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I'm such a turtle, they named the Slow Race after me!
Actually, my first real climb on The Lizard's retired Green Queen was a little faster than what I've been doing on my mountain bike. He even remarked that I seemed to be climbing at the same speed I climb on my road bike.
If that didn't cause the adrenaline to surge, I don't know what would!
I do have to get a little lighter on the fingers, though. I got the chain stuck twice because I'm putting too much pressure on the gears. Gee, I wonder how I developed that bad habit?!?
After watching the Leadville Legends literally race by in eight minutes just eight minutes after the race began, we did a training ride around aptly named Turquoise Lake, of which a short portion is a segment of the official Leadville 100 route. Another adrenaline rush — literally following in the Big Guns' tire tracks. Seeing all the water bottles, gel containers and bar wraps the riders discarded alongside the road. Geez, I don't think Ride the Rockies made that big a mess!
After our ride, we returned to the same spot where we shot predawn Leadville 100 pictures and waited about an hour before the first rider shot by like a bullet. Levi Leipheimer shattered last year’s record. Most impressive to me, however, was Ned Overend’s 27th-place finish after giving his wheel to crashed teammate Todd Wells. Deadly Nedly is 54! Living proof you’re never too old to ride.
Living proof I’ll never be too old to ride!
This flake was inspired while I was watching Pirates of the Caribbean for about the 19th time. I call it my Ship's Wheel Snowflake.
You may do whatever you'd like with snowflakes you make from this pattern, but you may not sell the pattern. Thanks, and enjoy!
Finished Size: 4 inches from point to point
Materials: Size 10 crochet thread, size 11 crochet hook, empty pizza box, wax paper or foil, cellophane tape, glue, water, glitter, small container for glue/water mixture, paintbrush, stick pins that won't be used later for sewing, clear thread or fishing line
Ship's Wheel Snowflake Instructions
Ch 4, sl st into 1st ch OR make magic ring.
Round 1: 12 sc in ring, sl st in starting sc. Pull magic circle tight, but leave opening big enough to allow stitches inside it to lay flat.
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: Sc in same sc, *in next sc work 1 dc, 1tr, 1dc, in next sc work 1 sc; repeat from * around 5 times, ending with sl st in starting sc on final repeat instead of sc.
Round 3: Ch 7 (counts as tr and ch 3), dc in next tr, ch 3, *tr in next sc, ch 3, dc in next tr, ch 3; repeat from * around 4 times; sl st in 4th ch of starting ch 7.
Round 4: Sl st in next ch 3 sp, in same ch 3 sp work *2 sc, ch 3, 2 sc, in next ch 3 sp work 1 sc, 1 hdc, 1 dc; ch 3, 2 dc in 3rd ch from hook, ch 6, sc in 2nd ch from hook, ch 2, sc in 2nd ch from hook, ch 2, sc in 2nd ch from hook, dc in next ch (after 1st sc in 2nd ch from hook), hdc in next ch, sc in next ch, ch 4, 2 dc in 3rd ch from hook, in same ch 3 sp work 1 dc, 1 hdc, 1 sc; repeat from * beginning in next ch 3 sp around 5 times; sl st in starting sc; bind off. Weave in ends.
Finish: Tape wax paper or foil to top of empty pizza box. Pin snowflake to box on top of wax paper or foil.
Mix a few drops of water with a teaspoon of glue in small washable container. Paint snowflake with glue mixture. 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 foil. 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 the snowflake twirl freely whenever you walk by! Snowflake also may be taped to window or tied to doorknob or cabinet handle.
Some days are so busy, I work straight through lunch. Sometimes I sneak out for a few moments to run an errand and just get away from my desk for a few minutes.
Such was the case the day I had to make a deposit before paying my mortgage.
I was standing in line at the bank, waiting for a teller, when the unthinkable happened. The drawstring in my full, circular peasant skirt inexplicably broke. I was able to catch the skirt before it literally fell to my feet, but I had no way to fix it or even temporarily pin it. Of course. Life's Most Embarrassing Moments never happen when it's convenient.
The line of customers didn’t phase me one bit when I first joined it. Now, however, time seemed to stand still. I could hear one teller counting change; I think her customer must have been depositing 6,000 pennies, one at a time. The other teller busily itemized a stack of checks from a zipper bag for a massive commercial deposit. The stack of checks looked three inches thick. What business are they in, I wondered. I should be in that business!
A saying my mom used to spout off all the time when my younger siblings and I grew impatient came to mind.
"Just hold your britches," Mom would scold us.
If I'd had a free hand, I might have called to tell her I was holding my... well, not britches, but she'd get the idea. I can still imagine how hysterically she would have laughed. (When I shared this story with The Lizard, he nearly fell out of his chair laughing.)
The waistline of my skirt felt as if it was growing by the mile, and it was becoming more and more difficult to hold in place, even though I was trying not to move at all. Suddenly, another teller entered the lobby and began counting her drawer. Then another.
"Oh, great," I thought to myself. "Some one is monitoring the lobby and sent two more tellers out because the line is so long, and this is all being recorded, and here I am trying to keep my skirt from falling off. Live on Candid Camera." (The Lizard said he'd pay high dollar for this tape. But maybe I shouldn't disclose that...)
When I finally made it back to my office, I rummaged through my desk looking for a safety pin. When that search came up unproductive, I realized I always have at least one crochet hook in my commute bag. And yarn. Or thread. Something in that bag will work!
Five minutes later, I emerged from an empty office a new woman. Confidence restored. But I still think I’ll never wear that skirt again.
We were checking out next week's Leadville 100 route, scouting places to shoot great photos and still be able to train for our Pikes Peak ride later this month, when we came across a duck family crossing the road.
At first, I just wanted to snap a photo because Mama Duck was attempting to lead her babies along railroad tracks after crossing the rural highway, and the scene was cute. I grabbed my camera as Mama searched for a place her babies could get up and over the rails. However, I didn't get a shot of Mama with her babies because she ended up not waiting for half of them.
We may have made Mama nervous, which was not our intent. I tried to stay low and invisible, as I do whenever I stalk wildlife. I was using a very long lens and wasn't close enough for a great shot. Nevertheless, Mama flew the coup, leaving unattended babies behind.
Watching the babies run back and forth along the railroad, peeping wildly as they desperately searched for a way to reach Mama, made me want to cry.
I've read many accounts of humans assisting mama geese and ducks with difficult baby crossings. After a few minutes of frantic baby peeping, I decided human help was necessary and appropriate in this case. I slowly moved in closer, staying low, trying my best to imitate their cries, talking in a soothing voice, open hand outstretched so babies could, if they wanted, if they trusted, climb aboard.
Two of the young 'uns finally crossed the first rail with improv wingless flying technique. They called to the still stranded sibling and stayed close for a while, but as Mama's quacking faded, they panicked and crossed the second rail. The lone duckling looked me straight in the eye, ran straight toward me, froze about three inches out of reach of my outstretched hand, stared at me with tilted head, then waddled full speed in the opposite direction.
I remembered a silly show from back in the '70s or '80s. "Not the mama! Not the mama!" I definitely was not the mama. Talk about feeling incompetent!
Baby ran all the way to the nearest road intersection, crossed the tracks on level road, then ran back toward where the siblings and Mama had disappeared. I could see from my 5'7" vantage point that the other two ducklings were swimming in a nearby pond, sans Mama and three more siblings who didn't have as much problem crossing the tracks. I decided to gently coax the lone baby toward the siblings who were quite a distance away and out of earshot.
I succeeded in reuniting the three lost babies but could not see Mama and the rest of her paddling. (Yes, that's really what you call a group of ducks. Brood or litter sounds so much better, doesn't it? A raft is a group of ducks on water, and a flock is a group of ducks in the air.) The Lizard convinced me Mama would return for the little ones if we left them alone. She had to be out on the water somewhere, protecting the rest of the raft. So we walked away, hoping for the best, fingers crossed, silent prayers uttered.
Thankfully, Mama duck and the other babies eventually returned, and the family swims together once again. As long as they stay in the pond and away from the train track and highway.
Not only is my new old bike emerald green in color, but I've also saved a bit of green while repurposing, rebuilding and reusing.
Oh, and re — cycling... ha ha ha!!!
The Green Queen, one-time true love of The Lizard, underwent some minor surgery last week and had her inaugural ride with a new saddle occupant (and old but new saddle, as well) over the weekend. She's going to be going under the knife again this week for a few more cosmetic procedures, and then hopefully she'll be ready for some big rides.
My sweet husband promised me, "The Green Queen never disappoints." She is not woman-specific, while both my road bike and mountain bikes are. She doesn't fit me like she would fit a man slightly taller than me. But she climbs so much better than any bike I've ever been on, and whoa, is she ever light! Oh, and she shifts smoother, too. Of course, both my derailleurs have failed this year, so maybe I don't know good shifting when I feel it anymore...
The Lizard didn't put all my equipment on the Green Queen for this first date; he chose instead to focus on fit and comfort. Now that we know I can ride his bike, he'll finish moving my equipment from my eight-year-old Gary Fisher Marlin onto his 13-year-old S-Works. Have I ever mentioned 13 is my lucky number???
(Lizard bike trivia, in his own words: "The Green Queen was welded in 1997. I believe back then Specialized S-works frames were welded by the Yeti boys in Durango, before Yeti moved to Golden, although I'm not entirely sure about that.")
Unfortunately, I didn't get in a really tough climb during my first ride on the new old wheels, and no pictures of me enjoying the Green Queen were snapped. You see, I had yet another of my routine blonde moments prior to the test ride. I was so excited about riding The Lizard's bike, I forgot to take a critical training ingredient. Three and a half miles into the ride, I looked down to grab a water bottle, and there was none! I'd left them in the car.
So I sent The Lizard on to scale the 11,000-foot mountain pass, and I returned to the car for necessary nutritional components. Seems I left my bars and gel behind, too.
But I did take my camera! So on the way back to the car and on the way back up the road to meet The Lizard, I snapped a plethora of wildflower pictures, which I've been wanting to do for three weeks, but the rides were so intense, I didn't take the time to be a photographer.
Clouds moved in quickly, so I didn't get in a long ride, but 15.5 miles at altitude constitute a good workout. Next weekend, I'll do better. I promise. 
This flake is a perfect example of how you can change the personality of a flake just by the way you pin it. One pattern can make a plethora of variations. So should we call this flake Sybil? Those of you too young to understand that reference may want to call it the Schizophrenic Flake. Or maybe Schizo for short...
Actually, while I was designing and testing the pattern, I kept thinking this flake reminds me of stained glass. So although I've poked fun here and given it an alternate humorous name, this is my Stained Glass Flake.
You may do whatever you'd like with snowflakes you make from this pattern, but you may not sell the pattern. Thanks, and enjoy!
Finished Size: 6 inches from point to point
Materials: Size 10 crochet thread, size 4 crochet hook, empty pizza box, wax paper or foil, cellophane tape, glue, water, glitter, small container for glue/water mixture, paintbrush, stick pins that won't be used later for sewing, clear thread or fishing line
Stained Glass Snowflake Instructions
Ch 8, sl st into 1st ch OR make magic ring.
Round 1: 24 sc into ring; sl st in starting sc. Pull magic circle tight, but leave opening big enough to allow stitches inside it to lay flat.
Round 2: Ch 7 (counts as 1 tr and ch 3), skip next sc, tr into next sc, *ch 3 skip next sc, tr into next sc; repeat from * around 9 times, ch 1, dc into 4th ch of starting ch 7.
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 3: Sc around dc post just made, ch 7, sc in next ch 3 space, *ch 14, sc in next ch 3 sp, ch 7, sc in next ch 3 sp; repeat from * around 4 more times; ch 6, yo 6 times, draw up loop through starting sc, [yo and bring through 2 loops] 7 times.
Round 4: Sc around post of stitch just made; *ch 14, tr in 7th ch from hook, ch 7, sc in next ch 14 sp, ch 12, sc in same ch 14 sp; repeat from * around 5 times, ending with sl st in starting sc instead of final sc of repeat; bind off. Weave in ends.
Finish: Tape wax paper or foil to top of empty pizza box. Pin snowflake to box on top of wax paper or foil.
Mix a few drops of water with a teaspoon of glue in small washable container. Paint snowflake with glue mixture. 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 foil. 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 the snowflake twirl freely whenever you walk by! Snowflake also may be taped to window or tied to doorknob or cabinet handle.
Two weeks ago, I attempted to pedal up Schofield Pass from Crested Butte. I've cross-country skied up the road as far as Gothic, but I'd never gone further north that side of the pass, which is touted as one of the most dangerous four-wheel drive roads in Colorado.
I managed to get my mountain bike up the first two steep sections of the rough road beyond Gothic, but the next three big inclines did me in. Actually, the climbs weren't the only thing zapping me. The flies were hungry, and I appeared to be the best item on the menu.
I did not make it to the top of Schofield Pass, and I was not able to get my bike up those next three steep sections. Not from the saddle, anyway. I had to walk my bike. The humiliation of doing that, unfortunately, probably drained my motivation more than any other factor.
This was not my first unsuccessful Schofield adventure.
Back in 2003, I discovered the other side of the pass, which starts near Marble, while shooting golden aspen following a successful sunrise photo adventure in the Maroon Valley. Every leaf in sight was gorgeous, and I decided to check out new roads, to boldly go where I'd never gone before.
Marble is a destination in and of itself. I've been many places where the marble quaried from near this tiny town has become national treasures, such as Lincoln Memorial. (THAT's why that picture's up there on top!!!) This particular trip took place before I went digital. I think I used an entire roll of 35mm film on the beautiful rock sculptures throughout this little bump in the road. Yet another jewel beckoned.
On a whim, I'd decided to try to find the photogenic Crystal Mill. I'd been captivated by photos I'd seen for more than a decade, but I had no clue where the mill might be. Until I found Marble.
So off I went, in search of Schofield Pass. No homework. Just drive.
I didn't make it to the mill because, quite frankly, the road scared the daylights out of me. After I got back home that night, I did a little research and learned how many jeeps lie at the bottom of some steep drop-offs higher up Schofield Pass than I'd been able to navigate in my trusty 4Runner. My heart skipped a few beats as I thanked my lucky stars I am a such big chicken when it comes to four-wheeling.
Last week, I made my second mountain bike attempt on Schofield. This time, I made it to the top. (I won't type the 70-something exclamation points I feel when I say that because this post is already getting longer than I intended, but you get the drift, right?) Not only did I get my photo snapped in front of the sign that leaves me begging Patty to please, please, pretty please with sugar on top make me a Gothic Marble meanie I can use as a zipper pull, but I made it up all the steep sections without dismounting. Without walking my bike! Now does that deserve a special award or what?!?
I did have to stop and rest several, no, MANY times, but I didn't have to walk my bike. Even though... get this, my derailleur is kaput! (Can I insert those 70-something exclamation points here without boring you?)
The Lizard worked the best magic he could in the middle of a muddy four-wheel drive road so I could finish my climb, but gears are missing. The bike does not climb smoothly.
No problem, I told my sweet husband. "You said that fancy schmancy mountain bike derailleur on my road bike is an upgrade to what I have. You can just put that on here, and we'll be set for next weekend!"
Um, not necessarily...
Uh, oh. This doesn't sound promising.
"The mountain bike derailleur on your road bike is a nine-speed," The Lizard softly broke the bad news. "Your mountain bike is an eight-speed. I'm not sure the nine-speed will work on it. We can try, but it might not work."
So here we go again. I'm digging my heels in, refusing to buy another bike, at least until I know the final verdict. I'd decided during this ride that I don't want to take my road bike up Pikes Peak at the end of this month. I don't know what condition that road is in, compared to Mount Evans, which I did last month, and if it's anything like Evans, I don't want to descend it on a road bike.
My Wizard Lizard is fitting me to one of his retired bikes (a storied bike with a history all its own), and I'll be riding that for the next couple of weeks to see if I might be able to get used to an unfamiliar bike in time for the Pikes Peak Ascent. The Lizard has promised me his "Green Queen" never disappoints. It climbs. It probably climbs one heck of a lot better than me! Can't hurt that it weights a ton less than my bike, too.
I made it up Schofield Pass on a defective derailleur. So I can make it up Pikes Peak on a mountain bike, right? An alien mountain bike, right?
At least it will still be MY saddle!
After shooting thousands of photographs during last year's Pioneer Youth Trek, I had to take my camera in to have Wyoming taken out. Infamous dust storms left a few uncomplimentary dark spots on my Nikon D300's sensor, plus, at the time, I'd shot about 35,000 photos during the year and a half I'd owned the camera. It was due for a good cleaning.
The cleaning was expected to take about three weeks. I didn't think I could go that long sans my best friend, better half, biggest piece of me. No offense, Lizard. Seriously. I just can't get through life without a camera. (I'm truly teasing. My Lizard is the best living thing in my life! The camera's the best non-living thing in my life.)
I rented the very same model from borrowlenses.com. Couldn't recommend them highly enough. And no, I'm not getting paid to say that. I'm not even getting a discount on my next rental for saying that. It's just a great place if you ever get in a photographic bind, which I can be prone to do.
The full moon just happened to occur during that rental. I'm a full moon adict. Seriously. We plan vacations around where to shoot the moon. So we shot the moon with the rental camera. Which had a few settings set differently than the settings I hadn't figured out how to change on my own camera.
You see, the D300 comes with a 400-page instruction manual. And that doesn't include the Spanish version. That's in a separate 400-page manual. Which also came in the package when I bought the camera. I think it will be a great book to help me learn Spanish. One day.
I actually read the entire English instruction manual before I took pictures with the new camera back in 2008. I carried the manual around with me in my camera bag for the next year, too, so I could look up things as I needed them. Totally wore out the book without pulling it out of the bag too many times. When I'm in the middle of a big shoot and run across a problem, I'm more apt to search through the layers and layers and layers of menus to find the setting I need than pull out the book and try to find the section that MIGHT include the instructions I need. Most settings aren't where I would look for them. (So for those of you who've suspected as much, yes, I'm emotionally, intellectually and spiritually certifiably and verifiably twisted, backwards and upside down.)
While using the rental during the full moon, I noticed the ISO didn't change as darkness crept in. And I got a red (or pink) full moon! Yippee!
The auto sensor can be a handy thing when light levels change unexpectedly, but most of the time, I HATE that feature on the camera of my dreams. I didn't know I could turn it off until I rented my camera's twin, and then I couldn't find the setting to do so when I got my camera back.
Until last full moon.
I must admit, I haven't had many full moon photo opps in the last year because, like clockwork, the sky is cloudy wherever I am every time the moon is full. Month after month, I've been on wild goose chases, or I guess I should say wild moon chases, far too many times in my life.
Until last full moon.
I snapped a fairly decent shot on the way home from Crested Butte two nights before actual fullness (which, yes, I am well aware, scientifically is not technically full, but I'm no scientist, and it LOOKS round to me, so calling a full moon full is good enough for me).
The following night, I noticed a golden nearly full moon from my living room window as it crested the horizon. Too late to go searching for a clever spot to set up the tripod, so I went to the backyard, which is guarded by a chainlink fence that makes landscape photography a pain, but all I wanted was the moon, so I could shoot through one of those little two-inch openings and hopefully still get the golden hue with some midnight blue sky.
I had to work late the next night, the actual night of the full moon, so I didn't get to go to the preplanned spot to set up the tripod. I got home about 20 minutes before the red moon was due to rise and tried to convince myself I still had time to get somewhere I could shoot a better shot than through the fence.
"But I don't want to go back out again tonight."
"Yes, I do. The sky is clear. How often is that going to happen?"
"But I don't feel like going back outside. I've had a hard day!"
"And how are you going to feel tomorrow morning if you let tonight slip by without a shot on this cloudless night?"
"Stop trying to talk me into it."
"Get your butt moving right now, you wimp. You're going to miss it!"
Yes, I frequently have such discussions with myself. I wasn't teasing above when I admitted being twisted.
By this time, of course, I didn't have time to grab the tripod. So I grabbed just the camera and walked down the street, where I have a better view of the horizon, sans fence.
I knew exactly where the moon was going to arise because the horizon had a bright spot that looked almost like a fire just beyond where the eye could see. i climbed atop the slide on a nearby playground and balanced the camera upon a railing so I could shoot without trigger finger motion. And at that exact instant, up came the bloody red moon. Just what I've always wanted!!!
But the dad-blasted camera adjusted the ISO for the dark sky, and the shot came out with a WHITE moon! That's not what I wanted!
I fumbled through the menus in the dark as the moon crawled completely across the horizon and neighbors gathered to try to capture same with their little camera phones. All the while, the redness was fading, and I was growing impatient. Yet I kept thumbing through menus, trying to find the right setting. It had to be in there. I knew it existed. The other camera had it. How could I get it, too?!?
Then my aha moment finally hit. Finally! 50,000 shots after buying this gem, I finally found the setting I needed! And the moon still had a tad of color left! Go figure. They put that stupid control under Shooting Menu, ISO Sensitivity Settings. Why in the world would they put it there?!? That just makes no sense at all!
But at least I've found the setting. I can change it now at will. And next time I get a red full moon, I won't miss it! Well, unless the clouds cover it up.
I began writing this post after a couple of devastating discoveries last week. Then I received a phone call Sunday that helped me put things back in proper perspective. The thoughts I felt last week are still genuine, but they don't dominate my horizon today. Today, I know what really matters.
One specific field I bicycle past whenever I commute to work always turns a radiant shade of gold in late July/early August when the wild sunflowers bloom.
I hadn't been on my road bike much since June, partly thanks to its mountain bike derailleur, but also because I'd neglected my yard and garden while training for Ride the Rockies. Plus, the mountain bike and mountain wildflowers have been shouting to us, and we listened.
I'd noticed small patches of wild sunflowers blooming in areas along my normal non-cycling route to work, so I knew we were getting close to the annual sunrise sunflower photo excursion I've done every year since 2003. Ever since I married in 2005, The Lizard has patiently tolerated my habitual efforts to snap sunrise photos of him on his bike, and even though flowers are not guy things, he'd let me shoot him with the sunflowers every year. For our typical workday commute, we get up around 4:15 a.m. and are out the door less than half an hour later, on our bikes with headlights on our handlebars and bright red blinkies on our backs. I shoot pictures of The Lizard and the sunrise. When the sunflowers are blooming, I get them, too. Then I bike to work, and The Lizard bikes back home to prep for his workday.
Last Friday, we began our late summer ritual beneath a blanket of thick clouds covering just enough of the sky to block the sun and prevent a glorious crimson and fuchsia sunrise. We arrived at the sunflower field 15 minutes before the sun would rise, but there were no sunflowers. No tall grass. Nothing. Just a mowed field. To add insult to injury, the sunrise remained gray.
I assume the field was shaved as a form of thistle control. The barren, stubby grass left behind was heartbreaking.
I got to work a little early that day because I didn't take the half hour of photos I'd planned. I thought I might be able to boost my mood by securing a couple of hours off on the first morning of the Rocky Mountain Balloon Festival, another annual photographic trek, this one cherished by me for a good 16 years or more. Ever since I relocated my Denver metro coordinates in 2003, I've enjoyed my bike ride to Chatfield Reservoir each day of the balloon fest, leaving my digs long before sunrise then watching and shooting the sun and the balloons as they take their lofty place in the sky.
The Lizard has grown to love hot air balloons during the last few years and has eagerly joined me for these predawn rides and helium horizons.
Last year, the balloon festival was canceled due to lack of sponsorship. So we were hungrier than ever for this year's fest.
I navigated to the official website to find out which Friday I would need to ask for late arrival permission at work. Instead of winners of the 2008 balloon photo contest, my computer screen was white with the denim blue "Browser cannot display the webpage" announcement.
Butterflies in my stomach caused a bit of discomfort. I quickly performed an internet search for the event, dreading what I somehow instinctively knew I would find. Instead of a calendar, I found a year-old Denver Post article announcing the Rocky Mountain Balloon Festival had died and gone the way of all in-the-red family events. A new contract could not be negotiated. Event organizers threw in the towel. No more massive balloon gatherings over Chatfield.
We had planned to ride Waterton Canyon one last time over the weekend before it closed yesterday for 18 months. This is one of our favorite mountain biking trails because it's so easily accessed year-round. The South Platte River at the bottom of the canyon will be dredged during the next year and a half, and the construction zone is not deemed safe for human foot and bike traffic.
Living in a fairly arrid climate, I can't ever label rain unfortunate, but last weekend, the moniker was tempting. Heavy thundershowers kept us away from our favorite canyon. Too much lightning danced about. Waterton Canyon closed without a kiss goodbye from us.
We arranged to miss a couple hours of work Monday morning to watch the start of the Colorado Trail Race, an epic unsupported mountain bike event my husband hopes to compete in next year.
Instead, we spent Sunday night at a local hospital, where a very dear friend is slowly and painfully losing her five-year battle against ovarian cancer.
No regrets. We were exactly where we were supposed to be. Both of us were thankful we'd previously made arrangements with our employers, which enabled us to stay with Shonna and her husband throughout the night.
Shonna makes the most beautiful dolls. Five years ago, she asked me to take pictures of her "babies" so she could make a Christmas present calendar for all her loved ones. The day I was supposed to set up my portable studio in her basement, she called to postpone. She'd just been diagnosed, and she didn't feel up to playing with dolls.
We planned the shoot the following year to celebrate her final round of chemo. Her next scan showed new tumors, and she asked to postpone again.
The same thing happened the third year, and numerous complications followed. In an attempt to emotionally lift her spirits, I suggested we do the photos anyway, if she felt up to it, so she would have something to look forward to.
We took the pictures, enjoyed a wonderful visit, and I created a personalized calendar for her. I delivered a stack of spiral-bound calendars to her in her hospital room after her third surgery. Her doctor and nurses went nuts over her dolls, and she was thoroughly distracted, showing off those babies to anyone who took the time to sit with her for a minute or two.
Every time she thinks she's got this cancer licked, it comes back, more fierce than ever. They say ovarian cancer is the worst, that success stories are rare. I wish Shonna didn't have to be proof of the disease's harshness.
When I first began writing this post, before I knew the Sunday detour we would traverse, I was trying to maintain a cheerful attitude in the wake of heavy photographic losses.
Sunrise (and sunset) happens, I wrote. Almost every day. I knew I would be able to shoot many sunrises the rest of my life. I need not waste a moment of my time wishing the sky could have been different.
Waterton Canyon will open again in 2012. Fields of giant sunflowers north of Denver will begin blooming in the next couple of weeks. Hot air balloons will be rising all over the southwest during the next couple of months. I can't ride from my house to the launch point, but there will be plenty of opportunities for me to shoot and shoot and shoot, and then shoot some more.
I will never run out of photo opps. Treasures in my life vanished, yet I am thankful for the pictures and memories I have successfully collected over the years.
Achieving goals and dreaming dreams are important ingredients in the recipe for happiness. Dreams and goals, however, can't hold a candle to friendships forged.
"Remember, the greatest gift is not found in a store nor under a tree, but in the hearts of true friends." - Cindy Lew
Shonna, I am truly honored to be counted among your vast list of friends.
I was working on a scarf on the way home from work and ran out of yarn last winter. (Had a big stash of yarn at home to finish the project; just didn't realize I was going to get so much done on the train.) Twenty minutes of commute remained, so I had a few choices. I could work on a white snowflake, I could play with my Noro sock leftovers, or I could stare out the window and daydream.
I decided to make good on a threat and make a snowflake with the Noro.
I didn't finish before the train ride ended, and the flake was beginning to take a nice shape. However, when I got home and saw my drying February heart flakes, I decided the pink in the Noro would make a much more effective Valentine flake than what I was designing. So I ripped out what I had done, redid the new flake in white and used the Noro to make a heart flake. Oh, and then I finished the scarf.
I decided to call this my Changling Flake.
You may do whatever you'd like with snowflakes you make from this pattern, but you may not sell the pattern. Thanks, and enjoy!
Finished Size: 5.5 inches from point to point
Materials: Size 10 crochet thread, size 4 crochet hook, empty pizza box, wax paper or foil, cellophane tape, glue, water, glitter, small container for glue/water mixture, paintbrush, stick pins that won't be used later for sewing, clear thread or fishing line
Changling Snowflake Instructions
Make magic ring.
Round 1: 6 sc in ring; sl st in 1st sc. Pull magic circle tight, but leave opening big enough to allow stitches inside it to lay flat.
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 10 (counts as 1 tr and ch 6), *tr in next sc, ch 6; repeat from * around 4 more times; sl st in 4th ch of starting ch 10.
Round 3: Ch 1, * in ch 6 space work 3 sc, 1 hdc, 1 dc, 1 tr, ch 3, sl st in top of tr, 1 dc, 1 hdc, 3 sc; repeat from * around 5 more times; sl st in 1st sc.
Round 4: Ch 16 (counts as 1 tr and ch 12), *tr between next two 2 sc groups, ch 12; repeat from * around 4 more times; sl st in 4th ch of starting ch 16.
Round 5: Ch 1, *in next ch 12 space work 3 sc, 3 hdc, 3 dc, 1 tr, ch 5, sc in 5th ch from hook, ch 5, sl st in sc, ch 5, sl st in sc, 1 tr, 3 dc, 3 hdc, 3 sc, ch 8, sc in 2nd ch from hook, ch 2, sc in 2nd ch from hook, ch 2, sc in 2nd ch from hook, 1 dc in each of next 2 ch, 1 hdc in each of next 2 ch, 1 sc in each of next 2 ch, repeat from * around 5 more times; sl st in 1st sc; bind off. Weave in ends.
Finish: Tape wax paper or foil to top of empty pizza box. Pin snowflake to box on top of wax paper or foil.
Mix a few drops of water with a teaspoon of glue in small washable container. Paint snowflake with glue mixture. 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 foil. 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 the snowflake twirl freely whenever you walk by! Snowflake also may be taped to window or tied to doorknob or cabinet handle.
I'm such a turtle, they named the Slow Race after me!
