One Possible Explanation

Despite promises to myself to the contrary, I’ve been occasionally checking up on Jake and logging onto the website to see how things are going out there somewhere in endless depths of the Pacific Ocean . What I’m finding is that as long as the video shots are of people in the lab or when they’re exploring underwater, I seem to be ok with it.

I don’t know whether it’s because I can trick myself into thinking that when they’re in the lab, they’re on solid ground somewhere and when when they’re exploring underwater, they’re really standing in front of a large aquarium somewhere. I haven’t bothered to ask myself these questions too deeply. I could think about this more but I’m afraid that the tenuous illusions that I have have constructed for myself would be shattered.

What does bother me are those shots taken above deck- when there is nothing to see but the vast expanse of limitless ocean. The only thing worse than these shots are when the ship is going, presumably “full steam ahead” and there is a massive wake churning up its- well, in its wake. This sends my blood pressure through the roof.

Once I regain consciousness, I find myself examining the wake to see if there’s anybody I know bobbing up and down in it. When I don’t see anyone, I go over and sit on the couch and try to think happy thoughts. Usually, I can’t come up with any.

Yesterday, they were having electrical problems with one of the submersibles- to the point where they had to cut one of their dives short. I checked again later before going to bed to see if anything had changed. Nope. Still working on it.

This morning, before work,  I logged on and checked again. The only differences I could detect were that, first off all, the water that normally stretched out to infinity, now stretched out into the dark void of their pre-dawn sky. The other thing that I noticed was that the submersible, which usually sits just beyond the upper guardrail to the right, was gone.

And there was a third thing. No one was around. This was understandable since it was about 3:30 in the morning, their time. But still, it was a little- odd. After I got to work, I checked again.

Look closely at this picture. See all those of people? Of course you don’t. There aren’t any. Rear deck with one submersible missing? Nothing. Vast expanse of deadly ocean with no one apparently bobbing up and down in it? Nothing. Empty control room? Empty. I checked the site several more times with increasing frequency, throughout the morning. The only thing that changed was the sun was rising, along with my anxiety.

Any reasonable person would assume that since they’re not able to explore, maybe they’re taking advantage of being able to sleep in. Or, since they’re not able to explore, maybe they're off-camera in the lab, getting caught up on tagging the specimens from previous dives.

I thought about these explanations, and others too. But after repeatedly checking in and not seeing anything different, I decided sometime around 10:30AM my time, that these explanations were unlikely and far fetched.

I decided that it was much more likely that they had been boarded by pirates- modern pirates- the kinds of pirates that raid ships with assault weapons. And these pirates, in a show of strength, had pushed one of the submersibles overboard “as a warning- just in case anybody gets any funny ideas” and that by now, everyone was tied up below deck- if they were lucky.

And since I wasn’t even seeing any pirates in the videos, the only logical conclusion was that all of this had happened in the dead of night and the pirates were now long gone.

All the pieces fit.

It suddenly occurred to me that even after all of these years, I have absolutely no idea who you call to report a pirate attack.
...
I got an email from Jake around 11:45 saying they were still working on the electrical problems and would be heading out further to their next site and hopefully be able to hit the site they had to skip, on their way back.

And now, I’m seeing activity on the boat. The status has even been updated- presumably by an actual crew member.

Although I haven’t heard back from Jake, I’m beginning to have some doubts about my pirate scenario. But boy, it sure seemed like the most plausible explanation at the time.

This Modern Age

It is so strange to be able to sit in front of my computer and watch as things are taking place over a mile below where Jake is currently sitting- which in turn, is over three thousand miles away from where I am.

And Not Just When It Comes to Blueberries

Sam and I baked blueberry muffins this weekend. One of his jobs was to take half the blueberries, check them for stems and then put them on a paper towel to dry. I did the other half.

I think our different techniques say a lot about both of us.

Sam

Me

Father's Day

Another Father's day, but quieter than most. I was met with breakfast from Helaina, wind chimes from Sam and a phone call from Rachael.

The other day, the kids gave me flowers and a honeysuckle. I planted those this morning in the pouring rain, before heading with Helaina to visit Dad's grave. On the way, I got a text from Jake at the airport, wishing me a "Happy Father's Day". He should be half way to Miami about now.

Sam and I will spend the afternoon baking together.

Not much to say, so I'll post this, like I do pretty much every year...

Things I Won't Be Thinking Of

I plan on being busy for the next three weeks or so, not thinking about Jake’s trip.

He’s in Boston as I write this, where he’ll leave for Miami tomorrow morning. The following day, he flies down to Ecuador, then it’s off to spend the next few weeks out in the vast expanse of the Pacific, basically floating on a cork.

If you want to see where he’s hopefully going, and if you have Google Earth, you can paste these coordinates into the search, zoom out and look around: 0.6667° S, 90.5500° W

Here's a time-lapse video tour of the boat he’ll be floating on:




Here's a link to a live video(s) stream of whatever is going on at the moment. Sometimes, when I've worked up the courage to look at the video, it’ only showing the view off the back of the boat- staring out over the vast empty stretches of barren ocean.

Right now, however, there's a view from the submersible-exploring hydrothermal vents along the ocean floor. I can’t help but notice that, in the corner of the screen, it says the submersible is at a depth of 8,518 feet- which means that whomever is in the boat above, has a long way to go before their feet would be on solid ground.

I look forward to hearing all about Jake’s trip when he returns in three weeks- or I would if I were going to be thinking about it. I'll also look forward to finally being able to exhale.

A Long Walk

Sam and I went for a walk last evening. The plan was, we would go to the college with a loaf of old bread and first see if the ducks were hungry (they were) and then we would go for a walk around the school building.

We like walking around the college because it sits on hill and when we walk up the hill, we both comment on how out of shape we are, and in my case at least, it’s a reminder that I used to be in some kind of shape (relatively speaking). In any event, it feels gratifying, for me anyway, every time we make it to the top of the relatively small hill and I haven't ended up clutching my chest. I imagine that it's been gratifying for Sam that he hasn't had to run for help.

Last night, Sam was slightly behind me when we came down the hill that's on the backside of the college. Sam's never behind me. I'm always catching up, so it was pretty unusual, and I hadn’t really noticed it until I heard him say, “Oh no!”.

I turned to see him looking at a young dead bird on the edge of the road, right next to where we were walking.

This was not one of those tiny, newborn chicks. This poor thing must have been several weeks old. It was about six inches or so long and it still had a good bit of those soft, downy-type feathers, but it also had a lot of newer, more mature feathers.

Sam took a stick and gently poked him. “I just wanted to see if he was still alive” he said. “How come his eyes are still open?” So, we talked about that a bit and I asked Sam if he wanted me to bury him- even though I already knew the answer.

I found a small rock nearby and dug a hole in the soft, damp dirt and, using two nearby sticks, I lowered the bird in, covered him over and I put the stone on top.

Sam and I stood there for a minute or so, just taking this in. Sam asked me one more time about the eyes- then we walked to the car and headed back home.

Sam seemed fine for the rest of the night. But I'm pretty sure if I'm still thinking about it, he must be too. Tomorrow, I'll see if he wants to go back to the college or not. I don't plan on mentioning the bird, but maybe he'll want to visit or maybe he'll want to forget.

I'll leave that up to him.

Dismantling

Did I mention that our van died? I think I mentioned that I finally took down the kids’ old fort- the one that I had built for them years ago, but I don’t know if I mentioned the van. These events are sort of tied together.

Jake and Sam plying in the fort, many summers ago.

I had started dismantling the fort a couple of years ago, and then Jake got wrapped up in a project, which meant that I got wrapped up in the project, too. And if the choice is between working on a project with one of the kids or dismantling the past, I’ll take the project.

The next year, the same thing happened- or at least that’s the excuse I used.

So throughout last year, the fort sat in partial ruins, looking a little like the aftermath of a miniature Viking invasion. But this year, I decided it was finally time to finish it off. This ambitious decision was spurred on by the fact that a long weekend was approaching and there was a fairly decent prospect that the entire family might be together, and since the weather was predicted to be pretty nice, we might be able to have a cookout and eat outside- if we had a place to eat.

Our old picnic table had rotted out by the end of last year (or maybe it was the year before). It was a table that Helaina had built for a project several years ago while she was at the Tech School. It was a pretty big table, which was great when everyone was around. It could even hold an additional friend or two.

The table had been patched up several times over the years, but it was long past the point where patching was still an option. So it was carted around the backside of the fort where it sat like an old broken race horse, begging to be put out of its misery.

With the long weekend approaching, I would have to get a new picnic table if we were going to eat outside. And if I was going to get a new picnic table, then I had to admit defeat and cut-up and get rid of the old picnic table. And if I was going to cut-up and get rid of the old picnic table, then I really had no excuse anymore to not finish cutting up and getting rid of the old fort, as well.

On the Friday of the long weekend, I stopped on the way home from work and picked up a new, smaller picnic table. Now I was committed.

Once at home, I spent the next four hours or so, cutting up the old table, along with the fort and stacking the remains over by the van. The next morning, Sam helped me take the seats out of the van and the pile was stacked in their place.

Jake and I headed off to the dump. Along the way, we heard a pop sound coming from somewhere under the rear of the van, and it was followed by a groaning sound that, this time at least, wasn’t coming from me.

It turned out the rusty rear shock absorber had snapped off the rusty rear axle, taking a part of the axle, and the rust along with it. It also turned out that, at least according to my mechanic, you can’t weld rust to rust and that replacing components under the van, would not be unlike pulling a thread on an old sock- a rusty old sock.

The fact that the van was rotting out shouldn’t have come as any surprise. If nothing else, I should have taken the gas tank falling off last Thanksgiving as some kind of warning. But as with most things, I chose to ignore the warning signs- because that’s almost like not having the problem to begin with.

But the fort and table made it to the dump, and the van is finally dead. The last couple of weeks have been occupied with searching for a new car to replace it- so far in vain.

I don’t need a big vehicle- like another van. Other than moving someone from one place to another, or filling it up for the occasional trip to the dump, there’s really no reason to have something that big around here.

There were things about the van that I didn’t like. The pickup could be sluggish at times, and it didn’t get very good gas mileage. It could also be kind of hard to park- especially if you were in a parking garage. And over the years, the headlights had been getting kind of foggy- making it harder and harder to drive at night.

What I did like about the van was that, back in the day, it often meant that we were all together. Whether we were heading to the mall, or going on vacation, or heading from the cottage to the beach, riding together was part of the fun- and sometimes, the ride was even more fun than wherever it was that we eventually ended up.

But now the van sits behind my mechanic's garage- broken and rotting and awaiting its ultimate fate- just like the old picnic table and the old climbing fort had been in my backyard.

It seems to me that there is some kind irony in this- or maybe it’s somehow fitting, that these things are tied together- that the final dismantling of the kids’ old fort, along with the big picnic table, contributed to the demise of that old van.

Which is fine I guess. Nothing lasts forever- and anyway, there were things about that old van that I didn’t like.

Leaving the beach to go back to the cottage.

Mea Culpa

Recently, I’ve been reminded of a event from years ago that, at the time, seemed relatively insignificant to me.

Years ago, if I happened to be on the road, I would often listen to a particular local radio station. At the top of most hours, this station regularly played “World and National News from...” In their eight minute encapsulation of the top world events, I always assumed that they had to be pretty picky- not only in what news stories they would choose to highlight, but also in how much time they could allot to any individual story. I assumed this until one day, when I paid a little more attention.

On this particular day, as I was pulling into work, I was listening to the news and after one reporter finished up his thirty second in-depth report from the middle east, he switched back to the studio anchor. The anchor led into the next story, using the same authoritative urgency as he had used to lead into the middle east story, and he said, (and I am only slightly paraphrasing), “It turns out that broccoli has even greater health benefits than originally thought. This, according to a recent scientific study. Here, with a live report, is …”

I sat there, blinking at the radio for a few minutes, trying to take this in.

I don’t know if “bizarre” is the right word, so lets just say that I found it “odd” that with the precious few minutes available to them to cover the Important News of The World, they not only felt this late breaking broccoli report needed to be covered, but that it needed to be covered “live” (“live” from where, I have no idea). Even years later, I still find it “odd”.

Anyway, as I said, recent events made me think about this traumatic period in my life, and I’m now wondering that if I had ever relayed this fascinating story to anyone, was it possible that someone or someones might have felt that I was in someway callously insulting the integrity of the broccoli? If that were the case, I would like to publicly go on record and apologize- not only to that person or persons, but also to the broccoli. It was never my intent.

Weeding Out

Mom, my brother, and one of my sisters, just got back from a trip to western North Carolina. They went to visit my Aunt Ellie who lives in a retirement community down there. When I say “visit”, I mean they went there to help my aunt weed through some of her stuff in anticipation of her moving into a smaller, assisted living facility “on campus”.

Mom had been after Ellie for quite some time to get in gear and start going through her things and get it weeded out, but the conversations all seemed to end in frustration in that my aunt would either not make a commitment or would not have the discussion to begin with. I would like to say that Mom just rolled with it, but that’s not Moms style.

This is one of those things that I can see both sides of. I think Mom is absolutely right that Ellie needs to whittle down on stuff if she’s going to fit into a smaller place. It’s not like Ellie’s a hoarder with a house filled with crap- like my house, but there is a lot more stuff there than an apartment could handle.

On the other hand, all of those things are things that she’s had for years. It would be hard for me to part with my things that hold memories- memories that others might not see. Plus, it would be an added incentive for me to hang onto the stuff if I knew it was driving one of my family members crazy. Yeah, ultimately it would have to be dealt with, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it should be my problem. Just dig a bigger hole, drop me in, and bulldoze my stuff over me. What’s the big deal?

But Ellie finally agreed to the idea that Mom and whoever else, should come down and begin to help her go through her stuff. Maybe Ellie finally came around to Mom’s way of thinking, but whatever reason, figurative feet were now wedged in the figurative door, so the three of them headed down to begin the assault.

While they were down there, I kept getting texts. Because my phone is about as cheap as you can get, when a text is received, it isn’t always accompanied by a name- just a strange, unrecognizable phone number. But I knew the texts were from one of the members of the Swat Team because the first text I got announced their safe arrival at the airport and the second one I got announced their safe arrival at a barbecue restaurant.

This was clearly a thinly disguised attempt to provoke me with the lifelong taunt of “look what we’re doing and you’re not”- which, by the way, has been duly recorded in my mental Book of Slights- and will be held there until I am able to tip the scales of justice back in my favor.

Anyway, after a while, I began to get texts from another strange number, and these were usually accompanied by a photo- the size of which my cheap phone provider estimated to cost the equivalent of trying to shove the Empire State Building through the airwaves. This translated into my minutes getting sucked up faster than I would have sucked up the aforementioned barbecue- which I didn’t get to have.

Not only that, but at least some of these texts turned out to be group texts, so when someone else did a “reply all” to the original text, I not only ended up with yet another strange phone number, but it ended up sucking up even more astronomical amounts of my prepaid time.

It wouldn’t have been quite as bad if I could actually have seen what the photos were taken of, but my phone is so bad, it was like looking at a postage stamp through a scratchy microscope.

Today though, I finally managed to extract a few of the photos buried deep within my high tech phone.

This is a photo is of a lantern that my grandfather had made. From what I understand, Ellie says it’s stuck in place with no way to get it off. I would have sent a text suggesting that my sister try cutting through the wires with a hack saw, but I was running low on minutes:

Here’s another photo, this time of some swan figurines that I thought I was told were salt shakers. Now that I can see the photo more clearly, I can see that they are not salt shakers. So, either I misunderstood or I was lied to:

And when I originally saw this photo below, I understood it to be of different varieties of Carolina hot sauce, which I guess, in a way, it is:

I’m not quite sure what memories these things in this last photo hold for Ellie- and I’m probably better off not knowing. But I’m wondering as I write this if this is somehow connected with Ellie finally agreeing, after all these years, that, “Yes, maybe it really would be a good idea for all you people to come down and start going through all of my stuff.” ...And have a nice tall glass of lemonade while you're here.

I wonder.

Also, I kind of like those swans.