I was going to lead off this blog by opining: "Though these disparate groups of women are from stations in life that are worlds apart, golf unites them...."

Thankfully emerging from this smothering cliché, I thought:  “What a way to focus on differences, rather than similarities.”  How about: "Two groups of women, both facing barriers to career advancement, head to the golf course to enhance their employment opportunities."

Golf is one of the many extracurricular activities offered at The Care Center in Holyoke, Mass., where low-income pregnant and parenting teens earn their GEDs.  Fashioned after the learning rich environments of college prep schools, the program works:  85 percent of the students who earn their GEDs go on to college.

For female Harvard MBA students, learning how play golf at Stow Acres Country Club, in Stow, Mass., was seen a way to thwart exclusion from informal networking environments - golf is No. 1 - that are key to building business relationships.

And the old boys: 

After photographing the start of a meditation class at Northeastern University in Boston, Mass., for a story on students and spirituality, I put my cameras down, turned off my cell phone, sat down, crossed my legs, and joined in.

Meditation for me is quieting my mind by focusing on the sensation of my breath entering and exiting my body.  When my mind strays, as it often does - to what's next on the schedule, errands to run, what so-and-so said - I gently return to the focus on my breath.  Try it.  It's hard work.

Sitting in the Sacred Space at Northeastern, my thoughts veered toward criticizing my just concluded photo shoot, as the voice of my creative censor started chattering.  "You did not get close enough to the meditators, like your buddy Mark Peterson would have."   Back to the breath.  "But his dynamic style can be less than flattering," I countered.  "Yeah, but his photos have more impact that yours,"  kept up the relentless naysayer.   Back to the breath. "You should have highlighted the serene expressions and the room." Back to the breath.

Then finally, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I DO, NOT HOW I SHOOT", I shot back my internal critic. I realized that I needed to stop comparing my style with others. To just shoot my own stuff.  And then I felt peace in my heart.

Several years ago I was on a wild ride between three New England states, carrying out three different assignments in one day, and needing to transmit some of material back to the office to meet a deadline.  My middle stop was in Vermont, to photograph a teacher of peace and meditation, Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh, at one of his monasteries.  I had read many of his books and it was a treat to meet him.

They invited me to stay and have a silent, meditative meal with them, but I had to transmit my photos and get to my next shoot.  "Stay for lunch, and everything will work out," said one nun.  "Tell that to my editor," I replied.  However, I stayed, and learned a great deal about mindful living.

Then, trying to use one of the monastery's phone lines, and having problems connecting,  I was getting more and more stressed out, worrying about getting to my final shoot before daylight faded. I said to one of the monks, "I just realized that 80% of my life is insane."  He did not reply, but his expression indicated that he was not going to argue with me.

Hours later, as dusk approached, I screeched into a buffalo rancher's place in New Hampshire.  Great, deep dark animals stood out against a sharply contrasting layer of snow on the ground.  I groaned.  But we hiked to an upper pasture, and just then, a shaft of sun pierced the trees.

Maybe the monks are onto something.

This elevated highway that cut through downtown Boston for several years no longer exists.  Replacing it with underground tunnels was a huge project:

I have documented this 'Big Dig' for years.  Here's an excerpt from a story I wrote in 2001 about one of the bridges under construction:

"Imagine the tangle of utility, sewer, and subway lines that lurk underneath one of the nation's oldest cities. Now visualize constructing eight to 10 lanes of underground highway through that mess. The subterranean roadway will dip beneath one subway line, go over another, and veer back down to connect with existing harbor tunnels before emerging onto two bridges that span the Charles River.

Seventeen million cubic yards of dirt will be dug to make room for the highway - hence the moniker 'Big Dig'.

Such a massive undertaking - touted by the project managers as 'the largest, most complex and technologically challenging highway project in American history' - with its huge cost overruns and ongoing delays, is an easy target for criticism."

Say what you want about burdening taxpayers, the The Big Dig is a photographer's visual feast.  And I love physical shoots: climbing up on concrete silos, taking in views from rooftops and clambering around on rebar.  I hiked up 22 stories of scaffolding to take this shot of the Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge.

Here's the reflection of the bridge in The Charles River.

I was so grateful for the lone worker (below).  He gave scale, energy, and focus to a complex and confusing scene.

One day on a site, I dropped my notebook in about three inches of mud.  As a laborer hosed it off, a foreman gave me - the hapless desk jockey -  endless grief.  His pièce de résistance:  "You go to school to learn how to do that?"  For weeks I fruitlessly thought of some snappy comeback.  Got any ideas? E-mail 'em to me!

At one point in my career I was a corporate photographer, shooting annual reports, marketing brochures and the like. Breaking the ice with a high-powered banker, I asked, "How's it going?" His reply: "If it gets any better, I'm going to need a rubber room."

Needless to say, spending the morning with a group of eager students visiting Putnam Investments was a great deal less stressful and far more enjoyable. The youths, mostly immigrants and minorities, are enrolled in the Year Up program. At Year Up they learn hi-tech skills, professionalism, and partake in paid internships at corporations like Putnam. The program catapults participants beyond minimum wage jobs. Before a panel discussion and tour, the youths were treated to a corporate breakfast.

Savoring their fruit and bagels in the multi-million dollar video communications/conference room called the "The Putnam Exchange", one quipped: "Does anyone have some Grey Poupon." Laughter rippled around the acoustically perfect room.

For a corporate portrait, I would have used these stair railings to create a bold, graphic background. Here, they accentuated the sleek environment as the students' energy reverberated off the buffed walls.

In the digital age, I sometimes end up with images like this. I anticipated the direction of tour, and while waiting, I took this picture to assess the exposure and lighting on my camera's LCD screen. I like the minimal qualities. The tour guide explained that these landline phones are rarely used as most corporate types use cell phones or Blackberries. (It appeared that most of the students had cell phones, too.)

At the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Mass., in the Art and Ideas Center, from an assortment of legs, bodies and wings, my kids and I pieced together bugs according to the stated insect formula of six legs, three body parts and two antennas.

A few days later, I found myself photographing children's book illustrator Ralph Masiello at the National Guard Armory in Worcester, Mass., during a summer reading event for children who have parents serving in the Guard. He gave a lesson in drawing bugs.

Masiello, aka The Ickybugman, also showed some animal skulls on which he based the illustrations for The Skull Alphabet book. A vampire bat skull caught the attention of Alyssa and Kalie King, their mother Kristan, and their grandmother Marlene.

The girls' father, Scott King, is a recently activated National Guardsman. Regarding the hole in their family, Kristan says: "Obviously it's ... it's hard. It's an adjustment."

Next stop: Massachusetts Audubon Society's Broad Meadow Brook Wildlife Sanctuary, a 400 acre preserve tucked within the city limits of Worcester. I tracked this insect making its way across a brook, squeezing the shutter button as it pushed off with its legs on the water's surface tension.

I showed the image on the back of my digital camera to Education Coordinator Doug Kimball, who identified it as a water strider. As he explained how the bug locomotes using four of its six legs, he told me that every insect has six legs, three body parts and ...