Some Things about Camp Last Week That Rocked

• 5th and 6th graders (see previous post)
  
• Junior Birdman, Purple Soup, Moose on the Loose, etc
  
• Carpetball
  
• Foursquare
  
• Going with my wife
  
• Not worrying about any meal—they just magically appeared at the appropriate times
  
• No cell phone
  
• No need to drive a car
  
• WiFi (you didn’t think I’d completely unplug, did you?)
  
• Shawn’s leadership, Nancy’s patience
  
• Running with Shawn
  
• Talking with campers about Africa (I may never get to go again, but maybe I can inspire someone else)
  
• Taking more than 500 Pictures
  
• Being inspired by student-aged counselors
  
• Making a necklace at Christa’s Craft Cabana
  
• Wearing shorts, t-shirts and Tevas everyday (except one where I put on a pair of jeans)
  
• Praise in the small lodge
  
  

I Have Seen My Past

It has been more than 10 years since I last worked at a summer camp. Back then I was the fresh-faced, college student who turned the heads of teenage girls. Not anymore. There is a new crop of college students and my wrinkled grill cannot compete. I’m now the guy the speaker points to last when he wants to make a point about age not making a difference. I’m older than some of the camper’s parents. But I still feel a passion for camp and campers, and I’ve easily got as much energy as those fresh-faced punks.

My friend Shawn directs an amazing camp for 5th and 6th graders at Camp Yamhill. Last year he wrangled my wife into joining him and this year I got to go too. I knew I would enjoy it but I was unprepared for the impact it would leave on me. Kids at that age have not yet learned that they should be “too cool for school”. They invest 100% in everything they encounter: games, laughter, friendships, meals, worship, etc. They have not been taught by life that they should hold back. Spending time with them was invigorating. It was inspiring. It reminded me of how I want to live.

And so in them I choose to see my future.

Refreshing

The other day it was over 100 degrees. To celebrate I drank a refreshing bottle of Krest. Krest is bottled by the Coca-Cola Company in Africa.

I was introduced to it by my friends the Cashs (Jeff & Cheryl) when I visited them in Uganda. As many of you know I try to avoid beverages with copious amounts of caffeine. (You think I’m hyped up now? You should see me after drinking a Coke.) Before I went to Africa, I was instructed by Johno, Steve and Ike that a cold beverage should never be refused; that it was a luxury to be graciously accepted and savored. However, in every picture I saw from their trip, the cold, bottled beverages they had were Cokes. Understanding the importance of their exhortations, I resigned myself to the notion that I would be drinking a few Cokes while in Uganda.

For some reason they don’t have Sprite. They do have Krest. Jeff told me that in an effort to get people to take malaria medicine, they invented a citrusy drink and laced it with medicine. It had a bitter taste, probably from the medicine, and became a favorite of many. After a while, they stopped putting medicine in it, but demand for the drink was still high so Coca-Cola continued to bottle it complete with a non-medicine, medicine taste. To me, it tastes a little like Squirt, but not quite as sweet and with more bitter. Its like the bitter part of the grapefruit skin was included right along with the sweet fleshy part. My wife tried a sip and puckered like a pleat on Fat Albert’s khakis.

I drank quite a few of them in Africa and remember their cooling, refreshing qualities with fondness. Since my return I have not located anyone in the States who sells it. Imagine: a luxury that an African can enjoy for a dime that I can’t get here in America! Recently my friends Tim and Chalon went to Kenya and they brought me a bottle. I figured the hot weather was a perfect excuse to enjoy it.

Fireworks

Took some photos the other night. Here's a few I liked.

Fireworks

(I think Flickr's process washes out the colors, so you can also view them here with a bit more vibrancy.)

Happy Father's Day (4 days late)

I’m not sure when it happened, but things have changed. I used to look down at my opposable-thumb equipped appendages and see my hands. Now when I look down I see my Dad. Oh, they’re still mine, but they look like his. The chunky knuckles, stubby nails, and thumbs with only one joint are a dead ringer for my father’s.

To me, the resemblance in uncanny, in fact do a double-take every time I look at this picture.

My dad used his hands for all the usual things. They cooked meals, tossed balls, prepped sermons, gave pats, assisted neighbors, and did home projects. He taught me how to bend my fingers so they look natural when standing in choir—a technique I used quite a bit and still use today when I run. More recently I’ve seen his hands blogging and holding grandkids.

I hope that I inherit more than just the physical resemblance. I’d be honored to accomplish as much as his hands in the areas of encouragement, helpfulness, and charity. It’s when I find myself following his example of action that I am most proud of the similarity. I know that much of what I am is a direct result of his influence, both in how my hands look and what they do, and I am exceptionally thankful for that. Thanks Dad.

Happy Mother's Day

Especially to the mom of these 2 kids and the grandma of all three, my mom. I love you mom!

You like jazz, Evan?

Then I’ll play something for you. I can hold that note all day, buddy.

So I heard a friend of mine talking the other day about all the kinds of music that she likes. And at the end of her list she said that she didn’t like jazz. "Huh," I thought, "here is someone who is definitely dominate at the school, I wonder if we are talking about the same jazz?" So I’m making her a mix tape (cd really) of some jazz that I like and then we’ll be on the same page. Of course she may still not like it and then we won’t be friends. (Can you see the importance of this tape?)

Here are some of my initial thoughts, if anyone has a suggestion, leave a comment and I’ll take it into consideration.

Miles Davis: maybe a little too be bop, but this guy has always been at the top of my list. Something off of Kind of Blue for sure. (BTW this is the very music the nanny in Jerry McGuire gave Tom.)

Harry Connick: lots to choose from here from trios and quartets to big band

Take6: have you heard their latest album? As Steve would say: butta.

Manhattan Transfer, "Oo Wah, Oo Wah cool, cool Kitty, tell us about the boy from New York City", may be a little too Do Wap to make a jazz mix, but Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square hits the heart of what I’m going for. Not to mention Birdland, although that may be a little too fusion.

Nora Jones, Diana Krall, Lena Horne, Sarah Vaughan can all sing.

And for swingin' jazz Sinatra. you know something from In the Wee Small Hours or Songs For Swingin' Lovers

Then maybe some jazz/new age blend off one of my Lights Out compilations.

any other suggestions?

I'll post the final tracks when I decide on them in the comments.

*Disclaimer: I will still be friends with her even if after hearing this awesome tape, she still claims to not like jazz.

Remembering Aunt Pat

Editor's Note My wife Christa wrote this after her Aunt Pat died 2 weeks ago. I was touched by her thoughts and am sharing them here with Christa's permission.

---

I have many memories of Aunt Pat. These are just a few that stand out in my mind when I think about the times I’ve spent with her:

When visiting Grandma Clay, you could always count on Aunt Pat’s sliding glass door to be unlocked and Aunt Pat awaiting your arrival. As soon as dad pulled the car into the driveway, my brother and I (and eventually, my sister) would jump out of the car and run into Aunt Pat’s house. “Well, look who’s here!” she would say and greet us with a big hug then send us on our way to Grandma Clay’s house. We would take off down the pathway through the garden and at the end of it we would turn around and wave to Aunt Pat who was standing on her back porch.

Aunt Pat had an amazing collection of salt & pepper shakers. It wasn’t hard to see that she was well liked and loved by family and friends. She probably received a set from everyone that knew her. I loved to look at them and guess who gave them to her. Sometimes we would play a game with the salt & pepper shakers. Aunt Pat would describe the set and it was my job to find the set on the wall. Even today, I cannot look at salt & pepper shakers without thinking of Aunt Pat.

In junior high, it was fashionable to wear canvas shoes without the shoe laces. Judging from the number of shoe laces that Aunt Pat would buy for me, her idea of shoe fashion was very different than mine. One day I received a package in the mail from Aunt Pat. There was a note that read: “I found the perfect shoe for you. Very fashionable, comfortable and no shoes laces required. Love, Aunt Pat.” Inside the box was a pair of purple, plastic “jelly” shoes. In all, Aunt Pat gave me a pink pair, yellow pair, and even a blue pair. Needless to say, the shoe laces eventually found their way back into my canvas shoes.

Of all the experiences that I have shared with Aunt Pat, my favorite memory was being one of her students during Vacation Bible School:

Imagine, for a moment, that it is the final evening of Vacation Bible School and the preschool class is about to take the stage. Just to the right of the stage stand the preschool teacher and her flock of preschoolers. The preschool teacher is my Aunt Pat. Her hair is darker not yet peppered with grey. Her smile reveals her youthful spirit not phased by the preschoolers brewing around her or the life of a grown-up. Aunt Pat herds her flock of preschoolers to the stage. Parents armed with Kodak cameras and handfuls of flashbulbs fill the pews. One preschooler waves fervently at his parents. Another stands frozen in place eyes glued to the carpet below her feet. Another announces his need to use the restroom. Despite the distractions, Aunt Pat is unwavering in her quest for order.

Aunt Pat locks eyes with each child standing on the stage. Her eyes are watchful and protective not impaired by her glasses or the distraction of aging. The sheer ability to herd the preschoolers to the stage is amazing. She has a gift with these little ones. Her love for these children is genuine and not just because I am one of the preschoolers. The children quickly and quietly form a line across the stage while Aunt Pat takes her place on the front pew. One by one the children recite the memory verses. When it is my turn I take the liberty to recite a verse from the Gospel according to Christa. While the words to the verse are not accurate, based on the reaction of Aunt Pat, the delivery and presentation is perfect. Flashes of lights fill the auditorium, wide smiles form on parents’ faces, and a grateful applause breaks out into an ovation. Aunt Pat is leading the ovation. She extends her arms toward her students and continues to applaud. She gathers her flock of preschoolers and ushers them off the stage.

Aunt Pat is one of my heroes of faith. She taught me that “Jesus Loves Me” is not only a song but a truth and a promise. She taught me the wisdom of building my life on the Rock. She taught me that legos, playdough, and felt boards often illustrate the gospel more clearly than the preacher. She taught me that you don’t have to color within the lines to be a follower of Jesus – He will accept you just as you are.

It is my prayer that I can, as a wife, sister, daughter, friend and Sunday school teacher, leave a legacy of faith like that of my Aunt Pat. It is a tall order to fill but one definitely worth striving for.

The Real Housewives of Fairview Oregon

On Monday I broke my back. I have been slowly aggravating it with long training runs and extended trips in the car. Then on Monday while playing volleyball, it broke. One minute I was blocking at the net and the next I was crawling off the court. If you have experienced back troubles, you know just how unexpectedly this type of episode can stop you. My back-pain journey is too long and winding, (perhaps I should say crooked), to discuss here, but the gist of my situation is that once every 6-12 months I do something that puts me out of commission like a car with a flat tire.

This week’s episode was particularly debilitating. I tried to go to work on Tuesday, but after rolling out of my car, I was unable to walk across the parking lot to get to the door. Knowing I’d be of little use in my cube, I rolled back into my car, went home, and asked Christa to help me find a chiropractor. She did, and while I waited for my appointment I lay on my back. At this stage in my recovery my only respite is lying down. After my appointment I parked myself front of the TV to wait for my back to begin healing.

It was during this pain sprinkled recovery that I was introduced to the Real Housewives of Orange County. RHOC is a reality-show copy of Desperate Housewives. It airs on Bravo, the network that has brought us Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Show Kid Moms and Dads, Show Dog Moms and Dads, Sports Kid Moms and Dads, Blow Out, Project Greenlight, Being Bobby Brown, Project Runway, and Celebrity Poker Showdown. Now I may be too old to understand the whole MySpace phenomenon, but I get reality TV. It speaks to me. I know it is a guilty pleasure that I leer into the lives of these people, but the situations they dream up on Bravo are wildly entertaining. In addition, nothing says pain relief like a good dose of someone else’s exploited tragedy.

Being the red-headed, step child of NBC causes Bravo to occasionally blur the lines of good judgment and acceptable programming. My intuition told me this would be the case with RHOC, but I wasn’t going anywhere soon and they were airing a 4 episode marathon. Without resisting, I was drawn into the real lives of the Orange County Housewives. The RHOC follows the activities of a handful of extremely rich women, whose touch with my reality was breached long ago. They wrestle with how they will continue to afford weekly, private Pilates lessons after they purchase their new house because its price tag is 3.5 million dollars. They spend copious amounts of time on image. Their physical appearance, cars, homes, careers, husbands, kids and did I mention physical appearance must all be crafted into an image that gives them status and therefore: validation. They don’t have friends—they network. They obsess over their kid’s friends and are mortified that one of them may drop out of their high class world by dating or marrying someone who is unable to financially provide the life that they are accustomed to. It is pure trash and it makes me a little sad. But, it is someone else’s trash and I’m guilty of craning my neck out the window to see the carnage as I drive by.

When the 4 episodes finished I decided I wouldn’t add it to Tivo’s list of shows to record. It was a fun afternoon, but I don’t think I need any more Real Housewife drama in my life.

On Wednesday I went back to the chiropractor for another adjustment. After he cracked me I didn’t want to undo his work by immediately jumping into the car, so I opted for a short walk up and down the block. I’ve found that this can sometimes help solidify a chiropractic adjustment. Unfortunately, I was still in quite a bit of pain and walking down the street was an agonizing chore that I’m sure conjured up visions of the hunchback of Notre Dame to anyone who saw me.

My new chiropractor is in Fairview, a small town that has been building what they call a village. It is a cute neighborhood with new homes and a charming, Main-Street-feeling, commercial district where many of the curb-side businesses have apartments above them. It is developing into a quaint, little community; however, the new homes are a bit out of my price-range. As I turned at the end of the block to head back to my car, I met one of Fairview’s residents.

She was driving a brand new Acura SUV, had flawlessly highlighted hair, brilliantly white teeth, and a tan that did not belong in Oregon during the month of April. I didn’t have to reach far into my memory bank of stereotypes to label her a housewife and I casually scanned for a camera crew as she maneuvered her sport ute to my side of the street calling from her open window:

Her: I’m sorry, but can I ask you a question.
Me: OK
Her: Are you in pain?
Me: I guess, a little. I was just at the chiropractor.
Her: This may sound weird, but can I pray with you?
Me: Yeah, sure...

And she did. Right there from her SUV, with me on the curb, she asked the Great Physician to heal me. After she said amen, she explained that she had listened to a CD that morning about how Jesus spent His time on earth seeking out people who were hurting. When she saw me struggling down the sidewalk, she was compelled to stop. Before she drove away, she said she’d understand if I thought she was weird. I told her I thought she was brave. What could be more selfless than to stop in the middle of a trip to the Post Office to offer a prayer of encouragement to a total stranger? How different from the self-seeking housewives on Bravo. What lessons about judging, priorities, being available, and courage was the ancient carpenter teaching me? What healing has been granted to me because of the prayer of this housewife?

A hundred small decisions

Reaching the finish line of a marathon is really about making a couple hundred good decisions. I've just begun training for my 3rd marathon, and the questions have already begun. Usually they involve: Will I train today, or sleep in? I know that the finish line can be reached, I just have to be smart about each small decision that comes along. I'm keeping a brief blog over here, in case anyone is interested. Often something of note will happen on a run and I will share it, other times I'll just post mileage. Feel free to check it out.

Ready Six..

One of the reason's I have this blog is because I admire my friend Allan. He had one first and then I followed.

I don't know if many of you read his posts, (they can be infrequent, sometimes), but if you don't, get a news reader/aggregator and subscribe to his feed.

This video that he just posted about, blew me away on so many levels. Go watch it. I'm not kidding, go watch it.

Another Reason to Love the Internet

Since we got our Tivo we never think about when shows air. We just know that when we want to watch them they are waiting for us. The intelligence built into Tivo is amazing and only rarely does it miss something.

Sunday night was one of those rare occasions.

Our Tivo knows that one of our favorite shows is the West Wing. It also knows that it should record anything to do with Duke and Basketball. It has the ability to record 2 shows simultaneously, so conflicts are infrequent; when they happen, Tivo respects our rankings. On our list, Duke Basketball is on the top. (Isn’t it on everyone’s?) Both ESPN and ESPNU aired the Duke women’s basketball game Sunday night. Although it was the same game on each channel, the title in the schedule was different and it led Tivo to believe they were different shows and should both take priority over the West Wing.

So, no West Wing. Now before you get to worried that I’m jonesin’ for an unhealthy TV fix, remember that this was to be the show where they wrote out Leo, my favorite character.

One of many Leo moments:
LEO
Listen, I don't have time to make people comfortable. If a change has to be made, it has to be made. Jerry, Cal, Mack, Steve -- you're fired.

CAL
What?

TOBY
What?

LEO
No kidding. It's moving day. I want Toby. The rest of you-- thanks very much.

They all stare at Leo.

LEO
Fellas. Look at my face. You're done.

Everyone except Leo and Toby leaves.

LEO
[to Toby] Don't screw up.
End Leo moment

So you can imagine my mild panic when we learned, too late, that the West Wing was not recorded.
Remembering what my friend Darren is always telling me about this cool internet thingy, I take a gamble and search for a BitTorrent of my missing episode. Within moments I was connected and downloading an HD version of a show that had just aired a few hours ago. BitTorrents being what they are, it took a few hours to complete, but we only had to wait until Monday to watch it.

NBC would tell me this activity is illegal—and they could win such an argument in court. I justify it because I have already paid DirecTV for the show, I just didn’t happen to watch it when they aired it. I could have easily been watching it from my Tivo or a tape. This reminds me of a time when downloading illegal music was all the rage.

The music companies never wanted iTunes or Rhapsody to deliver single song offerings to consumers. They were much happier when they forced us to buy entire CDs. Once they realized the music download phenomenon wasn’t going anywhere, however; they decided to legalize it to get their hands around whatever revenue they could.

I think the same will happen with video. To my observation, the pattern is the same, people want what they want and if they have to download it illegally to get it, well, they will. It won’t be long before every show aired will be available for purchase online. All it will take is the networks to wise up and Apple to make a device sexy enough for the masses--iTV. (Yes I know you can already get some shows from iTunes, but this won't really take off until people can watch them in their living rooms.) (And don't tell Apple, but Microsoft is already positioned to be the killer device for this content with their latest X-box.)

Waiting for UPS

I apologize for geeking-out a bit on this post.

Five years ago I assembled my own computer I dropped a P3 800 processor in it with 256 MB of RAM and a 40 GB hard drive. I splurged and paid $254 for a Creative Labs 3DBlaster Annihilator 2 (GeForce2 GTS) complete with 32 MB of glorious, video sparkle—and Unreal Tournament, fragging goodness. Over the years I have upgraded the memory to 320 MB, added 160 GB of hard drive space, and installed a DVD reader. It has seen 5 different operating systems. Its daily tasks have varied from programming functions, games, the ‘net, homework assignments, and email. Although it has always served me faithfully, it can no longer keep up with my activities.

As my photography equipment has evolved, so have the sizes of the files I work with. At times I'll avoid a stack of pictures that need editing because I dread waiting for each of them to creep across the screen.

So, I’m assembling a new computer. In fact I just ordered:

P4 3.2 with HT

ASUS Motherboard with NVIDIA nForce4 SLI chipset and a fanless cooling system

4 GB of DDR2 memory

2 250 GB SATA 3.0 GB hard drives that I’ll RAID 0 together to make one 500 GB data drive

1 160 GB SATA 3.0 GB hard drive for the OS (I may partition this for a dual-boot (xp64, Vista, OSX...)

I still have a few items to pick up before it will all work, but the bulk of it should be here early next week. I’ve never done anything with RAID, so that should be fun. I went round and round deciding if I should just get one big drive or 2 smaller ones and I’m still not sure if I’ve chosen correctly. I do know, however, that the RAID will make it scream.

To get 4 GB of memory was a little pricey, but I don’t want to do this again for another 5 years. Also, I’d really like to see how Photoshop performs with a 150 MB file and no need to cache anything to the disk. (I may actually get some of my big panos on the wall.)

The Last Time We'll See 4 or 23 on a Duke Jersey

Duke's Coach K, after tonight's loss:
I'm proud of my team, obviously, their 32 wins and 4 losses, and they have won championships and the two kids here have been two of the best players I've ever coached. They have been part of 116 wins at Duke during their four years, many championships. And although we have lost games, they have always represented me, our program and our school and themselves in the best possible manner.

I'm proud of them, and I'm disappointed that we can't go on, but you got to learn, you don't win all the time. You lose too. And you have to handle losses with the dignity and class that you handle the wins.

For right now, for me, it's to make sure that these kids don't walk out of here blaming themselves, and looking only at the loss. I've always said that you want to end the season where you're cutting down the nets or you're crying in your locker room. And our kids were all crying in our locker room. And they, they have been a great group of kids. And led by these seniors. And this is a team that had a lot of seniors and a lot of freshmen.

And so it put a heavier load on those seniors and especially these two kids. And I just thought that they were two of the best kids I've coached in my 26 years. Sean, Lee, Pat, and Ross, the other seniors, they all did a good job. We had a great year. 32 wins, 4 losses. Championships. Finished the regular season number one. I know we're not -- we weren't ever a dominant team. We knew that. And so things have to go right for us to win. And tonight LSU just, one, they -- J.J. made a good point, it's the first team we played all year that could really block shots like that. It wasn't just their own the ball defense or off the ball, their ability to block shots made us change some shots inside. And I don't know if we have ever, we ever adjusted to that.

I'm not a blamer. I take responsibility. I think we all could have done a little bit better job, but the other team forces you into those situations. And the game is a game of adjustments. And I don't think we ever completely adjusted to the physicality of this game. And so they did. And they won and we shake their hands and that's part of being a competitor. So there's no excuses or no blame.

Car Care Day

My church sponsors a bi-annual event to change the oil and perform safety checks on cars. The service is available to anyone and is mostly found useful by our older members and their friends. Today was the first time I was able to volunteer. After an assessment my mechanical skills I was promoted(?) to the car-wash and vacuum team-—which was fine with me.

I couldn’t help but feel pride for the leaders who organize this event and the real mechanics who volunteer their time at it. To me this is what the church should be about and I am glad to be a part.

A New Lease

In 1989 I was given a pair of headphones for graduation. They were a welcome companion during study sessions, amateur recording events, and numerous road trips. They faithfully reproduced my music collection as it evolved from cassettes to cds to mp3s.

However, after about 8 years of use, the fake leather that covered the ear pads disintegrated leaving the foam exposed. This destroyed their ability to block outside noises since they could no longer form a tight seal around my ears.

In the land of cubicles, where I work, it is often necessary to block out the ubiquitous conversations of co-workers. For this task I daily call upon my trusty headphones. To counteract their inability to deter outside noise I increase the volume.

Recently, I decided that I needed better headphones—not because mine don’t sound good, because they do—but because I have to crank them up so much to keep out the unwanted noise. While I was searching for some new headphones to buy, I stumbled upon a discussion about replacing worn ear pads. Soon I was on Sony’s website and without hesitation I bought a replacement set. One week and an easy installation later, I am pleased to report they have never sounded better. It is as if they are brand new.

If only everything I own could be revitalized with such simplicity. Imagine if my 20 year old car could be revitalized with a new set of seat covers. Or if a $10 part bought at radio-shack could make my television picture as clear as it was the day I bought it. What about a washing machine additive that could keep my clothes from becoming worn out.

And, what does it say about a piece of electronics that can still be enjoyed after 16 years? Possibly more amazing, is that the standard for delivering sound from a personal device to the listener's ears has remained constant.

Here’s to simple fixes, unchanged, industry standards, and my uncle Russell for buying me these sweet headphones.

Sinopah

Today at the schoolyard I played fetch with my dog.

Stay away from my slushy

I know its not perfect, but it makes me laugh. (As if my nephew needs any help making people laugh.) Feel free to submit your own caption. I figure CJ has a pretty good head start on us.

Olympics

1. 90% of the time speed is your friend.
   
2. Don’t ride scared.
   
3. Always respect your board.
   
4. Who’s ready to ride?

I snowboard with a tight group of snow enthusiasts made up mostly of my brothers. When we are out in the cold we have a handful of sayings that we repeat to each other. Three of them are warnings; one is a mantra. The warnings are akin to such battle-tested phrases as keep your eye on the ball, hydrate or die, and never leave your wingman. We recite these quips because we have learned from experience that they are true, and because in the excitement of a powder-filled slope or even in the forgettable flats near a lift-line they will keep you off your butt.

Especially, always respect your board.

A snowboard is a fickle friend. Its balance beam-like properties and opposing edges should never be disrespected. As soon as you drop your guard, you will catch an edge. At no time should you relax.

No one knows this better than Lindsey Jacobellis. I don’t think the now infamous, method-grab was to blame for her crash. Nor do I think that it was any more unwarranted than a racer pumping their fists in the air before they cross the finish line as Tanja Frieden did while capturing the gold in women’s snowboardcross. Where Lindsey made her mistake was not heeding warning #3. When she launched from the second to last jump in the race her mind was thinking gold and not about respecting her board. The style-filled backside grab was the beginning of her celebration and should not be questioned. Her mistake was not the jump--it was the landing. Seeing her bounce across the blue-painted snow should serve as a reminder of how capricious a snowboard can be.

While it is sad to see Lindsey miss the top spot on the podium, I admire her spirit. She has admitted that she “messed up”, but is quick to add that “snowboarding is fun.” In my opinion it is one of the most fun events they air. The competitors in the snowboarding events are riding because they like it and it is fun. The medals are nice, but I’ll bet each of them would be out riding even if there were no Olympics. (I doubt you could say that for many of the sour-faced, pairs figure skaters.) Which is why we snowboarders always answer the fourth question enthusiastically: “I’m ready to ride!”

Digital Secrets

The great thing about this blog is the interaction that it spawns. I enjoy hearing from each of you and feel like the dialog is easily as engaging as my posts. Sometimes a question is raised that starts a new conversation. My dad asked me about the technique I was discussing on Flickr that I used for the sunrise shot in the Hut Trip post. I figured the explanation merited a post of its own.

First, let’s start with the limitations of the sensor in a digital camera. For any given exposure a camera can only capture a fixed range of brightness or colors. This fixed range is smaller than the range that you can see with your eyes. So, if you try to photograph a scene that has a broad range of brightness, your picture will not look like what you saw. Since many of the pictures we take have color levels that fall within the camera’s range, this limitation often goes unnoticed. A picture that does not have both a bright light source and a dark shadow will generally be accurately captured. However, there are times when a scene has both a bright light source and dark shadows preventing the camera from representing both extremes in one image.

When a scene with a broad range of brightness is encountered, the camera has to choose whether it will capture the bright colors at the expense of the dark ones, or, capture the dark ones at the expense of the brights. A common scene with this issue is a sunrise. The range between the light area and dark area is much too wide for the camera to capture, so it usually chooses to properly expose the light area resulting in a nice pink sky with a black horizon. This silhouette is a pleasing image and makes a great picture; however, it does not accurately represent what the photographer saw. This dilemma describes the predicament I was in that morning at the hut.


The solution I chose was to take 2 images and then combine them on my computer. The first image was exposed for the foreground; note the detail of the snow on the branches. The sky in the first picture is completely blown-out and doesn’t have any of the red that I was looking at. In the second picture I exposed for the sky, capturing the rich, red colors that were present. In doing so I sacrificed the detail in the trees. Once I got home, I used Photoshop to combine the 2 images. I learned the process from a website called Luminous Landscapes in a tutorial they call Digital Blending. Check it out if you are interested in the actual detail of combining the images in Photoshop.

Traditionally, photographers would use a split neutral density filter to achieve this result. These filters block light at the top of the image while letting it through on the bottom allowing the photographer to pull off 2 separate exposures with one image.

Another technique worth mentioning is the use of fill-flash. Let’s say you have a colorful sky and you want to take a picture of someone in front of it. Without flash you will just get a silhouette of the person. But, if you turn on the flash you can achieve both the color from the sky and the person in the foreground.

Hope that helps, Dad. And, if anyone tries this out, I’d love to see your results.