Hindsight

Life is full of ups and downs. Last year seemed sometimes to have more downs than ups. This year may have caused some to wonder if the downs will ever stop.

I've had my fair share of downs, and then some. Finding out long, long ago in what feels like a different world I couldn't give birth, losing my sister and then my brother, both of my adopted kids permanently running away just months apart -- all were such dark days. I wasn't sure I'd survive each time trauma hit.

It hasn't been easy. There have been many days when I wondered if life was worth living. But each experience taught me something new and helped me build new strength. Each time I survived, it was worth it.

One of the darkest days of my life was back in August, when Lizard went into acute rehab. Every time I sit down to try to share the sequence of events, I decide it's better left in my journal and not on display for the world to see.

One of the spontaneous things I did last year to combat depression and desperation was sign up for a free 10-week Zoom emotional resilience class. One of the things I learned in that class is a lesson I learned many, many years ago, back when I first learned I could not have children. I literally saw no purpose in life back then if I could not be a mother. I went home alone to a dark trailer in the middle of the desert where I had no phone and no friends, pulled out my tablet-sized college rule journal (because this was ages before anyone had home computers other than hand-held calculators) and began making a list of things for which I was grateful.

1. My grandma.
2. Photography.
3. Poetry.
4. My sewing machine.
5. Etc., etc., etc...

I fell asleep on my writing pad at number 84. That list got me through a terrifying night. I've pulled "the list" out and added to it many times since and am currently at number 694, with no repetitions. Last year during my emotional resilience class, I was challenged to write something for which I was grateful in my journal each night. I remembered the list. I've added to that list every night since November 22.

Right after Christmas 2020, Lizard and I watched "The Hiding Place", the story of Corrie ten Boom. I'd read the book many years ago, and there have been times when I have studied Corrie's life. Sometimes the picture doesn't become truly clear until you watch it happen in front of your face. Perhaps 2020 had something to do with my new appreciation of her life. Can you imagine being thankful for lice?!?

The most important lesson I learned in 2020 is to be grateful. The hardships we have faced have taught us things we need to know. The difficulties we have overcome have made us stronger.

There have been dark days. I'm sure there will be many more. But there have been many bright days, too. Working through the difficulties takes effort. Sometimes the struggle seems endless.

Surviving is worth it. I promise.

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Mini Tree Monday

Our lovely fiber optic tree has not been displayed every Christmas the past few years. During our busier and/or darker days, I opted to put up simple decorations instead because taking down the tree (and the hand-crocheted snowflakes!) in January or February was so depressing for me. I treasure the love and compassion of Christmas, and I wish it could last all year. One of the tools I've developed to combat depression is seeking more daylight (seasonal affective disorder used to own me), and another is to not do things that bring back or cause new painful memories.

This year, I think the whole world needs an uplift. Possibly every day, or maybe even every hour. Or even every minute.

So when I found myself stressing about whether to put the tree up (because I love to see my snowflakes twirl on it) or not because taking it down likely will be miserable, I had to factor in a couple of new motivations this year.



I have less room this year because I brought in so many tomato plants for the winter. The tomato plants are taking up the space the amaryllises would occupy (and the amaryllis bulbs are coming up out of the basement one at a time each week to provide me with blossoms of joy throughout this winter), and I'm struggling to find room for amaryllis pots each week! (I may end up with an amaryllis in each room this year!)

I've had to remove all handmade rugs (mostly oversized snowflakes!) and clear paths throughout the house this year to enable Lizard to move around freely without tripping over or bumping into things. Our tree might not be Parkinson's friendly. I literally do not have a safe space for it to reside and not interfere with Lizard's at-home physical therapy.

I still get to admire my beautiful snowflake lamp every single day, so I'm not as worried about not being able to hang snowflakes on a tree this year.







And yet, I'd like to put up something more than just my nativity, our stockings and one string of lights. My pink foil tree (along with three other little lifelike artificial trees) is at work. I'm still incredibly thankful I get to work from home, but if I had that little pink tree, it would have been set up at home last Friday.


I did an internet search for mail order mini trees but wasn't irresistibly drawn to a single finding. As those who have followed me through the years know, I don't Christmas shop anyway. (Well, maybe a good yarn or fabric sale... Ha ha ha!)







I've made quite a few mini trees in the past. I've shared patterns for mini trees. (Click the crocheted mini tree photos in today's post to get the patterns.) I've given away every single mini tree I've ever made. Not a one remains. But boy, do I have a fresh supply of cardboard cones! So perhaps it's time to make a new mini tree! Or more than one... Ah! I could have a crocheted mini tree in each room to go with each amaryllis!!!

Daffy Tree

Scrappy Tree

Macaroni Shell Tree










Butterfly Tree







More than a decade ago, I fell victim to a sock yarn addiction. I literally bought every skein I could find on good sale. Shops closing. Discontinued colorways. Even thrift shops! As a result, I have an unbelievable sock yarn collection. I've filled two huge plastic bins plus more than a handful of PIGS (Projects in Grocery Sacks). Oh, and then there's the baby girl collection I bought when my granddaughter was born going on six years ago now. At the time, I intended to make her a baby fashionista. Unfortunately, only three lacy dresses were finished in time before she was too old to wear them.






When I began collecting sock yarn, I was as addicted to sock knitting and crocheting as I am to snowflake designing and crocheting. I think if I picked up a size 2 circular knitting needle, I'd be buried in unfinished socks in no time! It took quite a while, but I made socks for all my girl friends that second sock yarn year! Oh, those were the days! But where in the world did I get the time?!? Oh, yeah, I wasn't quilting as much then... Sigh. Something always has to give, right?

Well, I'm going to take a chance on reigniting my sock yarn addiction, at least the using-up part, and create a sock yarn tree for my kitchen. And who knows?!? If I love it way too much, perhaps I'll have to make one for each room of the house! That would use up a few hanks!!! Oh, but then I'd have to replace them, right?!? Ha ha ha!

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

Finished Size: 7.5 inches tall
Materials: 50 grams of sock or fingering yarn, size B crochet hook, cardboard cone-shaped yarn center or suitable stuffing (great use for quilt scraps or clean recycled socks/underwear
NOTE: Sport or worsted yarn may be used with a larger-size crochet hook, but the finished tree will be much larger

Sock Yarn Tree Instructions

Make magic ring.

Round 1: Ch 2 (counts as 1 dc), 11 dc in ring. Pull magic circle 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 7, 1 dc in 3rd ch from hook and in each of next 4 ch, sk next dc, sl st in next dc (branch made)] 6 times.
NOTE: Oh, look! Binding off here makes a funny snowflake!

Round 3: Ch 2 (does not count as dc), working from behind and between Round 2 sl sts (skipping sl sts), [2 dc in next Round 1 dc, 3 dc in next Round 1 dc] 3 times for a total of 9 dc. Sl st in 2nd ch of starting ch 2.

Round 4: [Ch 7, 1 dc in 3rd ch from hook and in each of next 4 ch, sk next dc, sl st in next dc] 9 times.

Round 5: Ch 2 (does not count as dc), working from behind and between Round 4 sl sts, work 2 dc in each Round 3 dc without a slip st around. Sl st in 2nd ch of starting ch 2.

Rounds 6-32 (or desired tree height): Repeat Rounds 4 and 5 16 times (or until tree is desired height), increasing 3 dc (and thereby increasing 2 branches on every following even Round) evenly spaced apart on every third uneven Round. This pattern is not rocket science. Don't stress about counts at all. Just work in a couple of extra branches as you need to widen the base. Finished branch count will not matter, as long as you are happy with the shape. Bind off. Weave in ends.

Finish: Place tree over carboard cone or stuff with desired filler. Display proudly where it can make you smile often. Lizard asked me if I'm going to decorate mine. I think I like the self-striping sock yarn colors as decorations, but you might like to stitch on buttons or beads, or maybe even tiny snowflakes, on your Sock Yarn Tree!

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My Turtle Shell

Readers who have visited more than just my snowflake patterns the last 11 years know I have battled depression most of my life. I think I've developed some great tools to manage it, and I felt as if I was ahead of the game.

Until April.

I'd spent most of January and February worrying if I should be leaving Lizard home alone five long days a week after total knee replacement in December that ramped up his Parkinson's. In March, I was one of the lucky ones who didn't lose my job and was able to work from home.


It took a bit of modification to make my dinosaur computer do everything it needed to do for me to be able to work from home. Meanwhile, I could see being at home to take care of my husband was exactly where I needed to be. I am blessed with bosses who want me to continue working from home because it works and because they want me to be able to take care of my husband.

Lizard and I took short little walks on the mornings he didn't have physical therapy throughout the dark and cold days of March. He was beginning to walk so well! He wasn't shuffling his feet, and he had very little knee pain! Regardless what was happening in the rest of the world, my Lizard was going to be able to walk with me again! Oh, man, was I on top of the world!






As April began to grow a couple of degrees warmer, we began taking tiny little bike rides after I got off work each day. I found a secluded trail hardly anyone knew about, and each day, we would try to build mileage. I could see Lizard was struggling; he was having balance and coordination issues all over again, and he seemed to be growing more disoriented each day. We had a dream and goal of being able to ride at least a portion of at least one of this summer's rides, not knowing all would eventually be canceled or postponed, if not virtual. Elephant Rock was the last ride standing, rescheduled to October, but now it's been cancelled, too.

On April 29, we went for a bike ride after I got off work and were able to pedal 12 miles! I was so excited!!! I thought our dreams were going to come true!






The next day, Lizard wasn't able to get his leg over the bike. From that point on, I felt as if he was slipping further and further away as he lost more and more ability and grew more and more disabled. Literally overnight. It sometimes seemed only his shell remained.

Initially, I suspected a change in his thyroid medication on April 26 week may have been the culprit. Our state was locked down, and no in-person visits with health specialists were allowed unless the patient had coronavirus symptoms. We had Zoom-like appointments with Lizard's endocrinologist, who was worried we might be exposed to the virus if we went for a blood test so she could see his numbers. We held out a few weeks, then finally decided it would be worth the risk to go get a blood test because Lizard could no longer walk or sleep.

One week later, we learned Lizard's thyroid was functioning properly and not the reason he was going downhill so fast. I think I had secretly hoped it would be thyroid because thyroid can be fixed. Parkinson's cannot.


We began communicating regularly with the neurologist. We did a few Zoom-like calls, and the doctor had me hold up the phone so he could see Lizard try to walk. The neurologist had me do knee taps so he could try to see Lizard's reflexes. He did the absolute best he could, but some things just can't be diagnosed over the phone.

When the neurologist finally was allowed to begin seeing patients in his office again - only two days a week - he personally called to ask if we could come right in. We did.

He said Lizard's gait did not look like Parkinson's. He said it looked like Lizard was having extreme back pain. Lizard was having so much trouble with communication and comprehension, he couldn't even tell me he had excruciating back pain. All he'd been able to communicate to me, other than he was miserable all the time, was that he couldn't move his legs.

The neurologist said severe back pain would prevent him from being able to sleep, and sleep deprivation could be causing confusion and balance issues. He scheduled us for a nerve test the following week. A week later, we learned Lizard had at least two pinched nerves. We were scheduled for MRIs the following week. Results took nearly 10 days to reach the neurologist. The MRIs showed Lizard has a congenital condition in his back, plus a slipped disc and severe arthritic narrowing of the spinal cord.

We were referred to a neurosurgeon who specializes in minimally invasive procedures, and we were able to get in the following week. We hoped and prayed our solution could be achieved via injection and continued physical therapy. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The neurosurgeon went over the MRI with us, explaining why things had gone so far south so quickly and even taking the time to demonstrate for us which parts of Lizard's mobility were due to Parkinson's and which were due to a nearly severed nerve bundle.

We had only two choices: do nothing and allow Lizard's back and Parkinson's to grow worse, which would eventually lead to Lizard being paraplegic, or surgery, which likely will make the Parkinson's worse but should enable Lizard to walk again within a few days and possibly even get back on his bike one day, although it may be only a trainer from now on.

The key to Parkinson's is to stay active. Lizard has limited mobility. We have to get him active again. We decided to go through with the surgery, even though doing that during this dark time is terrifying. I initially thought I would not be able visit Lizard in the hospital, after being his sole caregiver for 12 weeks. Lizard will be in the hospital for up to five days, and I thought I wouldn't be involved in his care at all during that time. Learning to trust him into someone else's hands right now is such a huge effort for me.

I've always thought I'm not that fragile. But I guess, when it comes right down to it, I'm only human.


I pulled my turtle head inside my shell and turned off all social media. In just three days after stepping away, my mood and outlook improved. I probably needed to do this a long time ago, but I was lonely. I hung on as long as I could, but eventually, I had to focus on Lizard. Nothing else mattered.

Lizard's surgery was yesterday. Waiting for so long meant some restrictions have begun to lift, and I get to visit him in the hospital For the first time in months, we have a reason to hope. He should be able to walk today. I am beyond grateful.

I stepped away from my electronic life for a while. I needed time for a few wounds to heal. I didn't go away. I just wasn't in plain sight. I was behind a chain link fence while damage was being repaired.

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The Blues

I've struggled watching people I know and love (from a distance, and usually from social media) shrivel up and cease living due to fear. Or boredom. Or what they believe to be unconstitutional restrictions.

I want so badly to shout from the rooftops, "Seize every moment! Don't let a single second pass you by!"

I have felt as if I've been in my own little private makeshift quarantine for nearly two years now. Lizard had been growing more and more distant, his joyful and mischievous personality slipping away by the day. I remember wondering, initially, if he was falling out of love. I would ask him a question, and it seemed like it took forever for him to answer. If he did.

Then one May day in 2018 while riding up Waterton Canyon behind him, I noticed his balance was way off. Here's a guy who is poetry on a bicycle. He could balance completely motionless at stoplights 70 miles into a daylong ride between cities on a hot summer day. Yet pedaling, very slowly at that, up a super easy grade in one of our favorite places to ride, his bike was swaying, and his upper body looked as if 100 years or more had slapped him across the back.






I convinced him to make an appointment with his family practitioner, who did a bunch of blood work and sent my beloved for an MRI. We went to Moab before we had results. Moab probably is Lizard's favorite place in the whole world, and he was absolutely miserable. We had perfect weather, yet he didn't feel like riding. This just was not like him.

Something definitely was wrong.


In June of 2018, we were sent to a neurologist. It takes about two months to get in to see one for a first visit in Colorado. For two months, we made plans because we thought it was ALS. We thought we had, at best, 18 months. We were going to sell the house, buy an RV, then visit family while we could.

That time right now makes this Shelter in Place feel like a picnic. We are so blessed it was just Parkinson's, even though it is an aggressive strain, and Lizard is progressing more rapidly than we would like. After a total knee replacement in December and a procedure to break up scar tissue in February, he's learning to ride his bike again, and he's even trying to teach himself how to work on bikes again.


He may never reach the level he was back in 2017 again, but he's doing the best he can every day. It's no joyride, for sure. As his tremors increasingly prevent him from being able to perform everyday tasks like buttoning his shirt, tying his shoes or reading his favorite magazine (because printed words often begin "exploding" when he tries to focus more than about five minutes), it's all I can do to not break down in tears in front of him.

When he tells me he's a lemon, I always respond with, "No, you're a peach!" But deep down inside, it's killing me because I know how hard he's battling discouragement.

It would be so awesome to take off to the mountains every weekend, but he can hardly stand more than about five minutes in the car due to restless legs. So we do not venture far. Because of his surgery and February procedure, I'm trying to shield him from germ exposure. So I've felt as if I've been on lockdown since December. I don't like it, but I'm not going to waste any precious time mourning the lifestyle we've lost.


One of my friends recently quoted C.S. Lewis, and it took me back to post-Columbine. My kids were terrified to go to school back then, and there were days when the whole world seemed to have changed so radically overnight. I built my first webpage ever, called it the DebWeb, and posted a photo of a blooming columbine with my then-favorite quote: "Are you afraid of dying? Or are you afraid to live?"


Here's C.S. Lewis' take back in 1948:

"In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation. Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented; and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways. We had, indeed, one very great advantage over our ancestors — anesthetics; but we have that still. It is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a world which already bristled with such chances and in which death itself was not a chance at all, but a certainty.

"This is the first point to be made; and the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things — praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts — not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies [a microbe can do that] but they need not dominate our minds."

We do not have to break social distancing rules by lifting a pint with our friends. At least not in the same room or even in the same building. (And my pint probably will be a lot different than theirs... mine would be fresh hibiscus lemonade!) We can be social in so many different ways now that were not available back before I was born. To me, this is all about attitude.


We don't have to live this quarantine in fear. We are all going to die one day. Nothing will stop that. Our reunion with our loved ones who passed before us will make our deaths a very joyous occasion. I personally am looking forward to seeing my sister and my brother again, and I imagine my grandmother is going to swoop us all up in the biggest hug any of us have ever experienced.

We can stop being afraid. We can cherish loved ones and friends; we can be kind to others; we can spread joy instead of fear.

We can live every moment as if it is our last. We can't afford not to! We never know when it will be the last moment for us or for someone we love. We never know when someone we love will begin slowly slipping away without leaving. Please, don't waste a single minute you could be spending loving someone or bringing joy to another.

Make. Every. Minute. Count.

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