I think it started with the blackhawk

On June 17th, 2011 I packed up two cars full of my belongings and moved from Kansas to Colorado. I moved here with no real idea of what I would do and knowing only the people here that my mother had introduced me to on my various visits. Apparently, I was supposed to be here; within a week of moving I began working full time at a hotel in town. Aside from paying my bills and allowing me to save some money, my job introduced me to some amazing people who I am lucky enough to count as some of my closest friends.Getting to work on a daily basis with my friends has been beyond wonderful; but the opportunity to talk with some of the groups whose events we have hosted has been just as rewarding.

In September we had a group come stay with us called the Gold Star Mothers; it is a group of parents and families of soldiers killed in combat who are from all over Colorado. As we prepared for their arrival, I was told to ready myself for an emotional weekend and to stock up on tissues; they weren't lying. The ladies who organized the weekend were the first to arrive, and with them they brought photos of each and every soldier from Colorado who had been killed in action since 2000. Soon after their arrival our hallway was lined with tables filled with photographs of the soldiers, each frame proudly boasting their rank and name, and an LED candle in front of each photo in memory of their lives. I would venture to say that this was one of the most moving displays I had seen in a long time. That is, until the blackhawk flew in.

Around 9 AM everyone, including the staff, funneled outside; you could already hear the blades spinning in the distance. The hour that I spent outside in our parking lot that day, when I probably should have been answering the phone, was so full of love and sorrow that I could never fully explain it. As we heard the helicopter getting closer, its shadow appeared in the field. It was amazing; hearing the swoosh of the blades effortlessly cutting through the air and seeing its shadow sweep across the ground before we were able to actually see it. When the blackhawk came into view there was a palpable sense of admiration...and sadness. It was absolutely heartbreaking and awe-inspiring to see the families of the soldiers watch a helicopter (likely identical to the one that their children flew in) fly in...and to see them be able to touch and explore it.

Spending that weekend talking with the families of the fallen soldiers, watching the medical blackhawk fly in, and being able to sit in on some of their ceremonies really spoke to my heart. After the roll call ceremony some blankets in various patriotic colors and designs were gifted to some of the families via name drawing. It suppose it seems like an odd thing to be excited about, but the families who won the blankets (especially the mothers) were extremely excited to be getting one. I think that it will forever be a symbol of the immense amount of love and thanks that so many people feel for the sacrifices their child made...and a reminder of the weekend they spent in a small town in Colorado, sharing and healing with families going through the same things. So...I decided I wanted to make a blanket to donate.

Thus, bringing us to perhaps the largest project I have ever taken on.  I'm not sure what made me choose to create the most time consuming, difficult, patriotic-themed possible; but that is exactly what I did. So, I am currently about one third of the way done (honestly, it might be more like one fourth, but I think one third sounds better) with a crocheted American Flag blanket. So far, this is what it looks like (on my twin size bed):

As you can see, I'm only on stripe six...barely. The stripes are probably the easiest part though. In addition to the 13 stripes and large square of blue, I will also be making 100 stars. Now, I know there are those of you reading this and thinking "100?? Where the hell did she get that number from?" and I don't blame you. For those of you that know me well, you have probably immediately understood. For any normal person crocheting a flag, crocheting 50 stars would be perfectly reasonable. However, I am the kind of person that organizes my closet by color...and has no problem (nay, won't continue without) pulling out ten rows of crocheting if there is a mistake 11 rows down. So, I am making 100 stars so that the blanket won't have a 'front' or 'back'. :) Here is my lovely pile of stars so far (I think I am up to 35) and a close up of one star:

It is now March...so I have roughly 6 months to complete this.
Wish me luck! :)

The original paper trail

To this day, I don't know what made me decide to start writing...and I am absolutely clueless as to what made me continue. Looking back on the first couple years of poems, written few and far between, makes me cringe. Those original poems combine the simplicity of Dr.Seuss (whom I adore), the girlishness of a dog show poodle, and the distracted attention span of a child no older than 8. I don't know why I kept writing, but I know exactly where I began.

My grandpa's studio was my favorite room in the house. It had a wall of  windows that looked out to the backyard and twenty foot ceilings that allowed you to feel as though no idea was too big for this room. We would draw, color, create, imagine, and play. I used to sit at the computer and play games or write random things while Under the Boardwalk played loudly from the stereo...or sometimes some Ray Charles or Andrea Bocelli. I loved to watch him work while he fixed a Flow Blue dish or sketched out a new stained glass window...but he always encouraged me to do something of my own.

I am not sure that I will ever share THE original poems with the world...but I'm comfortable starting a few years in. So...here is one of many...entitled Doorway to my Future

I quicken my stride and think of years passed.
Finally, I reach my destination.
I wasn't sure where I was going, but somehow I know this is it.
As I grasp the doors handle, I feel my past and present coming together;
Suddenly making sense...
And I know everything was worth it.

Every pain, every mistake;
The failures, the faults.
All of it was worth it just to get here.
Now I stand in the rain, at the doorway to my future,
Not wanting to go in.
Knowing that if there is no rain on my face to feel...
That I can't be sure that this is real.

So here I stand, letting the rain wash over me.
Erasing my fears; fueling my heart;
Preparing me for the world ahead.

Perhaps I'll go in.
Maybe one day...someday soon.
Maybe I'm just not ready.
But at least now I know
Where the doorway to my future lies.

Beginning the journey

My name is Nicole, and I am an addict.

I have an insane addiction to anything craft related; yarn, paper, scissors, ribbon, stamps, buttons, special pens, fabric, thread, etc. I've recently come to realize that it is fairly common for people like myself to become extremely excited about a new project, buy all the necessary materials, and somehow in the middle of completing the project, stumble upon another new and just as exciting project. Ad nauseam. Due to this fact I currently have no less than 10 started projects ranging from a queen sized crocheted blanket of the American Flag to some ideas and beginnings of poetic verses. 

My plan is to share my various projects with the world. Perhaps more realistically, this blog (which really is a project in itself...do you see the problem now?) will likely only be read by my family and a few close friends.  My hope is that this will give me some kind of accountability and motivation to finish all of my previously started works and take on new projects which branch out of my comfort zone. I cannot promise that I will impress you with my skill, or dazzle you with my words; but I do promise to share my progress and procrastination, my successes and failures and my old creations and new ideas.

I hope you enjoy this journey as much as I already know I will. 

"Be brave enough to live creatively. The creative is the place where no one else has ever been. You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. You cannot get there by bus, only by hard work, risking and by not quite knowing what you are doing. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover will be yourself." ~ Alan Alda