View allAll Photos Tagged PATCHES
Not a Boeing sourced patch per-se, but I figured I would grab it. This distinct style of border is often found on BSA patches.
5x5 patch design to go along with hatred for a human host.
available to purchase at lowercrassblatz.ecrater.com
A patch here, a patch there, but the Rock remains. Valley Junction, East St Louis, IL, February 2023.
Tuckahoe Wildlife Management Area (WMA)
Screven County, Georgia, USA
Collard Patch Lake is an oxbow lake off the Savannah River.
An abstract view of the envelopes of two small balloons, seen at the Bristol International Balloon Fiesta.
California patch (Chlosyne californica) butterfly during fall butterfly count
NPS Photo/ Carmen Aurrecoechea
Alt text: An orange and brown patterned butterfly rests on a yellow petaled flower.
...with a hole in the middle is the riddle. That is of course a chimney. This is a capture I noticed after I shot the wagon wheel at the Gold Hill Inn. The chimney at the Inn was undoubtedly not built from Chinese materials nor by licensed craftsmen, grin. I bet that they didn't have to freight that materials all that far. Gold Hill today is, in all actuality, a pretty popular spot what with the Lodge (posted) and events, dinners and concerts at the Inn of some repute. This open area is from the outdoors venue. Outdoor concerts are held at the Charles Sawtell venue outdoors. Charlie Swatell was popular in Boulder, Gold Hill and even the Boulder radio station, KGNU. That is an unbelievably ECLECTIC station that can be accessed on the web. I once heard a fellow in Japan make a pledge. Often, the local talent comes into the studio and plays live on the air.
A "lode" of opportunities exist up and down Main but I have limited time until the next round of rain. I expect the historical designation is responsible for most of the ambiance. Gold Hill is a remnant of the oldest Colorado mining days. To say Gold Hill tops a mountain ridge is accurate with the road east and west rise while Lickskillet, north, and Gold Run, south to Boulder, drop off the sides of the ridge. If I remember correctly, the Horsfall lode was perhaps the earliest strike in Gold Hill and was responsible for the earliest development. As Wiki puts it: Gold Hill is accessible from nearby Left Hand Canyon Road via Lick Skillet Road, the steepest county road in the United States. It IS safe in first gear IF you have good brakes. The NiWots were father and son Arapaho Indians. Phil [www.flickr.com/photos/boondocks/with/5371371329/] and I investigated what we thought was Gold Hill a few years back but it seems that we barely manage the project.
Gold Hill has lasted for decades through the original gold boom, the second gold boom, the silver boom and its 1893 demonetization and finally the return to reliance on gold mining and processing. It has never completely died and is not accurately, a ghost town. It's history of transportation was a bit tortured considering one route was Lickskillet. I assume most transportation was to and from the Gold Hill Railway Station when the Switzerland Trail rails were laid west on its way to Ward. The steep sides of the canyon originally meant the road up from Boulder had to ascent the canyon. Old Gold Hill still lives on in this century-old mining camp. The narrow gauge route was never built from old Hill Station (see the map). It continued to cling to the foothills above Boulder.
When I tore a hole the size of my hand in one of my favorite skirts, I stuck it in the garage meaning to fix it or re-use the fabric some day.
After much thought I decided to rip the seams around the torn part, use the piece to make a pattern for a new patch, and then save the piece to patch some small tears on the rest of the skirts. I could have just used black or dark blue, but where would the fun be in that. So I used skulls to make a 'pirate patch'. Arrrrgh. And I have a bit of skully fabric left so maybe I'll make a belt or something to go with this.
The t-shirt is my newest embroidery project.
The shoes I'm embellishing with beads and baubles a bit at a time.
I finished the hat today. It is made from Plarn. Plarn is plastic yarn repurposed from shopping bags.
Cost: One fat quater of skully fabric .99. Everything else I made from items I already had.
Meet Patch, a Matoran rebuilt for better or worse by Karzahni on Voya Nui. He’s an adventurous soul who often bites off more than he can chew.
#VoyatoranVentures collab with:
This was taken 5 years ago, when I had lasik surgery. I was talking about it with some friends this weekend, and said i would post the photo and essay I wrote at the time about the experience. Here it is.
White Vision
I have worn contacts since I was 13. I have worn glasses since the 1st grade. I hated my glasses the first ten years. I hid them, lost them, forgot them, squinted, sat at the front of the class even, just to try to get away without wearing them. And yet somehow they never really disappeared. Silver octagons. My mother picked them out, and I didn’t complain. But they were cold, and I had a slight headache from the soft pressure across the bridge of my nose. Contacts freed me somewhat, but I still had to care for them, and my prescription would change causing me to have to buy new ones. Or I would forget the case and some disaster would happen.
Once during college, I stayed with my friend Emily at her parent’s apartment in New York, and having forgotten my case, I put them in a glass of water, and set two books on top. She got up in the middle of the night, found the water and drank it while I slept. The next morning, she went into a panic that somehow she was going to be permanently damaged by having two little plastic discs in her stomach. Two months later, I accidentally drank the next pair. There was a bad hurricane that was supposed to decimate New York. My bag with the lens case was left behind and all the stores were closed. The hurricane turned out to be a flop, so my friends, including Emily, went out to dinner and several clubs, and arrived back at the apartment at 5 am. Again, the contacts were put into a glass of water, and I forgot about them hours later, dehydrated and bleary.
Eventually, I settled down in my life so that I only had to buy a new pair every three or four years. But still, they were expensive, as was the care for them. Backpacking and bike-camping were always tricky with wind and dust, getting water to clean them, etc. Swimming, long plane flights, staying up all night, campfires and smoky rooms all required special care. But I was used to accommodating them so I did everything I wanted to anyway, messing around with various solutions so I could ride a bike for 10 hours, go out to dinner and drink wine, and then somehow get them to work at seven am the next morning, for the next ride.
When I heard that a friend was thinking of Lasik surgery, I secretly wanted to have perfect vision, too, but I said apprehensively that I didn’t know about that, it seemed risky and what if you ended up, statistically speaking, as the failure? But after watching several friends go through the process over a year, where they each had great experiences, I thought about it as a possibility for myself. I looked into it in February, but wasn’t ready; it was still overwhelming, too scary. And then again in June, and finally with the deadline of graduate school looming, I scheduled it for August. Then the few people I told about it said apprehensively, oh, I don’t know about that, it doesn’t seem like a good idea…. I knew exactly what they were thinking, and yet I had shifted, but how to explain this? How do you calmly say that you aren’t crazy for voluntarily requesting to have your corneas cut, and then alter your eyes with a laser? That you are scared, but doing it anyway?
To prepare, I had three weeks of no contacts. My glasses drove me to a constant mild headache, wearing them all the time, annoying me, no peripheral vision, resting across the bridge of my nose. I have been so dependent on my contact lenses, but in order to measure my eyes correctly, I had to let them return to their normal shape.
After appointments with the doctor for measurements and tests, I felt committed. I worried, even though he helped develop the procedure and had done thousands of them. I arranged for a friend, Ana, to take me. Three days before the surgery, I started antibiotic eye drops and antiseptic cleanings. I was apprehensive. I was not even aware of how nervous I had become until the night before when I really started to panic. What if I was part of the 1% that failed, in my category, and the lasers ruined my eyes. What if it didn’t work out, I couldn’t see and graduate school had to be ditched?
One thing to think about in this situation is what to wear. Something special in case my cornea falls out onto my shirt? A special non-stick shirt, or maybe a special sticky shirt? Thinking about this took the edge off and I started laughing out loud so much, I couldn’t stop for a minute or two. And of course, I wondered what state to leave the house for my return. While walking out, I looked around trying to memorize everything so that I could find it later. I would have eye patches on until I woke up the next day.
At the clinic, my stomach was heavy as they started eye drops, gave me a 10 mg Valium, and sent Ana off to buy a blank video tape. There were other patients there too, and my doctor arrived. After some more preparation, I was led into the surgery room. They popped in the tape, and I was feeling much better, partly because of the Valium, and partly because the staff seemed so competent. But I also felt like I had jumped face first down a long steep slide. No turning back now. The doctor asked if I felt good and I did, physically. I mentioned the question I had addressed that morning regarding what to wear. Everyone laughed nervously, like they hadn’t heard anyone laying directly under the laser contemplate what sort of cornea-sticking shirt to wear, just in case.
My doctor pulled back the lid of my left eye, and there was a temporary blackness while he applied some pressure, cutting and pulling back my cornea. Then he said that I should look steadily into a red dot laser, while they pointed it into my eye. I concentrated hard. I was afraid of moving at all, terrified of looking anywhere else. I kept saying roboticly to myself, look at the dot, look at the dot, just keep looking at the dot. After 30 seconds, and a slight burning smell similar to when a mole is burned off or teeth are drilled, the doctor brushed my cornea back into place with some viscous liquid. Then they did the right eye. As they started to work on it, the doctor said something about it being sticky. I didn’t know what he meant, I couldn’t see anything, and I wasn’t sure if this was bad. Again, the laser, concentrating on the red dot. A little burning smell.
Thirty minutes later, they checked my eyes with the eye chart, and it was fuzzy, not blurry like before. I could see some new rows on the eye chart. They bandaged me up and Ana took me home. I managed around the house pretty well, and friends brought dinner. I sat at the dining room table when they walked in, and started laughing at me, sitting casually with eye patches, facing them.
My house sounded different without sight. I couldn’t do too much, except tune the radio. After two rounds of the same NPR stories, and an unfortunate choice of DJ on KALX, I gave up. I listened twice to a tape of Jay McInerney talking about wine. Eating was interesting. Linguine with wild mushrooms; try twirling pasta on a fork, gracefully, spearing mushrooms and shallots, and reaching your mouth without dropping things everywhere. Or try salad with globe tomatoes and corn. Even dialing the phone requires looking at the address list, as there are only a couple of numbers I know by heart.
The next morning I woke up an hour early and ripped off the patches. I could see perfectly. The hills had distinct trees; San Francisco was crisp. I wanted to call everyone I could think of, but didn’t. I called Marc, the only person I knew would be up at 6:15am. And emailed everyone else. Then I remembered the video. I watched the first eye only. I was sort of relieved I didn’t watch the procedure before the surgery, despite all the research. Ana later told me the sticky comment happened when they had trouble cutting the second cornea, and if I watched the video I would see it. I decided to skip it.
I went to the orientation for school, and several times I wanted to say something, anything, about 20-20 vision and how absolutely exciting it was to read, 50 yards away, the Doe Library sign out the window, perfectly, no contacts. I was on the verge, almost spilling it, but I didn’t because I thought they would think I was crazy for doing something like this the day before school started.
My checkup later that day confirmed 20-20 vision. The best part was that things I previously experienced partially or not at all were now visible. It’s difficult to describe to people who’ve never worn glasses, or have good vision. It’s like being in love and trying to tell someone what’s happening, when they’ve never known it themselves. It’s an abstraction for others, but to me, it’s a marvel, full of excitement and surprises, newness, relief, lightness and ease. My contacts made my eyes bloodshot by noon. My new eyes are a fresh, soft white and don’t sting at the end of the day. I catch them in the mirror now and then and I’m taken aback over the whiteness.
Now I turn off the light at night, and instead of seeing blackness, I have the new experience, after 5 years in this apartment, of seeing the Campanile lit up. Before, I wasn’t even aware that I could lie in bed and look at it. Now, I see it glowing, from the darkness of my room as I fall asleep. In the morning, I wake up and look at the hills, the sun jetting through the trees. I’m elated, and yet, instantaneously, I have adapted to a life where I don’t have to use contact lens cleaners and wipe my glasses all the time. Lasik was so easy, painless, and so casual, being able to see perfectly. I go about my life and something I’ve always had to care for, and fiddle with, is no longer a thought. It’s like it’s always been this way, and yet, I catch myself for a second, several times a day, flashing on some contact lens care. And then I remember; I don’t have to do it anymore. It’s a small bit of freedom.
The 17th National Scout Jamboree took place July 16-August 4. My brother attended and my family visited him, like they did me five years ago. While we are part of NCAC, we traded a set of our patches for the Pike's Peak Council's Stargate patches. (Both council's sets were apparently pretty hot items.) I then traded for Atlantis and bought Destiny, a patch only available to Eagle scouts in their council (I got lucky), and so there were about only a hundred floating around amongst the 45,000 scouts and scouters.
The four Pike's Peak Council campsites also had Stargates as their gateways, such as this.
I was also able to score a Star Trek patch and Indiana Jones patch.
With a treadmaster patch cut and glued in the last trace of the adult entertainment bus is gone. I will run over this patch and the other two with a sander to blend the repair in and get rid of the step. The new treadmaster is much thicker than the original and so needs a bit more work.
CP SQUARE #1:
I took a two day class in crazy patch embroidery August3, 2007 and have been addicted to this hobby ever since. Then I ran out of silk ribbon so ordered more from an ebay seller in Australia. I waited for the order for ages! Finally the package arrived with duplicate order as seller's computer had broken down. I still have LOTS of SRE to do, but realized my very first patch at CP is quite busy, my selecting too many pritned fabrics...oh well next project. I also made these squares too large. My next CP project HAS to be smaller.
Snorkeling patch reef north of Northeast Caye, Glovers Reef, Belize
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Micah and Lee messin around in the pumpkin patch the last day at the studio.
Strobist:
430ex Camera Right
Vivitar Camera Left
ST-E2
Patches of paint make interesting shapes and colours on a wall. To top it off, there are two nice vents in the middle of it all. (014a)