you don’t suppose—”

“No, I don’t suppose.” Chloe clenched her fists. She was angry. “They got motels all over downtown Long Beach.”

“This isn’t over,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

“Make sure you bring the police or don’t bother, cuz I got a gun and know how to use it.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Come back without the cops and you’ll find out.”

Kennedy kept her eyes on the angry young man as he stormed up the dock toward the parking lot.

“What a prick,” Chloe said.

“Wow!” Kennedy said, “You were like superwoman. I gotta hand it to you, I just love your don’t fuck with me attitude.”

“My dad taught me a lotta stuff,” Chloe said. “But the most important lesson I learned from him was not to take shit from assholes.” She smiled. “Now let’s go back to sleep.”

“About getting a gun,” Kennedy said.

“I was gonna get one from my dad tomorrow.” She smiled. “I’m glad you approve. Now it doesn’t have to be a secret.”

*  *  *

With the offensive Connor Morgan gone to Davy Jone’s Locker, Jesse went below. He thought about cleaning up, but the salon looked like an abattoir. There was blood everywhere. But he thought the sea would wash it away, so if the boat was ever recovered, nobody would be the wiser.

However, other than the blood, he wanted to remove every trace of Connor Morgan from the boat. So he started in the forward cabin and worked back. He stuffed Morgan’s clothes in a duffel, put a weight belt inside and tossed it overboard.

He found his passport on the chart table next to a MacBook, which was open.

He didn’t find a wallet and he supposed it must have been in Morgan’s pocket. Jesse shook his head. He should’ve checked.

Everything else he found was pretty generic to a sailboat. Diving gear, nautical books, charts, foul weather gear. Then he found the cameras in the settee locker next to the diving gear. Two very expensive looking digital canon cameras and several lenses and a couple flashes. Connor Morgan had been seriously into photography.

Not even for a second, did he think about keeping the cameras. Cameras had serial numbers. The photography gear was in a couple expensive looking camera bags and he took them on deck and tossed them overboard.

That left only Morgan’s passport and computer. But back below, before he checked those out, he decided on coffee. So he rooted around in the galley, till he found what he was looking for. Well, not exactly what he was looking for, but close. Instant, but better than nothing. He’d become quite the coffee connoisseur since he’d been out. He liked it a lot before he went in and in twenty long years, he’d done without, because the Government of Trinidad and Tobago didn’t think its prisoners needed any. So now that he was free, he’d taken to expensive, designer coffees.

With the instant, hot and awful, in hand, he went to the chart table, where he flipped through the passport. Morgan had been a traveler. He’d been to dozens of ports, there was hardly room for anymore stamps. Jesse looked up thru the hatch to the dark night and sailed the passport, the way a kid would a frisbee, thru the hatch and out into the night, to find it’s resting place, maybe with Davy Jones and the dead Connor Morgan.

He smiled. Happy. Why so happy, Jesse didn’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m crazy, he thought. Then he checked the computer. He touched a key and the screen lit up. Apparently Morgan had left it on and it’s camera had been recording, low quality video, but good enough.

He played it back, skipped through the dinner Morgan had with Kennedy, watched him kiss her as she pushed away. Saw him try again. Saw Kennedy push harder, free herself then take off. And then he watched himself cut Morgan’s throat. And without looking at anymore, he erased it.

True, the machine was going to go overboard with everything else of Connor’s, including Conner himself, but not with that video on it and not until Jesse had a good look at what else was on it. After all, he was going to be at sea for seven or eight hours before he got to Catalina and he had nothing better to do.

And what he found there horrified him and Jesse wasn’t easily horrified. He clicked on a folder he found marked ‘Girlies,’ which was in a folder titled Photos, which was on the desktop. Of the twenty or so folders in the Photos folder, the Girlies folder had the most interesting title.

And he was stunned at what he’d seen in that folder. There were twenty-one folders, all titled with a girl’s name, the last one, ‘21 Kennedy,’ was the first one he clicked on and inside he found a dozen photographs of Kennedy in the marina. Photographs of her going about her business, getting on and off her boat, bringing groceries down the dock, ordinary stuff, but obviously she had no idea she was being photographed.

He clicked on the first folder, ‘01 Darlene,’ and it started out the same way the video he’d seen of Kennedy had, but it had a horrible ending, at least for Darlene. There were photographs of her going about her business downtown in some small American city. Jesse didn’t know where. But from there everything when downhill for poor Darlene. She’d been bound, gagged and raped by Connor Morgan. Then he’d slowly skinned her alive.

And the nineteen other folders he’d opened were full of more of the same.

Connor Morgan and whoever had filmed the video were sick motherfuckers. They were serial killers of the worst kind.

“Well, Jesse,” he said aloud, “it looks like you did the world a favor tonight.” And he smiled at the irony. He may be mad as a hatter, crazy to beat the band, certifiable, but taking out Connor Morgan didn’t seem like such a crazy ass thing anymore. In fact, most normal people he’d met in his lifetime, including every single motherfucker he’d met on that awful island, would have done the same if given half a chance.

Connor Morgan was a man the planet could happily rotate without. And if Jesse Nazareth went to downtown anywhere and shouted from the rooftops about what he’d done, he’d probably get the Medal of Freedom.

But he couldn’t tell anybody, because he had his own secrets.

Every night for those last five years, since he’d gotten his memory back, he’d dreamed of killing Kennedy Stover, because it was the best way to make Norris stuffer the way he’d suffered. So sadly for Kennedy, she still had to die.

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