Yesterday Kristen in her comments on my post said that the butterfly on my lens wasn't from around this area. Well, I beg to differ. Why else did it show up so many times?
Why is this bull rider doing a hand stand in the back...........? Is the bull on him and he's trying to get it off his back?
Oh look!!! A blue one!!!
Ladies and Gentlemen! I think I've figured it out! It wasn't until I looked at this series of photos!!! Here all this time I thought the butterfly was on my camera!! It's not! It's very clear it is on the bulls..... well. (Blushing) Never mind. I wondered what made them buck and throw themselves in the air like they do........ Mystery solved!
When I first saw these shots I'd taken at Pro Bull Riding Rodeo I was irritated. What a waste. I'd just taken hundreds of blurry photos. I'd gotten all of my settings on my camera wrong.
I put them in a folder on my computer and probably would have trashed them had I been organized. I'm not organized and am for once, glad.
The other day, I was looking through old photos and came across these. I saw them with a new perspective. I may be the only one who sees them this way but I decided that blurry isn't necessarily a bad thing!
Blurry, means motion. Blurry is capturing the motion. Obviously I'm not a photographer and know nothing about photography and these photos aren't fantastic but....... here's my point:
The motion. We see the bull and rider coming out of the chute. Look at the guy on the right who is in motion. He's just opened the gate for the bull and rider and is now getting the heck out of dodge. Those who are somewhat a tidge more in focus are the cowboys in back watching.
Here's where it gets cool to me. The center of the bull and the rider are more in focus than the head and feet of the bull. His hind feet especially. You can see where all of the motion is.
Here you can see even though the rider looks like he is going to fall off, he's more in focus than the moving bull.
And now...... you can hardly see the rider as he is thrown through the air. Another figure in blurry motion is the guy in yellow on the right coming in to save the rider. The clown.
Here's another rider. Hand up in the air. He's sitting relatively centered on the bull.
I absolutely love this shot. Here is a bull that you can tell is in full motion and the rider has very little blur as the bull is whipping around.
Another favorite shot. Look at this bull! The swirl of paint as he is twisting and turning and leaping and the rider is still in pretty good focus compared to the bull.
Now notice something. The rider starts to get a bit blurrier. He's moving more now with the bull. His bum is no longer planted firmly to the bull's back on top of his hand and rope.
You guessed it. He's lost his center of balance. Off he goes.
Check out this bull rider. This photo cracks me up. The horns look like ears. Like the bull and rider are flying through the air like Dumbo.
Lots of motion..... both bull and rider.
This rider has too much motion.
Off he goes.......
Another favorite set of shots. Bull in motion...... rider centered and not as blurry.
Can't even see the head of this bull there is so much motion!
Look at this shot! Where is the bull? The rider looks like he is sitting on a polka dotted dust cloud!
I guess you needed to have grown up around this stuff but to me it is beautiful to see such athletes. Both the bulls and the riders.
Have you seen enough now to know what is going to happen?
The rider gets blurry and is in as much motion as the bull............ off he comes.
So, next time you take a bunch of action/motion photos and they turn out blurry, don't delete them and throw them away. Put them in a folder, let some time past, and go back and look at them with fresh eyes. You never know what you may find. You just may find a photo of a bull rider trying to outrun a bull as it tries to launch him up in the air by his hind end!
We have waited many months for the tiniest smidgen or hint of snow for this season. None!
Finally, Saturday night it began to snow. The first real snow of the season. An amount of snow that required shoveling. At ten o'clock at night the snow started to taper off. (Warning: This is the part where I get all oober goober goopy over my boys).
The garage opens and out walk my three oldest Native's with shovels in hand along with my adopted son from up the street. They spent the next two hours shoveling driveway after driveway after driveway and sidewalks in between. All the houses where there weren't youngin's to help shovel, all the houses that housed elderly, and a few others in between just because.......
A few years ago we awoke Christmas morning to major snow. It was awesome!! The Native's came downstairs and looked at the tree and then outside and saw the snow. The older Native's started talking among themselves and next thing I knew, they were throwing on snow pants, coats, and boots over their jammies. There were elderly neighbors who might want to either go and visit family or have family visit. They wanted to make sure the driveways were clear for these folks. Off they went along with The SM and it was once again, several hours before they returned to the younger Native's and myself waiting for them. Grins on their faces bantering back and forth with each other and ready to enjoy the afternoon opening their gifts.
When I started this post I hadn't meant to go in this direction. I was going to tell you all how I'm a lame mom because I haven't made The Native's do their chores and we've been a bit naughty about homework because it finally snowed and I have been letting The Native's play in the snow the second they get home from school until it is dark and time for dinner.
They gobble up their dinner, put on their headlamps, and head back out into the snow.
Here's my justification. If these younger Native's turn out to be anything like the older Native's, I suppose a few missed days of chores and skimping on homework won't hurt them too badly.
Someone please say yes and comment in the affirmative and back me up on my lousy parenting so I can continue to justify myself.
And while you're at it, will you please also give me an excuse for my behavior of sitting in my lazy chair eating handful after handful of chocolate chips while The Native's sluff their chores and homework.
When I first learned to knit, I went to a shop here in town. I was taken in under wing by the kindest most patient ladies. They painstakingly showed and taught me how to make a dish rag. I chose a yarn that was quite colorful which is a good thing. It hides all of the mistakes better.
I returned to the shop several times and after making two pathetic dishrags, told the ladies I wanted to try something else. They told me that I should knit a pair of socks!!! Immediately I had visions of elementary school. Knee high knit socks and tights and brown leather shoes with big ol' rubber soles. Shudder.
Knit socks? Are you kidding me? Who in their right mind would take all of that time to knit a pair of socks when I could go to the 'Marts and buy a whole slew of socks for pennies compared.
The owner of the shop hearing our conversation smiled as he walked by and told me that once I'd worn hand knit socks......... I wouldn't want to wear anything else. Yeaaaaah riiiiiiiight. What ev!
Several months later one of the dears in the shop, we'll call her Elizabeth, begged me to sign up for her class. I asked her what class she was teaching and she told me it was a beginner class on making socks. What? Socks? NO WAY!
I signed up.
I made a hideous pink sock. One sock. Not even a pair.
A few months later my son, Mr. C bought me some really funky sock yarn for Christmas. Not wanting to disappoint, I knit a pair of socks.
And then I knit another pair.
And then I knit another pair.
And another pair......... and another.........
A month ago my friend Jenni from Australia tempted me with what is called a mystery sock. Every week for a month you get part of a pattern for a pair of knit socks. You've no idea what the socks will look like in the end. The first week we got the first few rows, the next week a few more rows, and so on.
When I looked at my first set of instructions I thought there had been a big mistake. These are socks for crying out loud! Who puts cables and bobbles and doo dads in a pair of socks? A sweater yeah! Socks? This is nuts! NO WAY!
I signed up.
Don't tell the local shop owner. He doesn't know I've been knitting socks. I like to remind him from time to time that anyone who would take the time to knit a pair of socks is crackers in the head.
We've been hearing about it in the news for about a week now. A big storm is coming. Prepare for several inches of snow on the valley floor. More in the mountains.
I can feel the storm coming. The warning signs are there. It starts out slow. I feel a few raindrops on my face. The wind begins to pick up ruffling my hair. Not enough to disturb me too much but enough that I notice. I carry on hoping. Wishing that the storm will somehow pass me by. I know it won't....... but I still hold onto a thread that somehow if I lay down and rest in the grass with a blanket over me the storm will change direction and miss me.
The rain comes down faster, harder turning into hail that beats upon my back. I can't get up, the wind pushing against me so fiercely. It is too strong, this storm. I am too weak. I can not fight it. I wait out the storm. My instinct is to close my eyes tight and curl up into a ball. I don't. During a storm is when you can see magical things happen. Those of the fairy and woodland world come out. I see them flitting about mending things, placing warm things against my aching back, brushing/kissing my cheek as their wings flutter past me. Feeding me both body and soul.
Spring always comes after the cold of winter.
The storm begins to wane. I am able to lift my head off of the ground and look around. As the sun comes out the warmth permeates and flows through my body giving me strength. I stand up and look around. The color is so much brighter, the world around me so much cleaner, the air I breath deeply into my lungs crisp. The rainbow above me a promise from a Father that there will never be a flood again. Storms come and go in our lives but we will never be given more than we can handle............
This morning when I got up, I was all set to write a post about something else. It was one of those mornings that started with me crawling out of bed as my body and mind screamed, "Noooooo" curling itself back towards my nice warm bed. It's dark outside. It's cold. I didn't sleep that great. I want to sleep more. I want a nap and the day hasn't even begun.
I got The Native's up and as I opened Levi's bedroom door my nostrils were accosted and running for cover. It was one of those moments where my rubber gloves screamed, ran and hid, the wet wipes weren't nearly enough, and it took five matches to air out the house after the ordeal was over.
It was turning out to be a poo of a morning............ until I brought up the news on the Internet and saw this story/video. Several of The Native's and myself crowded around my computer screen as we watched this several times laughing and erasing all left over residue of the poo morning.
I present to you......... a bird with some imagination and skills. Snowboarding skills.
1. The young of certain animals, especially a group of young birds or fowl hatched at one time and cared for by the same mother. See Synonyms at flock1.
2. The children in one family.
v.brood·ed, brood·ing, broods
1. To sit on or hatch (eggs).
2. To protect (young) by or as if by covering with the wings.
1. To sit on or hatch eggs.
2. To hover envelopingly; loom.
a. To be deep in thought; meditate.
b. To focus the attention on a subject persistently and moodily; worry: brooded over the insult for several days.
c. To be depressed.
Things have been a bit broody around here. It all started one day when one of The Native's was asked to collect the eggs.
"I can't, there's a chicken sitting on the eggs"!
I told The Native not to worry, the hen must be laying, leave her alone.
Next day. Same thing. Every time I went out to get the eggs or one of The Native's there was a hen sitting on the eggs. It was enough hit or miss that I didn't realize it was the same hen until I started to try to collect the eggs myself. It was Dorkus. Of course.......
I opened the gypsy wagon to check for eggs and got the most withering look from her. I went to check under her and the feathers plumped up and her eye got all big and ugly and rather than get my hand pecked I closed the door. I totally get the brooding thing.
I looked up brooding hens on the Internet. I don't want a brooding hen. There's no rooster. I have no intention of ever having a brooding hen. What am I to do about it. What I read is that I needed to 'break her up'. There were two suggestions. One was to isolate Dorkus in a cage with a wire bottom so she couldn't sit and get comfortable. This would make it so her underside would get a bit chilly and her temperature would come down. Like this:
The other suggestion was to dunk the hen. Like this:
Another thing I learned about broody hens is that this usually happens in the spring and can be expected. Every once in awhile, you'll get a hen that is a bit crackers in the head and try to go broody in the middle of the winter. Dorkus.
They say that a horses behavior mirrors their owners behavior. I really hope this isn't the case because if you look at the definition of broody 3c .......
Well, let's just say, if you happen to drive by one day and I'm either sitting in an all wire cage or The SM is dunking my bum in a bucket of ice cold water.......... You'll know why. I'm broody. Don't mess with me. My feathers are sticking straight up, my eye is all evil, and if you get close, I just may peck ya!
P.S. Dorkus is no longer broody and is happily scratching her way around the gypsy wagon. There's hope for me yet.
I had to put OTN in my title so I could look really cool like the bloggers who have knitting blogs who are officially cool. I wanna be like them. OTN means: On The Needles
Meaning my project is still on the knitting needles. It isn't finished. So why am I taking photos of an unfinished project? Because it's what the cool knitting blogs do. The End!
I love cables. Cables are those lumpy things on the front of the sweater that give it texture and pattern. Yes, it is going to be a sweater. A little baby cable knit sweater if all goes to plan/pattern.
When I first started learning to knit I thought cables would be ultra hard. Boy was I pleased when I realized that they aren't hard at all!
I like projects that you put very little effort into but reap tons of reward which makes it look like you put in way more than you did. Kind of like pumpkin seeds. You throw those suckers in the ground and your whole garden is covered with big green plants that produce big orange pumpkins and everyone thinks you're an amazing gardener. Truth is you threw smashed pumpkins in your garden in the fall, forgot about them, and in the spring they started to sprout, you were lazy and didn't weed all summer, and in the fall you look like you did it on purpose! Not that I'm speaking from experience mind you....... I've just heard......
Same with knitting cables. You just move things around a little here and there and you end up with a project that everyone thinks you must know what you are doing to have produced.
I don't know when I starting noticing hands. I just know that I notice them. Maybe because since I can remember I've been self conscious of mine. In high school mine were always dry and my nails, I could never get them to grow. Still can't. I'd see other girls' hands with pretty nails, nice and soft, long fingers..... not short and stubby with big palms like mine.
Growing up we worked. We worked all year long outside with our hands. My hands looked it.
As I sit here typing a lot of the same envies are still there. I'll never have nice nails. My hands are dry. My fingers still short and stubby with big palms. When I am at home working they don't bother me but when I am out and about and see other women's hands, the nice manicured pretty hands, I get envious and want to hide mine.
I still work. All year long with my hands. My hands look it.
A man's hands are different. Why in the world am I so fascinated by hands? Because I'm odd. The End! A man's hands should not be soft in my opinion. I know it is becoming all the rage for men to get pedicures and fix their nails and the such. A man's hands should be work worn. They should be a bit rough. When giving a hand shake it should be firm. I'm sure this is all written in the gospel of hands somewhere and by not following is breaking some hand care commandment.
See? I'm warped with the whole hand thing!! Don't even get me started with feet. They just disgust me..
Being fascinated with hands it is a wonder that I never noticed Levi's. I mean I noticed them...... but I didn't 'notice' them until his pediatrician pointed some things out to me. Like the fact that his fingers and toes are really short. The pediatrician clicked off some term like he was checking off an everyday list of things to buy on his grocery list as he was checking Levi over.
I took Levi's hand into mine. Yeah, I guess his fingers are abnormally short. Hmmm. I hadn't noticed nor did I notice that his toes are the same........ abnormally short. There's a clinical term for it. I don't remember what it is.
I guess I hadn't noticed because like everything else with Levi, unless someone else points it out or says something, I don't see him as others do. To me when he tries to sign his name and has to hold down his fingers so his pinky will stay up to sign the letter "I" at the end of his name....... or when he is signing, "I love you" he has to hold his pinky up........ that is just one of the things that makes Levi so endearing....... I hadn't realized it was because of his little fingers.......
During church while we are sitting next to each other, I like to reach over and intertwine Levi's fingers in between mine for a few seconds. He only lets me for a few seconds but, he lets me! Understanding how Levi is and how he doesn't really let you hold him or touch him very much I can't explain what this means to me, to hold his little hand in mine for a few seconds.
Two hands intertwined. Both with short stubby fingers. Mine, and his............
She came to us one snowy day, the only snowy day in fact that we've had this winter season, on the back of a chicken through the forest. All the way she came clear across the ocean from Australia to our family for a short visit here Utah, USA.
Okay, so maybe she didn't arrive on the back of a chicken but she did come in a snowstorm and she did come all the way from Australia. Her name is Lucy and she is traveling the globe and it just so happens out of all of the houses she chose to stop at...... ours has been one of them. We feel quite lucky! So lucky in fact, that we invited Lucy to celebrate Hanukkah with us!
We had no idea when we invited Lucy to join us that she was such a crack in the kitchen. Levi loves to help me shred potatoes. I had about 50 potatoes to shred so Lucy helped Levi while other Native's and I peeled.
She and Levi had the fun part....
After the potatoes are shredded they go into a bowl along with several other ingredients for the latkes! Lucy was very keen on making sure I fried the latkes to perfection. They have to be nice and crisp and brown. We like to eat them with applesauce.
When Lucy saw that the dreidel game was being played she left me to my kitchen duties, (I didn't blame her, I'd have left if I could too) and went over to play the dreidel game.
I think Lucy is getting the hang of it...... look how much candy she is winning!
As we were waiting for the donuts to rise and cook, it was time to light our menorah. We let Lucy be the guest of honor. First candle lit on our first night of "The Festival of Lights"!
We've had a lot of fun having Lucy for a visit. She's packing her bags, getting her visa stamped by us and soon will be headed off across the country to visit another friend in West Virginia, USA. You can read all about Lucy's adventures here on her blog. She has her own..... which is no surprise beings as she is such a world traveling independent lady such as herself!
So long and farewell Miss Lucy! When you get back to Queensland, Australia give your mum a hug and kiss for us beings as we live so far away and can't ourselves. And Miss Lucy, tell your Mum that for the next adventure, she needs to pack her bags and come with!
P.S. Remember my post from yesterday? The "I Wish" one? The lovely Jenni who created Lucy and sent her off on this grand adventure is one of many such friends I'd love to meet in person.........