Tomorrow evening marks the start of my PADI Dive Master training. I've been looking forward to this for a few months now; the holidays and, well let's get real- cold water! - have made for a difficult schedule for the three of us who will go through the program. It's a great deal of classroom work, a great deal of swimming, even more training over fundamental diving skills, but, ultimately, a great deal of fun!
When I started diving, I realized an opportunity for learning a new set of skills, but I also found something that I physically enjoy doing. Being underwater and neutrally bouyant is a great feeling. I feel my body and how it reacts to the simple, calm movements that propel me through water that, as I descend, presses against every inch of my suit and mask. I breathe slowly, equalize my ears, and allow my body to adjust to the pressure.
I free fall, arms spread, and watch my depth on my computer as I drift down. I feel the thermocline. The water temperature drops suddenly as if I'd just fallen through a transparent layer of time. The water inside my wetsuit warms; my hands feel the cold and the bubbles from my regulator brush coldly by my face. I notice a bit more water in my mask now and I lift my head, push the top of my mask , and blow a bit of air through my nose clearing it all.
I've enjoyed just about every type of diving that I've done so far. I say just about every type because I know when the opportunity comes when I'll get to dive in the ocean, it will take all of my strength to get back into some of the lakes and "low-vis" places I have dived. When my youngest son certified in open water, we dove in a lake where it was a challenge reading a gauge six inches from my face! I imagine with that experience I should truly be amazed to dive on a reef which has 100-200 feet of visibility!
I'm reaching a point also where my diving can start to pay me back. As a divemaster I can help an instructor train others and make a bit of money for my work. But the experiences of each dive are a type of compensation for me. The silent world is a beautiful place.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Building Relations
Rocky Z. A new face to me, and yet another example of how the world grows smaller. Let's see if we can follow the seven-degrees of Kevin Bacon... my youngest daughter meets a new girl during summer volleyball camp and they become good friends...her mother is the new high school principal; her father a middle school science teacher and wrestling coach...we all become acquainted during volleyball season and help each other shuttling the girls to practices and tournaments...one day I'm talking about my chair project and her dad says "I've got a brother who does upholstery"...tonight I finalize the look and design of the leather cushions for my Morris chair with Rocky, her dad's brother. Hey, that was less than seven, and we didn't even need Kevin Bacon!
Yup...an end in sight with my chair. I was very much hoping to have the chair done, in the house, and me sitting in it by this coming Sunday. Looks like that might be happening. But in gaining a chair, we're losing one to my youngest son who's soon to be branching out on his own. He's moving in to a house with my son-i-law's brother. They've both done a great deal of work on a house that still needs some tender loving care, but these are the two who have the patience to do exactly that. I'm pride of the fact that my son has done the work he has; it's just a bit sad that he hasn't asked my advice or help as much as I hoped he would. But that's what a young man who's maturing will do; he'll take things into his own hands and get things done.
I was very much the same way; I understand it. I'm proud of him, but can he make a chair?
Yup...an end in sight with my chair. I was very much hoping to have the chair done, in the house, and me sitting in it by this coming Sunday. Looks like that might be happening. But in gaining a chair, we're losing one to my youngest son who's soon to be branching out on his own. He's moving in to a house with my son-i-law's brother. They've both done a great deal of work on a house that still needs some tender loving care, but these are the two who have the patience to do exactly that. I'm pride of the fact that my son has done the work he has; it's just a bit sad that he hasn't asked my advice or help as much as I hoped he would. But that's what a young man who's maturing will do; he'll take things into his own hands and get things done.
I was very much the same way; I understand it. I'm proud of him, but can he make a chair?
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Wheat Sirens
Maybe one of the gifts of age is the experience of Kansas weather. Within the last week we've seen nearly a ninety-degree shift in temperature. The alluring song of "early Spring" catches the ears of even the most stalwart...yes, over the past couple of days I, too, ran, in running shorts, my "nice weather" route with Chloe (whose fur is still exceptionally thick!) and brushed away in my mind the only frequent cool gusts of the wind blowing over the lingering ice on the lake.
I know my students are hearing the song, and they're pulled completely off course. Young men with tank tops and flip-flops hovering under last year's saggy shorts. Young women, hoping to jump start their tans, splayed out on the benches outside the student union, their dance shorts and rolled-up t-shirts looking far too fragile with the dust-covered piles of leftover snow hidden by the sun's glare.
Do we collapse so easily to such a sweet song whose singer is yet weeks away? Spring is not even selling tickets yet. I know what's going to happen, and we're all guilty of tempting the Winter fates. February is an enigmatic month. It's the month where we feel winter should just leave and spring should jubilantly show up (ah, some of the trees are beginning to show their buds!) with all of its grace and greenery.
But I've gained wisdom. I know what the Farmer's Almanac is forecasting about more snow. I'm not rearranging my closet and filling it with warm-weather clothes just yet. There's a blue sheen to the sunsets still...we need no groundhog in this state to remind us to keep our coats handy!
I know my students are hearing the song, and they're pulled completely off course. Young men with tank tops and flip-flops hovering under last year's saggy shorts. Young women, hoping to jump start their tans, splayed out on the benches outside the student union, their dance shorts and rolled-up t-shirts looking far too fragile with the dust-covered piles of leftover snow hidden by the sun's glare.
Do we collapse so easily to such a sweet song whose singer is yet weeks away? Spring is not even selling tickets yet. I know what's going to happen, and we're all guilty of tempting the Winter fates. February is an enigmatic month. It's the month where we feel winter should just leave and spring should jubilantly show up (ah, some of the trees are beginning to show their buds!) with all of its grace and greenery.
But I've gained wisdom. I know what the Farmer's Almanac is forecasting about more snow. I'm not rearranging my closet and filling it with warm-weather clothes just yet. There's a blue sheen to the sunsets still...we need no groundhog in this state to remind us to keep our coats handy!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Best Teaching We Do
I had a student come to my office today who, already in the fifth week of classes, was considering dropping my class along with his other classes and leaving school to find some work and make some money. It's not the first time a student has come to do this in my years of teaching; I'm sure it will happen in the future as well. I don't blame them. The economy is tough and school is expensive; they feel that school just didn't provide them with what they wanted, but the prospect of an inopportune minimum wage job for this person over the next few years just makes me feel ill. I see many former students (who left college early to find a job) at the superstores and food chains who are always friendly when they remember me, but I feel as though in some way I let them down.
It's always difficult initiating the conversation with someone whose mind is pretty well made up, but I always try to explain that the best course of action may indeed be the one that seems the longest way around. That's not what they want to hear. They want to know that they're not right for school; that they're decision is the right one and things will eventually work out. Of course, I often tell them of the students that I've had return again after having been out or school three or four years because they aren't improving their lot and finding success, but at this point they're often settled on self-apathy.
If I could enunciate to these students how I truly feel in these moments, it would be something much like this:
It's always difficult initiating the conversation with someone whose mind is pretty well made up, but I always try to explain that the best course of action may indeed be the one that seems the longest way around. That's not what they want to hear. They want to know that they're not right for school; that they're decision is the right one and things will eventually work out. Of course, I often tell them of the students that I've had return again after having been out or school three or four years because they aren't improving their lot and finding success, but at this point they're often settled on self-apathy.
If I could enunciate to these students how I truly feel in these moments, it would be something much like this:
“I have said that a high ideal is essential to a completely successful life. But in the realization of our aim it is quite necessary to form an ideal commensurate with our abilities. Many a man has failed in his life-work because his notions of what he ought to do were marvelously beyond his power of execution. Such a man forms so high a conception of what he would like to accomplish that he has no heart to attempt anything in earnest. . . This intense burning desire on the part of common people to become millionaires, or merchant princes, or railroad kings, or something beyond their powers and opportunities has filled our American communities with hundreds of restless, discontented, useless men.
One of the most valuable lessons for the young to learn is that it takes a great man to accomplish a great undertaking, and that both are necessarily few in one generation. If this lesson were learned and heeded half the heartache of our mature years might be avoided. Effort, and high resolve, and noble purpose are excellent qualities of character; but they can never enable a man to lift himself by the boot-straps nor accomplish the unattainable. It is at once the weakness and greatness of some to conceive what they attempt to do of so high a degree of excellence that no human power can reach it. The natural effect of this is a restless desire to accomplish something far beyond what is ordinarily attained even by surpassing talent. When such a desire has taken possession of the heart, the usual achievements of men seem poor indeed. With their broad views and far-sighted stretch of thought, it seems trivial to come down to the common affairs of every-day life. It is to them a small thing to do good and get good in the plain old common-sense way. J. Clinton Ransom, The Successful Man, 1886
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
2:07 a.m.
Today is my first-daughter's birthday. She's a young woman now; she's married to an intelligent, caring young man who would do anything for her and she for him. She manages a store and a dozen or so employees, encouraging them to be quick-thinking, customer-first salespeople. And she's won awards for the success that her team and their store have brought the company.
Twenty four years ago, early in the morning, I was the first one to hold her as she entered this world. Her mother had cared well for her for the previous nine months, but for the first time, on that morning, I felt my daughter breathe. She fit neatly in my two hands as my thumb and forefinger supported her head sprouting already a few tufts of hair. I counted her fingers and toes, and I saw her skin grow pink as oxygen filled her lungs and spread rapidly throughout her body. Her arms and legs, new toys to her, pushed and kicked at the air, recognizing that she was no longer held as one with her mother.
I've been blessed to have been able to repeat that same kind of morning with each of my children. Each with his and her own nuance of cry and kick, but the morning when our first child was born is locked in a separate room of my memory. It's the room where both my wife and I go when our children celebrate a "birthday." For us it's the moment when we looked at each other that very early morning and held "our" child. Each of our kids have brought us closer to each other, but that morning we learned that love was something that we could truly hold.
Twenty four years ago, early in the morning, I was the first one to hold her as she entered this world. Her mother had cared well for her for the previous nine months, but for the first time, on that morning, I felt my daughter breathe. She fit neatly in my two hands as my thumb and forefinger supported her head sprouting already a few tufts of hair. I counted her fingers and toes, and I saw her skin grow pink as oxygen filled her lungs and spread rapidly throughout her body. Her arms and legs, new toys to her, pushed and kicked at the air, recognizing that she was no longer held as one with her mother.
I've been blessed to have been able to repeat that same kind of morning with each of my children. Each with his and her own nuance of cry and kick, but the morning when our first child was born is locked in a separate room of my memory. It's the room where both my wife and I go when our children celebrate a "birthday." For us it's the moment when we looked at each other that very early morning and held "our" child. Each of our kids have brought us closer to each other, but that morning we learned that love was something that we could truly hold.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
My Valentine
My Valentine has been my best companion for twenty-five years!
We met on a Sunday...in church...she an angel...I, a bit of a devil, and I still don't like beingapart from her if I can help it.
Even in the badlands we get along pretty well.
Let's get our bikes tuned up, dear, we've got miles of great riding ahead!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Taming DustDevils and Idle Hands
Okay...I've missed a day or two. I never signed a contract on this blog; just a commitment to myself to see my way to 50 by commenting on the odd thoughts and ditties that cross my mind on any given day. I could say the devil made me miss, but that would be inaccurate. I just don't live on the computer. Mea culpa!
But I've not been idle. Idle hands make the devil's work, but I've kept myself busy these past few days. (Devils may be a theme tonight!) My chair project is now three leather cushions short of being complete.
I put my second coat of stain/finish on last night after my daughter's bowling match, and this morning I applied a first coat of carnuba wax. When I wiped it down after twenty minutes, the shine began to appear. I'll put another coat on tomorrow and buff it well with a sheepskin pad. It's elbow grease that finally makes wood look good.
Here's the left arm showing the quartersawn look of the oak. I call this the "grandchildren seat." I don't have any, yet, but when I do these arms will be perfect for little behinds to sit on and look through books. I told my son and his girlfriend that it could easily hold six little behinds - she said that sounded good to her. (I wish you could have seen the look on my son's face!) I'll be satisfied to wait and see what begins to unfold in that later chapter of life...but I'll be ready.
Of course we were out of school on Wednesday this past week, and I received the scarf from my sister. This picture doesn't do it the right justice. It's a beautiful scarf with smaller grey heather flecks throughout.
What's most amazing about wool is how it holds the air within its fibers. This is not a tightly woven scarf like a melton or merino; this stretches some, and in doing so the small pockets of air warm from one's body and provide the heat. When I wore it Thursday, a cold wind (-13 degrees air temp-devilishly cold) didn't penetrate to my neck. Good wool and good technique are the keys to a great scarf. Thanks, again, Boppy!
Today found me with a little time in the shop and a couple of pen kits. I had ordered some materials to make a friend a pen he was wanting, so I (as is typical) ordered a couple of redundant kits. Since my oldest daughter's birthday is coming up, I figured she needed a small pre-birthday gift.
Like my mother she's a nut for black and white decor. I made her one similar to this one. This one's for Scott, a great musician and good friend. I love working on the lathe with this material. It looks like marble, but it's actually just a plastic resin. It turns well, makes a nice finish, and is very, very durable. But I don't like being too far away from wood. I had been wanting to make myself a pen for carrying around in my coat, so I came up with this one.
The wood on this one is Osage Orange; otherwise known to Kansans as Hedge. A hard, knotty, and tough wood that will turn a deep, golden orange after a few weeks of handling and journal writing. Penmaking is the devil in me; I can never have enough neat looking pens.
-------------
And what a way to end the weekend - watching my son's team, the Newman Jets, overcome an eighteen-point halftime deficit to defeat the number one team in their conference by three points! Talk about taming the dustdevil! With a minute sixteen left, down by five points, the team found a way to win against a very talented team. But I would have to point out that every team they've played has been talented. I've just become too accustomed to watching our team to realize that they, too, have great talent and, even more so, a great sense of being a cohesive team. Having overcome injuries to a couple of key players, they are finding a winning momentum. A father (with a devilish smile on his face) can only be proud!
But I've not been idle. Idle hands make the devil's work, but I've kept myself busy these past few days. (Devils may be a theme tonight!) My chair project is now three leather cushions short of being complete.
I put my second coat of stain/finish on last night after my daughter's bowling match, and this morning I applied a first coat of carnuba wax. When I wiped it down after twenty minutes, the shine began to appear. I'll put another coat on tomorrow and buff it well with a sheepskin pad. It's elbow grease that finally makes wood look good.
Here's the left arm showing the quartersawn look of the oak. I call this the "grandchildren seat." I don't have any, yet, but when I do these arms will be perfect for little behinds to sit on and look through books. I told my son and his girlfriend that it could easily hold six little behinds - she said that sounded good to her. (I wish you could have seen the look on my son's face!) I'll be satisfied to wait and see what begins to unfold in that later chapter of life...but I'll be ready.
Of course we were out of school on Wednesday this past week, and I received the scarf from my sister. This picture doesn't do it the right justice. It's a beautiful scarf with smaller grey heather flecks throughout.
What's most amazing about wool is how it holds the air within its fibers. This is not a tightly woven scarf like a melton or merino; this stretches some, and in doing so the small pockets of air warm from one's body and provide the heat. When I wore it Thursday, a cold wind (-13 degrees air temp-devilishly cold) didn't penetrate to my neck. Good wool and good technique are the keys to a great scarf. Thanks, again, Boppy!
Today found me with a little time in the shop and a couple of pen kits. I had ordered some materials to make a friend a pen he was wanting, so I (as is typical) ordered a couple of redundant kits. Since my oldest daughter's birthday is coming up, I figured she needed a small pre-birthday gift.
Like my mother she's a nut for black and white decor. I made her one similar to this one. This one's for Scott, a great musician and good friend. I love working on the lathe with this material. It looks like marble, but it's actually just a plastic resin. It turns well, makes a nice finish, and is very, very durable. But I don't like being too far away from wood. I had been wanting to make myself a pen for carrying around in my coat, so I came up with this one.
The wood on this one is Osage Orange; otherwise known to Kansans as Hedge. A hard, knotty, and tough wood that will turn a deep, golden orange after a few weeks of handling and journal writing. Penmaking is the devil in me; I can never have enough neat looking pens.
-------------
And what a way to end the weekend - watching my son's team, the Newman Jets, overcome an eighteen-point halftime deficit to defeat the number one team in their conference by three points! Talk about taming the dustdevil! With a minute sixteen left, down by five points, the team found a way to win against a very talented team. But I would have to point out that every team they've played has been talented. I've just become too accustomed to watching our team to realize that they, too, have great talent and, even more so, a great sense of being a cohesive team. Having overcome injuries to a couple of key players, they are finding a winning momentum. A father (with a devilish smile on his face) can only be proud!
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