Wow. Two posts in one day. Please refrain from fainting. It was son #1's 11th birthday last week, and he received a little RCA Small Wonder camcorder. It's had some interesting adventures I thought I'd better share. The idea was to explore places humans could not possibly fit into...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Look!
Here it is. My first baby-related project both started and completed for the same baby! I'm so proud of myself, I had to show it off. The yarn is incredibly soft and has a nice sheen to it. It is 80% bamboo and 20% wool. Since we're not finding out what we're having... the set is gender generic. I do have some pink soysilk yarn to make another set though, just in case.
Also, I have a camera again! At least one that works. Not that that is any sort of excuse for not posting...
Sunday, February 8, 2009
What's your definition of blindness?
I just returned from a great trip with my family--to Maui, Hawaii. We combed the island in our rental van, played at different beaches (red, black, and white), hiked around a volcano, had heart attacks near 200-ft waterfalls (with wonderful views, however), and even milked special Hawaiian goats (well, maybe they just lived there.)
A couple of days into our trip, we were at a great black sand beach along the road to Hana. For those who haven't yet experienced it, the road to Hana is a narrow, winding, sometimes single-lane road that goes around the north-east side of the island. The trip is an event in and of itself, spectacular views, lots of hikes, waterfalls, cliffs, and beaches. Not to mention GREEN. Lots of it. It takes about two hours to travel in either direction. This beach was almost to Hana, about an hour and a half away from "civilization." My boys were really enjoying the power of the surf--letting it knock them over and wash them up the beach, while their dad was acting as a net to make sure no one was pulled out to sea. The two little ones wouldn't approach the water, and were enjoying themselves building and flattening black sand castles/houses on the beach as far away from the water as possible.
I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity, finding them so happily occupied, and I joined my dh for a bit of bodysurfing. When I sat up after being tumbled head over heels up the beach by a large wave, I realized things were looking a little blurry. I had given my glasses as an offering to Poseidon, so to speak. They were gone forever. I had a good laugh at myself for being so silly as to leave my glasses on.
At first, I was grateful that I had seen the beauty of the beach and the drive leading up to it before I lost my ability to discern detail, as everything was reduced to a haze of colors for me at that point. But as we continued to enjoy the beach, hiked to waterspouts and lava caves near the area, I realized that I could still see more than enough to enjoy the things around me--especially my family. Even the drive back was spectacular, just a little more surreal and less defined (we had to wait a couple of hours for another set of keys to the rental, as we lost those on the beach as well...).
I realized I could drive in familiar areas during daylight, and probably be the safer for it, as I wouldn't risk accidents by swerving to avoid small animals crossing the road. I can cook blind, and even watch tv and enjoy it, depending on what's on. The only thing I regretted was my lack of reading material. I longed for a book right up to my nose, but had not brought one on the trip.
Because I only brought the one pair of glasses, and because it was so late by the time we were able to drive back to our "home," I had to stay in my hazy world for about 24 hours until I could get my prescription faxed to me and get new glasses at Lenscrafters.
Here was my big "aha!" moment. I don't usually spend much time without glasses, unless I'm sleeping. When I have them off, I feel like I'm in my own little world, unable to truly communicate or interact with others. The more the hours went by without perfect vision, however, the more I was forced to be me, and I realized it didn't matter what I perceived things were like outwardly. So what if my assessment of the outward appearance of that lady walking down the street isn't correct? What truly matters is how I view her soul, and that has nothing to do with my eyes. My new definition of blindness is failing to realize the true nature of things--the inward identity of my family members, friends, and my own divine mission and potential.
That was the best thing I took home from our trip--and all from lost glasses.
A couple of days into our trip, we were at a great black sand beach along the road to Hana. For those who haven't yet experienced it, the road to Hana is a narrow, winding, sometimes single-lane road that goes around the north-east side of the island. The trip is an event in and of itself, spectacular views, lots of hikes, waterfalls, cliffs, and beaches. Not to mention GREEN. Lots of it. It takes about two hours to travel in either direction. This beach was almost to Hana, about an hour and a half away from "civilization." My boys were really enjoying the power of the surf--letting it knock them over and wash them up the beach, while their dad was acting as a net to make sure no one was pulled out to sea. The two little ones wouldn't approach the water, and were enjoying themselves building and flattening black sand castles/houses on the beach as far away from the water as possible.
I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity, finding them so happily occupied, and I joined my dh for a bit of bodysurfing. When I sat up after being tumbled head over heels up the beach by a large wave, I realized things were looking a little blurry. I had given my glasses as an offering to Poseidon, so to speak. They were gone forever. I had a good laugh at myself for being so silly as to leave my glasses on.
Look, ma! No glasses!
At first, I was grateful that I had seen the beauty of the beach and the drive leading up to it before I lost my ability to discern detail, as everything was reduced to a haze of colors for me at that point. But as we continued to enjoy the beach, hiked to waterspouts and lava caves near the area, I realized that I could still see more than enough to enjoy the things around me--especially my family. Even the drive back was spectacular, just a little more surreal and less defined (we had to wait a couple of hours for another set of keys to the rental, as we lost those on the beach as well...).
I realized I could drive in familiar areas during daylight, and probably be the safer for it, as I wouldn't risk accidents by swerving to avoid small animals crossing the road. I can cook blind, and even watch tv and enjoy it, depending on what's on. The only thing I regretted was my lack of reading material. I longed for a book right up to my nose, but had not brought one on the trip.
Because I only brought the one pair of glasses, and because it was so late by the time we were able to drive back to our "home," I had to stay in my hazy world for about 24 hours until I could get my prescription faxed to me and get new glasses at Lenscrafters.
With prescription sunglasses on Haleakala
Here was my big "aha!" moment. I don't usually spend much time without glasses, unless I'm sleeping. When I have them off, I feel like I'm in my own little world, unable to truly communicate or interact with others. The more the hours went by without perfect vision, however, the more I was forced to be me, and I realized it didn't matter what I perceived things were like outwardly. So what if my assessment of the outward appearance of that lady walking down the street isn't correct? What truly matters is how I view her soul, and that has nothing to do with my eyes. My new definition of blindness is failing to realize the true nature of things--the inward identity of my family members, friends, and my own divine mission and potential.
That was the best thing I took home from our trip--and all from lost glasses.
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