Purple Power

I recently got another special order, this one a baby quilt for a childhood friend's first granddaughter. She asked for a pink flower quilt like I made for my neighbors down the street when they had their second baby girl. I actually have another Spoonflower panel similar to the first I haven't used yet, but I'm almost out of pink stash for the backing and binding!

When I dug out the second of three pink flower panels, which I designed with flowers from my garden, I wondered why I haven't done a purple flower panel. I don't think I'll ever run out of purple stash!!! I would have plenty of backing fabrics and scraps for a purple flower quilt!

So I made a new collage with my purple flowers. My friend's granddaughter still gets a pink flower quilt. But one day I'll be able to make another garden flower quilt to use up some of my purple stash, and I'm excited at the prospect.

I made a small version, too, because I thought the purple would look awesome in a dress. Then I saw an advertisement with flowers swirling from the bottom of the skirt diagonally up into the bodice. Back when I was in high school, I used to design dresses while I was working the graveyard shift for my parents' answering service. One of my favorite designs would feature my own embroidered butterflies swirling from the bottom of the skirt diagonally up into the bodice and completely covering the sleeve. Somewhere in my basement is one of those envelopes of 100 butterfly embroidery designs from the '70s because I always intended to make that dress one day. Somewhere in my basement is a book of 1,000 embroidery designs, with a whole chapter of butterfly designs.

I got this crazy idea to make yet another purple flower fabric panel with flowers from my garden along the bottom of the skirt and going up to the waist. It took longer to create this new collage with the flowers properly placed on the fabric than it took to do the entire first collage. I still don't know if I lined everything up right. But I ordered two yards so I can see how far off I am. And to make a dress, or a skirt if there's not enough fabric to make the dress. Now I just have to wait for the fabric to arrive. And I guess, the time to sew...

I asked AI to create such a dress (because my photoshopped mockup is so amateur; I could have drawn a better rendering!!!) so I could have an awesome image to help illustrate this blog post, and I accidentally forgot to specify I didn't want a video. The accidental result is so entertaining, I have to share it here!

Tweet

Snowflake Monday

I've been trying to work on portable crochet projects while waiting for Lizard during his PT, and I needed some snowflake inspiration, I guess because it's just been so hot. It's finally cooling down... YAY!!! While looking for inspiration, I came across this Wave shot, originally created in pink, from Valentine's Day 2012, and a swarm of the most wonderful memories enveloped me. Valentine's Day, The Wave, and Shonna... I shifted the hue in the manipulated image below from pink to teal because today is the first day of Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. Today's snowflake is inspired by this image and fueled by so much love and warmth.

The Wave is one of my favorite places in the world, but also, I used to spend hours back then pumping my favorite images through a Photoshop kaleidoscope extension on my laptop. The Wave was one of my favorite image collections when creating kaleidoscopes. When I had to replace that laptop in 2016, my favorite Photoshop extensions wouldn't work on the new computer. I bought another kaleidoscope-generating program, but it was nothing like the wonderful extension I'd been using since about 2009. I rarely used it. I had to replace the 2016 laptop during the pandemic, and I've yet to find a suitable kaleidoscope generator for this baby, the computer I'm using now. I've manually created a few kaleidoscopes in Photoshop. There are all kinds of tutorials out there with good instructions. But nothing runs as smoothly as the old program that was never converted to newer technology. I also have two apps on my phone that create kaleidoscopes as I take photos, and I do enjoy using that every once in a while. It's not the same as manipulating an existing photo, however. Good thing I have about 2,000 archived kaleidoscopes in my stash to work with when I need inspiration these days!

You may do whatever you'd like with snowflakes you make from this pattern, but you may not sell or republish the pattern. Thanks, and enjoy!

Finished Size: 7.5 inches from point to point
Materials: Size 10 crochet thread, size 7 crochet hook, empty pizza box, wax paper or plastic wrap, cellophane tape, water soluble school glue or desired stiffener, water, glitter, small container for glue/water mixture, paintbrush, stick pins that won't be used later for sewing, clear thread or fishing line

September Wave Snowflake Instructions

SPECIAL STITCHES:

Popcorn Stitch (pc)

Work 5 dc in designated st, take loop off hook, insert hook through top loop of 1st dc and replace loop on hook, pull loop through top of 1st dc.

Make magic ring.

Round 1: [1 pc in ring, ch 15] 5 times; 1 pc in ring, ch 7, 1 quintr (which is 6 yo)(counts as 7 ch in next Round) in starting pc to form 6th ch 15 sp of Round. Don't pull magic circle too tight.
If you're not reading this pattern on Snowcatcher, you're not reading the designer's blog. Please go here to see the original.

Round 2: Ch 2 (counts as 1 dc), [1 dc in next ch, in next ch work (1 dc, ch 3, 1 dc), 1 hdc in each of next 2 ch, 1 sc in each of next 2 ch, sk next ch, next pc and next ch, 1 sc in each of next 2 ch, 1 hdc in each of next 2 ch, in next ch work (1 dc, ch 3, 1 dc), 1 dc in next ch, in next ch work (1 dc, ch 21, 1 sc in 10th ch from hook, 1 hdc in next ch, 1 dc in next ch, ch 3, sk next 3 ch, 1 dc in each of next 2 ch, 1 hdc in each of next 2 ch, 1 sc in each of next 2 ch, 1 dc)] 6 times, omitting last dc of final repeat; sl st in 2nd ch of starting ch 2; bind off. Weave in ends.

Round 2, Rock Covering: Ch 2 (counts as 1 dc), [1 dc in next ch, in next ch work (1 dc, ch 3, 1 dc), 1 hdc in each of next 2 ch, 1 sc in each of next 2 ch, sk next ch, next pc and next ch, 1 sc in each of next 2 ch, 1 hdc in each of next 2 ch, in next ch work (1 dc, ch 3, 1 dc), 1 dc in next ch, in next ch work (1 dc, ch 3, 1 dc)] 6 times, omitting last dc and last 2 ch of final repeat; 1 dc in 2nd ch of starting ch 2 to form 6th ch 3 tip of Round.
NOTE: Binding off here makes a cute little flake.

Round 3, Rock Covering: Ch 7 (counts as 1 dc and [[ch 5), 1 dc in next ch 3 loop] 17 times; ch 2, 1 tr in 2nd ch of starting ch 7 to form 18th ch 5 sp of Round.

Rounds 4-?, Rock Covering: Ch 7 (counts as 1 dc and [ch 5), [1 dc in next ch 5 sp] 17 times; ch 2, 1 tr in 2nd ch of starting ch 7 to form 18th ch 5 sp of Round. Continue with Round 8 until snowflake fits snugly around rock, leaving about a 1- to 2-inch opening on the back or bottom side.

Final Round, Rock Covering:Ch 2 (counts as 1 dc), 1 dc in each ch 5 sp around, inserting rock after about 2/3rds of Round, gently stitching while finishing Round and closing up hole so as not to damage crochet hook; sl st in 2nd ch of starting ch 2; bind off, leaving 4- to 5-inch tail. Weave end through final Round of dc and pull tight. Bind off again, weave in end. Place in garden!

Finish: I've been stiffening my flakes with undiluted, full-strength water soluble school glue for quite a while now, and I've been squishing the glue onto and throughout each flake with my fingers (yucky mess!!!) instead of gingerly painting the flakes with glue. Yes, it's a mess. But it's faster. And stiffer.

Tape wax paper or plastic wrap to top of empty pizza box. Pin snowflake to box on top of wax paper or plastic wrap.

If using glue, mix a few drops of water with a teaspoon of glue in small washable container. Paint snowflake with glue mixture or desired stiffener. Sprinkle lightly with glitter. Wash paintbrush and container thoroughly. Allow snowflake to dry at least 24 hours. Remove pins. Gently peel snowflake from wax paper or plastic wrap. Attach 10-inch clear thread to one spoke, weaving in end. Wrap fishing line around tree branch (or tape to ceiling or any overhead surface) and watch snowflake twirl freely whenever you walk by! Snowflake also may be taped to window or tied to doorknob or cabinet handle.

Tweet

Back in the Virtual Saddle

The Triple Bypass was a few weeks ago. The Leadville 100 was the weekend before last. Lizard has enjoyed watching some of the videos riders have posted, as well as live feeds when he can get them. When you give a YouTube video a thumb's up, YouTube throws more videos at you it assumes you want.

We continually block old LA videos without watching them. But we've been seriously and addictively enjoying Coors Classics videos from the 80s. Lizard says he was interested each time the pro cycling race made a stop in his hometown of Grand Junction, but he didn't really follow any races back then other than the Tour de France, which wasn't easily available in any streaming form back then.

I'd heard of Greg LeMond as a teen; he was my brothers' hero. The champion US cyclist was developing quite the following even in southern New Mexico, where I lived (and cycled) back then. I didn't know back then there were bike races other than the Tour, though. Watching those old videos now, both Lizard and I experienced a pang of guilt for the feelings LA provoked in us toward LeMond through LA's attempt to deflect accusations and fraud. Before that, both of us admired LeMond. I even sought one of his bikes for more than a year after my first Ride the Rockies because I got to test ride one, and I LOVED it.

I never did find my Tourmalet, and we never got to meet LeMond, but it sure is fun watching him battle Bernard Hinault in the Coors Classic.

I didn't know about Davis Phinney until Lizard and I met him and his wife Connie Carpenter at Ride the Rockies. The retired pro and Olympic cyclist and his Olympic cyclist (and speed skater!!!) wife weren't riding by then. (But their son Tayler was!) Davis was our first introduction to Parkinson's. We had no idea back then the role Parkison's or Davis would take in our lives a decade later. Words cannot explain how it felt to watch a much younger Davis in those old videos pump his fists into the air as he crossed finish lines. Joy for what he felt then; grief for what he experiences now; sadness for what I've watched Lizard lose over the past eight years. And yet, seeing him whole and experiencing tremendous joy.

Ron Kiefel was a speaker at Ride the Rockies, too. The retired pro and Olympic Cyclist also sold me my first non-department store bike after my first Ride the Rockies (and after I couldn't find a LeMond Tourmalet anywhere). He also would present cycling workshops to help wannabes like me prepare for Ride the Rockies. I learned SO much from him that helped me power through seven Ride the Rockies. I enjoyed watching him win stages in the old Coors Classic videos.

News of women's cycling rarely ever makes headlines. Back in the 80s, the Coors Classic included a women's race, and the old films include highlights. (Connie Carpenter won it three times!) Lizard had ridden up Pikes Peak in the company of Jeannie Longo, whom I hadn't heard of when we cycled up the 14er in the short-lived organized ride. Watching Jeannie Longo win back-to-back Coors Classics really helped me appreciate Lizard being able to keep her pace riding up a long, stiff climb decades later.

The old videos make me wish we could step back in time to our cycling days, when Lizard and I would ride Colorado Monument (known as Tour of the Moon during the Coors Classic) together and watch the USA Pro Cycling Challenge, Colorado Trail Race or Leadville 100 in person. When we could climb 14ers in July and then get a hotel room so we could watch the Tour de France (because we didn't have a TV (by choice) at home back then). Oh, and enjoy big, fat customized smothered burritos at the Blue Iguana, which is gone now. When we would ride Vail Pass over the pro cyclist names still visible on the pavement. When I would photograph Lizard participating all along the Triple Bypass or the Double Triple route, his favorite rides.

Even a ride up Waterton Canyon now would be such a thrill! I haven't given up hope. I've got Lizard back in PT with the goal of trying to get him back on his bike. Our glory days may not be the same as two decades ago, but just like the Coors Classic, good rides never lose their magic. Even if they can only be watched instead of pedaled.

Tweet

Momories

I used to hate Mother's Day. I used to ditch church on Mother's Day. The day was nothing but pain for me. I couldn't give birth. My first attempt to adopt was denied because I was depressed because I couldn't have children. At church, they'd hand out roses every Mother's Day to every female in the congretation, and all I could see or feel was thorns. My birth mom had abandoned my family when I was four. My paternal grandmother raised us for the next five years. She, to me, was my mom. Yet I would wait at the front window nearly every night for the first year or so for my birth mom to come home. She never returned. There had been no contact whatsoever. She'd never asked how her three very young kids were doing. She never sent birthday or Christmas cards. She never asked our favorite color. She never asked about school. She just vanished.

I got a new mom, along with new siblings, about five years later. I was SO excited to have a mommy again! My earliest memory of her (because she and my dad eloped, and even my grandmother didn't know until after it was done!) is her singing to me one night when she discovered I was crying myself to sleep. We'd moved far from my grandma, who had taught me to crochet and instilled my values and probably a lot of my personality. In my young head, I'd lost another mom, even though I'd gained a new one.

That autumn night, my new mom soothed my broken heart and made me feel loved. My pre-teen turning point, however, was the early summer day the following year when she, my new sister (then half my age) and I were in the grocery store together. My mom was holding my sister's hand as we traversed the aisles. I slipped my hand into her other hand, and she quickly pulled away as if I had cooties. Sadly, that moment defined our relationship throughout my teens. I wish I had understood then what I know now.

Other key experiences contributed to my teen angst. My dad worked two jobs while putting himself through college while my grandma took care of us. We kids rarely got to see him during the week. I'd poured breakfast cereal and made sandwiches for lunch for my dad and my little brothers on weekends the whole time he was a single parent. After he remarried, I wasn't needed anymore. I was too young then to understand it was good to go back to being a kid. My dad had called me Cinderelly for as long as I could remember, and suddenly, I seemed to always be in trouble for being "too much like" my birth mom, whom I didn't even know.

I was too young to understand what it must have been like to take in three new kids, two of whom were too old for the new, very proper, Southern mom to have given birth to. I was too young to understand how this new mom might have felt when hiring a teenage babysitter for her growing family instead of trusting pre-teen and then young teen me with the responsibility. I was too young to understand how she must have felt when my dad would take me instead of her up in the helicopters to help test the radios he installed. I was too young to understand why so much praise and encouragement was heaped upon my younger siblings who achieved average grades while I received no recognition for perfect grades. Then there's that whole hormone thing, plus the still-gnawing rejection by my birth mom.

My new mom and I reconciled as I was moving out following my high school graduation. We were arguing as I moved my stuff into my car, heading out for my new life. Somehow, the heated conversation accidentally stumbled into something that helped us both immediately realize our main hurdle all those years had been jealousy. We looked each other in the eye and tears began spilling down our cheeks as we hugged and vocally shared sincere apologies and how much we love and appreciate each other. We've been the closest of friends ever since.

When my birth mom finally contacted me a whole three decades after abandoning us, I was almost immediately overwhelmed by her voiced selfishness. I'd spent so much of my childhood making excuses for her choice. I could not imagine anyone leaving a six-month-old baby, much less totally writing off the rest of us. I'd fantasized she must be too embarassed to tell what must be her new family about us and what she'd done. There was no new family. She'd delighted in breaking up marriages. She abhorred commitment. Her parents had politely stepped back when my dad remarried because they were so horrified by what she'd done and because they didn't want to cause problems for his new family. Not only had I lost a mom; I'd lost my maternal grandparents, too.

Upon meeting her in person and hearing her story, I was further devastated. She had, no doubt, married too young, but after abandoning us, she pursued only what she wanted, never looking back. I was stunned to learn she couldn't remember my youngest brother's birthday (which was just a couple of days after her own), and that she couldn't remember his name or gender. This was the woman I had grown up fantasizing about finding one day. Among the big reveals she shared during that first phone conversation, she proudly told me about conducting a "funeral" for a spider she accidentally washed down the drain. All I could think was she'd taken no such deep interest in the lives of her children until they were too old to need her anymore. Difficult pill to swallow.

About a decade after meeting my birth mom, I finally found her parents. She'd known where they were, but wanted no contact with them, and she likely knew my brothers and I would have a better relationship with them than we had with her. I had to find my maternal grandparents on my own. That's a much easier task now, but back before the internet and social media, finding a lost relative required Herculean effort.

I was an adoptive mom by the time I met my maternal grandparents. For the remaining few years of their lives, they were so thrilled to be grandparents to all their new great grandkids. During my only in-person visit, I noticed the huge gap of our lives missing from all the photos throughout their house. A whole wall was devoted to my younger siblings and I until I was about nine. The rest of the house was filled with fresh, framed photos of their now grown grandkids and all their great grandkids. The fridge was literally wallpapered with photos I'd sent.

I was in the habit of totally ignoring Mother's Day (except for cards and flowers to my grandmothers and new mom) throughout my own motherhood. I'd spent more years as a foster parent than as an adoptive parent, and foster parents get no parental consideration. Post-adoption, my kids would sometimes acknowledge me, but often, it was a difficult holiday for them, too, so I tried to keep them distracted. Moab provided awesome Mother's Day alternatives.

Both my kids took permanent unauthorized field trips before they reached adulthood. (They ran away.) Both returned to the lifestyles of their birth parents. Both of them avoided contact with me for many years because they knew I would not approve of the choices they were making. Both had experienced severe bond breaks during their own childhoods, so they didn't understand that a mother's love... THIS mother's love... never ends. This further fermented my Mother's Day negativity. Both kids are trying their best to rebuild their relationships with me now, and I'm building wonderful relationships with their kids. I'm rediscovering the joy of motherhood through the next generation.

I've always loved to write. I've often moonlighted, often as a newspaper/magazine stringer, to supplement my income. I was preparing an anti-Mother's Day humor rant for a favorite publication more than a decade ago when I stumbled upon a pro-motherhood submission they'd published the previous year. The author had experienced rejections and sour milk on both sides of the parenting fence over the course of several decades but shared such tender and heartwarming encouragement. I decided I didn't want to poke painful fun at motherhood anymore. I can't remember the direct quote, but this particular writer said something to the effect of, "If you can't honor your own mother or motherhood, can you at least honor the motherhood of an influential person in your life?" Such as a friend or a neighbor...

That was something I absolutely could do. It was something I had been doing all along. I didn't like the holiday, much the way many singles hate Valentine's Day and the way some people (me included) despise the commercialism of Christmas. But I'd never forgotten to honor my new mom on her special day. I'd never neglected my grandmothers. I'd even written notes I'd hoped I'd one day be able to present to my absent grandmother (which I got to do just a few years earlier). I've not been as shy about celebrating Mother's Day ever since. And yes, I've even attended church on Mother's Day a few times. There are still uncomfortable moments, but mostly, I realize there are endless generations of good moms and happy families, and countless examples of selfless mothering. That's where I choose to focus my attention now.

The video at the beginning of today's post reminded me of my own family history, cobwebs and all. It helped me remember how much I love my new mom and my adopted kids. It helped me appreciate sacrifice. It helped me let go of bitterness I didn't even realize might still be lurking in the shadowy corners of my heart. It helped me remember how thankful I am I was able to be a mom, even if I didn't give birth. It helped me remember how grateful I am to have contact with my kids and grandkids. It helped me embrace family my history fresh and new.

Tweet

Haunted

I hadn't organized my digital photos in more than a year. On restless nights these days, it's a great project to catch up on because it's quiet and peaceful, even though staring at the computer screen can cause me sleep-deprivation. (Parkinson's often causes sleep-deprivation, and this is one of Lizard's daily Mount Everests.) There's always hope Lizard will be able to continue sleeping or be able to fall asleep if he's not already when I'm the sleepless one.

I used to be pretty good about downloading my camera(s) and my phone at least once a month to back up everything. When life went ballistic last year, all my organizational habits sought refuge. Or ran for cover. For years, I'd been organizing my downloaded photos by year, then month. Makes it easier to find something I need down the road. Almost exactly one year ago, all my organizational skills evaporated. They are just now beginning to take root again.

With all the trauma of last year, it's rather satisfying to scroll through old photos and remember the before. Before life became unhinged. Before every door seemed to slap me on the behind. Before sanity seemed to vanish into thin air.

I've been going through last year's photos chronologically, beginning with when things began to trickle into the unsurvivable category. Last weekend, I reached the most traumatic period of 2024. It's not a time I go back to willingly. It's not a memory I cherish.

Understandably, there aren't many photos of that particular time. Thank goodness. It's already painful enough. I don't need to wallow in it.

And yet, there is a sense of survival. Not then, but now. There are traces of comfort. I made it through. We made it through. A tiny nugget of hope deep down inside, sometimes forgotten, sometimes shunned. The fire of knowing we didn't give up. The summitted emotional mountain and accompanying view of the dark, bottomless chasm at the edge of the traumatic cliff we traversed seems like a very bad dream. Yet, a bad dream from which I eventually awoke.

I am whole again. There is still pain. And Parkinson's marches relentlessly on. But I am whole.

Lizard is not whole. The Parkinson's likely will continue to get worse with time. But he has reclaimed tiny nuggets of his life. His personality. His will to survive.

The one thing that kept me going most of last year when all seemed lost was knowing one day, Lizard will be whole again. Knowing that when we meet again on the other side, it will be the sweetest and most joyous reunion ever. There are so many painful memories. But the experiences that carved those canyons have created bonds we will cherish throughout time. One day, Lizard will remember everything he's been through, and he will rejoice that we hung on so tightly and never gave up. How awesome that the healing I am experiencing these last few weeks is surrounding me during Holy Week, with all the hope and promise of Easter knocking on our door.

Tweet

Welcome to the Jungle

I wrote the blog post below long, long ago, before I finished all of the projects mentioned. Then I forgot I had written this post and wrote new ones as I finished projects. I almost deleted this when I stumbled upon it. I didn't have anything better to publish today, so I might as well take a fun and memorable step back in time!

Before I began piecing together the lime green batik remnants of my treasured bag, skirt and dress, my goal was to use up a good portion of my leftover stash. I've always had great difficulty throwing away pieces of fabric that might be big enough to make into something. Some day.

My remnants stash has overgrown its boundaries many times over. It was time to make a dent in it.

2011 green batik stash

2025 green batik stash and leftovers

As I began working on Welcome to the Jungle, I began running out of some of my favorite bright lime green batiks. I caved and bought two more yards because every quarter block has at least four different bright lime green batiks. As I began working on the French braid border (my first pieced border ever), I began running out of the darker and lighter green batiks.

Oh, was I tempted to buy more!

The day I began cutting the strips for the main squares, Lizard asked if I was making another dress. Oh, the inspiration that swirled through my entire core! I could make a dress of the strips! It would be beautiful!

Now I was running out of everything, and I wouldn't have enough left over to make yet one more dress.

I had to give myself a time out to prevent me from shopping for more lime green batik.

The purpose of Welcome to the Jungle was to use up remnants! To make them go away. To completely run out. To not have enough left over to make anything else.

After a bit of attitude adjustment, I realized I could do the strip dress from purple batiks. Or turquoise batiks. While making this quilt, I kept thinking how much fun it would be to do another one, different pattern, with purples. Or blues.

And yet, each week when I receive an email ad announcing new fabrics in stock, I find myself drawn to luscious new lime green batiks. Again, and again, and again. And again...

My next quilting project goal was to finish Leaf Me Alone, also inspired by dress remnants. My sister-in-law's admiration for the leaf quilt pushed me to finish it before Welcome to the Jungle.

Now, Welcome to the Jungle takes front and center. It must be finished in time for the Denver National Quilt Festival. (2025 Edit: Which ended about a decade ago...) Then comes fun. Then comes sewing and quilting without deadlines.

The next project I wanted to do after Welcome to the Jungle and Leaf me alone was a scrap happy quilt. To use up even more remnants. To make them go away. To completely run out. To not have enough left over to make anything else.

At which point, I can begin using stash fabric that had never been cut.

I have so much stash, I can make a new dress without buying a thing except maybe a zipper or button. By making a new dress, I might ignite new dress-remnant quilt inspirations. I might replenish my remnant stash. Without buying a thing.

Sigh. How much of this will actually get accomplished while bright lime green fabrics continue to call out to me so loudly?!?

Tweet