Favorite Philosopher's Blog

Inspired by a friend’s post about a sailboat race that circumnavigated the world, I went and looked up my old pal Jack, who attempted that feat.

He never made it around the world of course (that’s his tale, not mine) but he’s kind of my guardian angel. I was “all at sea” with my marriage and kids and our wise counselor recommended I take a weekend by myself – good advice by the way – and I chose Sonoma County where Jack lived for a time and died.

There I visited Jack London State Historical Park on his property in Glen Ellen, California, memorial to this eccentric and storyteller who died too young. I still have the plaque I bought there so many years ago. It sits in my kitchen:
“I would rather be ashes than dust, etc…”. You can find it yourself. There at his simple gravesite I found my reason to plod along.

I can’t explain it, but he gave me the courage to be myself. My kids turned out okay probably because I decided to be who I am – a little outside the box – instead of who I thought I should be and could never be – the perfect mother and wife who always colored inside the lines. Everyone is a “superb meteor” in their own way. For Emily Dickinson it didn’t entail sailing around the world but rather sitting at home writing poetry. For me it entailed dressing up as The Fraulein from Mundelein for the parish Octoberfest promotion among other crazy stunts that probably embarrassed my kids as well as doing crazy things like learned to scuba when I was really too old to succeed in any life changing way.

Anyway, time to get back
to reading Jack. There are several books I haven’t yet read and a few are worth a second read, particularly John Barleycorn. Here’s a little link to the history of The Snark.

Ah Morocco! Al was going to go to Morocco while I was going to Bonaire scuba diving. I had no desire to go to Morocco. Everybody is happy.

Then we went to China in November of 2019. We were halfway through that mind blowing trip – exotic EVERYTHING, country of contradictions, lovely people – when I looked at Al and said is it too late for me to change my mind and go to Morocco with you? Nope, it wasn’t. I just couldn’t imagine Al going somewhere as exotic as China and me missing it. I only recently learned the acronym FOMO (fear of missing out) and I definitely suffer from that psychological mind game.

We flew through Paris (now I can say I’ve been to France.) Our first night was in Rabat and we met our tour group there and our incomparable tour guide, Safi. Right here I’m putting in an ad for Gate One Tours, Inc. The pace was enjoyable, each guide along the way superb and fun (albeit all men) and anything we needed or concerns we had were met with timely service. It was reasonably priced. We kind of got lucky because at that time Covid was just starting to be a thing, it was really only in China and maybe Italy, there were no cases in Morocco. Nevertheless, some folks had cancelled so a tour of maybe thirty to forty was down to about twenty-twenty five. If you haven’t taken a land tour this means plenty of room to spread out on the bus.

Morocco was quite fascinating. Rich history, part of which that it was outpost in the Holy Roman Empire and one of the places we visited was the ruins of Volubilis. This was one of our favorite stops. It is a partially excavated city that was started in about 3 BC by the Berbers and eventually flourished under Roman rule in 1-2 AD, most of its prosperity coming from the olive trade. The Romans eventually left but it was inhabited for another 700 or so years and then everybody moved to Fez and Meknes during the dynasty of Idris. At its height its population was 20,000. What was so enjoyable for us was: it ain’t Italy. The Unesco World Heritage Site was not crowded at all and we really got the feel of what it must have been like to live on this hilltop. It remained unexcavated for a long long time and thus there are intact mosaic floors everywhere. We enjoyed it immensely especially the not crowded part.

That was just our first stop! The history of Morocco is splattered with people and rulers and dynasties and tribes. What a mess! Interestingly they were one of the few places in that part of the world that was not invaded/ruled by the Ottoman Empire. There must be a reason for that but I forgot. Jews and Muslims all fled the Spanish Inquisition so they have no gripes as they were kindred spirits in their flight. It is a Muslim nation now, however.

On to Meknes where we went to an open market. Ok, I’m pretty green, and the butcher aisle was enlightening and not for the weak of stomach, It’s all out there for ya: cow livers, hearts, tongues, heads, feet, and even, well…you know. The typical National Geographic spice stalls were beautiful as were the aromas emanating from them (much better than the butcher aisle.) The olive stalls oh goodness gracious.

A word about olives. More olives are grown exported from Morocco than anywhere in the world. I would have thought Italy but I would think wrong. I was not particularly enamored with Moroccan food except for the family dinner we were treated to as part of our tour. The rest was, to be fair, like any tour food you might encounter anywhere – fixed menu and breakfast buffet, so the same thing over and over, some of it better than others. With my persnickety tummy I ate a lot of bread and picked at the ever present tandoori chicken. I was saved, however, by olives in abundance for every meal, including breakfast. I practically lived on them by the end of the two weeks.

Meknes also introduced us to our first medina. I will write about that tomorrow.

After my strong start two days ago I realized it is practically impossible at this point to journal the trips we took, Maybe sometime if I’m ever laid up with some age related affliction I can look at the photos and conjure up some sweet memories and impressions. It’s more the impressions I should have written down immediately. Live and learn, There are a few things I do remember and when I do, I’ll write,

Until then, it’s Covid-19 time and I can definitely remember my impressions of that since we’re still in it. I will start with Morocco…

How many times have I wanted to write about 2020. Plenty of time on my hands, that’s for sure. We’re in a pandemic! How many people alive can say that they’ve been in a pandemic? The very old who lived through the Spanish Flu of 1918 perhaps (my Dad, though deceased, was 8 years old.)

Anyway, not really here to talk about it today. Mostly I’m here to admonish myself for not writing about all the traveling we did before we got stuck in the good old USA. Why didn’t I write about the Baltic Cruise? Why didn’t I write about China? About Russia? Morocco? A second passing through the Panama Canal? Andy and Kelsey’s wedding? Visiting the Outer Banks and Kitty Hawk for the first time? The Great Smoky Mountains?

Have I really been that busy? Not at all. I guess I did write some about scuba diving, the new hobby that died on the vine because it’s just too physically taxing.

Maybe it has taken this long to get my bearings after caring for Mom, watching her fade away, trying to grapple with the frequent urge even after three years, to pick up the phone and call her on a cloudy, lazy Sunday morning.

I don’t know if I’ve made this commitment before, but I’m going to make it again, and not for a New Year’s Resolution. I’m just going to write for fifteen minutes every day. Where to start? I am going to go back to the millions of photos I’ve taken of our travels and start there to try to see if I can recapture some of the thoughts and feelings in my heart.

I have much to catch up on, but the short story is that Covid and a desire to get away from home safely had Al and I pulling out the camping gear. Fortunately a few years ago we went through all our stuff and figured out what we wouldn’t need anymore since there are only two of us.

Our first trip to Zion NP ended a night early due to insane winds that caused our tent to blow up like an air balloon and then implode upon us at regular intervals throughout the night. This was somewhat annoying but it was the freight train noise when the wind would gear up to try to blow us away that ruined our sleep. Also, we are not as young as we used to be and altho the foam pad worked for me, it is too bulky to cram into the Prius. It did not work for Al.

Second trip to Sequoia was much better. Al still had a little trouble with his two thermarests sliding off each other but that was solved on this trip with some non slip rug stuff. I had a new Big Agnes air mattress. Also I was a bit worried about skeeters so stopped at last minute to get a screen dining tent which was my smartest move this year. Lots of yellowjackets.

So what could have possibly gone wrong with our trip to Joshua Tree NP (3 hours away, tops) to take advantage of dark skies and watch meteor showers. I will list them, not necessarily in this order:

I decided that low of 50 degrees was not indicative that I’d need my ski jacket. Wrong.

It won’t matter that it gets pitch dark at six. Wrong. It got cold early and stayed cold and our wood lasted til 8. It was too cold to stay outside or get up in the middle of the night to see the deep dark.

The sleeping pad situation was fine. The trial of sheet, blanket and sleeping bag on top did not work. Sleeping bags are slippery. Why is it no longer on top of me and where the hell is it. Also sheet did not stay put. No sleep after Al came to bed (he had his ski jacket and stayed out a little longer.) Finally I rearranged things so we were sorta sleeping together and that helped.

We woke up in a.m. mutually deciding to break camp, spend the day enjoying the park and go home to bed.

Didn’t ANYTHING go right on this 24 hour adventure?

The stars were gorgeous. I saw one lonely shooting star. The Milky Way was faint but definitely there.

The next day we hiked all over and to my surprise I found myself hiking up hills without my poles and without difficulty. In a previous blog you will find I had made a declaration that I was done hiking. I guess swimming 3x/week has paid off in unexpected ways.

So. Aside from still considering a camper van or VERY small trailer, we learned a few things that we will take forward. Don’t put the damn warm stuff back at the last minute. The ski jacket WAS SITTING BY THE DOOR when I decided to put it back. Sheets don’t work. Maybe we should zip that double sleeping bag back together on cold nights and cuddle up. Duh. We know that JTNP is very close and until the time changes it is day trips. And then, because I am so forward thinking, don’t plan on hiking when it’s 100 degrees there and just hang loose until 2 am when it will still be warmish and still starry.

Last night our bed never felt better.

I decided the anti-mask people are right. I’m tired of trying to convince them that it’s not an evil conspiracy to take away our freedom.  So this is the stuff I’ve decided I’m just not gonna do anymore because I don’t wanna and another thought or two.

1) Stopping at stop signs/lights. Why should I stop if there are no cars coming? I should be able to make that decision on my own. Just because you decided to speed up just when I was going through the red light and I kill your wife and three kids and that useless parasite on society grandmother of yours – that’s your problem dude.

2) Going through TSA. Screw that. I have never carried a weapon or bomb on a plane. Why am I being stopped because some jerk may try to do that? I am
not concerned about it so why should I care if you are.

3) No more life jackets for me on a choppy boat ride. How dare we be required to wear life jackets on someone else’s boat just because the govt says we should. I’m a grown adult. I can make my own decision. Screw those who, because they are decent human beings, jump in to save me and also lose their lives. I didn’t tell them they had to save me. You do you.

4) Oh man FORGET seat belts. We’ve been living with THAT tyranny for
way too long but I certainly DO expect the people of the US to support me
for the rest of my life because I go through a windshield and live to tell the tale, albeit in a wheelchair.

5).No shirt no shoes no service. I never realized before how totally oppressive that was in the name of “public health.”. What a bunch of b.s. Who are these public health experts anyway? I don’t see anything on my feet. As for me without a shirt, well, what’s not to like?

Personally I don’t see why my husband’s surgeon was required to wear a mask during his 9 hour brain surgery. Masks don’t do a damn thing. So what if he just picked up the flu and didn’t know it yet. Why should he (and lordy all those nurses) have to stand there all that time “breathing their own germs” with masks on. Wait. I think I see now. We don’t want their germs getting caught behind a mask, where they might breathe THEIR OWN GERMS back in. Let them out so they can live free! Germs aren’t meant to be contained. They have a life, too ya know.

It just comes down to I don’t give a flying fig about my fellow humans. Screw all that morality stuff my parents taught me. It’s every man for herself.

Life without FB has definitely improved.

Haven’t written anything but did get out to the garden.  We had “gardeners” for the six plus years we’ve lived here and about a month ago they disappeared off the face of the earth.  They are a couple of middle aged surfer looking guys who have been gardening this home since the first owner lived here a long time ago.  Nobody knows what happened.  Our next door neighbor and others they worked for have not seen them. Not sure if they are ever coming back.  The next door neighbor uses the same vet and apparently their ancient doggie died so we thought maybe they were just taking a few weeks but it’s looking less and less likely they will be back. Surfers. What can you say?

It’s kind of ok except that we don’t own a lawn mower for our 12′ x 20′ lawn so it’s looking like a Midwest grassy field which is nice but a bit unwieldy to walk through and I worry about snakes when I venture over to refill the hummingbird feeders. Al told me just now he ordered a lawn mower today, and old fashioned human powered lawn mower.

I finally had to take the bull by the horns.  This isn’t a problem as I have always liked to garden and just was kind of lazy about it after moving. Truth be told, the guys had started to get lazy themselves. Suddenly weeds weren’t getting pulled, pruning wasn’t getting done and worst of all, although they started out NOT using blowers, they started USING blowers. I hate that.

We had some landscaping done recently due to the fact that we had a little hill where nothing grew because the water just drained down hill.  So we had it terraced. See photo.  If I remember to add it to this post. Anyway, I had to get a few new tools – a Mary sized shovel, a weed puller thingy (found my old one but they are easily lost in the shuffle so two isn’t so bad, some new gloves (always nice), a small rake, a hand scooper thing. Dug out old clippers and an electric clipper, a long handled weed puller and oiled them all.

The rest of the garden is just a thin strip along the back wall, no more than three feet deep. The part right near the patio is a pollinator’s Garden of Eden with all kinds of yummy stuff that attracts butterflies, hummingbirds and this year bumblebees which is so cool I can’t even stand it. My St Francis statue stands in the middle and a birdbath is there as well. About ten feet down the line is a non-descript patch where I had pulled out out of control salvia and instead put in geraniums and some kind of bush daisy that went out of control themselves. Pulled them all out and quite frankly, the grass was moving in that direction and I am considering just letting it take over that space. Looks nice, less garden I have to try to keep happy and maybe even enough room to put up the long dormant hammock. It maybe that the sweet alyssum that thrived over there will compete with the grass and that would be ok. Also expect some spring bulbs to pop up – again ok.

Cleared out the Killer Tomato plant from the herb box and replanted all the herbs that it killed. I now know understand completely what an “indeterminate” tomato plant is and although I didn’t plant it (a gift from my gardener) I will not plant another. Also decided that catnip is not appropriate for an herb box – couldn’t believe how the roots had spread out and I practically needed a backhoe to extract it.

About this time I should mentioned that I once wrote an article for a senior newspaper about pacing oneself when gardening so as to not end up in bed recuperating for a week. I reminded myself of this and did two things of which I’m proud: I took frequent breaks and I stopped after I had pulled everything out, replanted the herb boxes, and planted some newbies in the terraced garden, even though I wanted to rake up errant leaves, clear out the area next to the garage that had plastic nursery pots and lord knows what all lurking there, including black widow spiders, and finishing turning the garden where I pulled everything up. The grass will have to wait for pretty soil, although I don’t think it will.

It felt good to get back into the garden for sure. It felt good to do it my way after secretly thinking “why are they doing it that way?” for the past couple of years. It was time and now that I’m off FB I have time.

After my somewhat discouraging experience on my first ocean dive, I called the person I was to be diving with in Cozumel a few weeks later.  It was Cozumel where I first heard the call of the deep, and we had been invited to join friends down there spur-of-the-moment.  They had extra time-share credits. We hesitated and then remembered “oh! We’re retired.” So we agreed and I immediately started researching a reputable guide.

Although I didn’t finish my open water certification on Catalina, I did get my Scuba Diver, which meant I could go down to 40ft with a dive master.  I called Steve at Liquid Blue Divers in Cozumel whom I’d already spoken with (“You’re learning to dive at 64? You’re my hero!”) and explained my tale of woe – what happened at Catalina, my fear, my angst, my lack of self confidence due to my age.   He assured me he would be my dive master and buddy and – this is most important – would not let me die.

The day he picked me up in the little boat that included four other divers, lovely people, he asked how I was and I said “nervous as hell.”  Well, he eased my mind and I had a wonderful two dives.  He commented on how well trained I was, as I knew things that many new divers don’t know, at least they didn’t have it drilled into them by Ashley.  I left encouraged. :

Back to California and a boat dive on December 29.  Ashley was in Utah (She  teaches ski/snowboard for two months and dives in hot springs. The woman never stops.), so I was with Jake her partner with the expectation I would do two dives and finish my open water.  I got seasick (never happens to me) and it was largely the surge below the surface that got me.  Also learning using my drysuit (it has air in it), the air got caught in my feet and I got tired and it ended up Jake flying me like a kite.  After getting back on the boat my day was over except for puking more.

Again, I spent most of the next day resting and reconsidering, but even in the video of me floating upside down, I can show you the exact point where I stopped trying to do a reverse crunch and just started to look at the wonderment around me as a garibaldi swam past.  It’s irresistible to me.

Somewhere in those weeks we went to Shaw’s Cove, a popular shore dive site and so easy – you just have to get past the surf zone and then you can drop right down and see cool stuff.  Ashley carried my stuff down the 60 stairs.  Ashley recommended I just try with my snorkel.  Now if you have read my other blogs you know I can go out and dive through 20 waves to relieve stress, so how hard could it be?

Once my fins were on my feet I was screwed.  I could hardly stand up let alone walk into and against the waves.  So that’s out.  More doubt.

Al and I were headed to Cabo Mexico next, and another tropical dive, same conversation with the dive operator, Laura from Cabo Private Guide, and she promised she wouldn’t let me die.  Another wonderful experience.  No drysuit, light wetsuit, beautiful fishies. I left encouraged. The link is worth opening:

Next attempt at open water cert was on a different boat with Ashley.  I decided to ditch the drysuit and just dive in a wetsuit.  Wetsuits in California are heavy and thick.  My two dives turned into one as between the Dramamine and the rigors of donning the suit, I had nothing left for a second dive.  It should be noted that I also had another instance of “I can’t do this” as I swam to the anchor line before going down.  Ashley, the sneak, is very good at saying “that’s fine, we don’t have to do this” which of course makes me get my shit together and do it anyway.  Funny thing happens under the water.  I never want to leave.  Ashley mentioned to me that I’m always nervous on land and before I go down but once descended I am in my element.  And I am.  Finished demonstrating a few more skills but couldn’t get down for the second dive so oh well.

Finally, off to Catalina once again.  I DID finish my certification this time, finally showing that I could use a compass underwater (Want to do more practice on that.  Don’t want to get lost and die.) Also showing that I could do an emergency ascent and not have my lungs blow up and die.  However before getting down under I got terribly overheated getting my wetsuit on and had to float on my back  for 15 minutes while I got my emotional shit together once again and convince myself I could do this and it was worth it.  Funny thing, though.  At one point I put my regulator in my mouth and  rolled onto my belly and instantly looked up at Ashley and said “We gotta get down there!”  I know where my solace lies.  It was amazing and I saw three giant sea bass and you can look that image up.  I thought Ashley was pointing at a WALL until she repeatedly gave me the “fish” sign and then I saw that the wall was a sea bass doing what sea bass do a lot of – hovering and looking at you.

Finally, last Friday, the surf was very low at Shaw’s Cove so I summoned Ashley to be my dive master/buddy and I wanted to try again.  All was going well, I carried my gear most of the way down the stairs and walked to the water without the headache. My cervical stabilization exercises were working!  We waded resolutely into the water, Ashley never taking her hands off me.  We floated over the waves.  And then, there it was.  A big set of waves.  I took one but the next one was timed terribly and smashed into me, throwing me backwards.  I’m not afraid of drowning, I wasn’t scared, and Ashley had me, but it was abundantly clear this was still too much for me.  And then the worst happened: I got the headache.  If you are a migraine headache person, which I have been on occasion, it is THAT headache.  It takes no prisoners.  I immediately told Ashley and unfortunately started to panic a bit too.  Ashley won’t let me die, I know this and her strength (she can carry her gear AND my gear, thank you US Army) and level headedness was never in question, but it was – difficult.  Ashley took my gear off (can you believe it? Holding on to me and ocean waves waving…) to at least try to relieve my headache but I actually think it was due to the wave that jacked me around. I couldn’t slow my breathing down.  I just had to keep listening to her instructions, which I did. She told me to look at her and let me tell you, if you are in a dangerous situation there’s no one else you want.  I will never forget her eyes and it gave me all the courage I needed.    I wasn’t in full panic but I sure as hell wanted to get to shore.  Which we did.  As fate would have it the OCFD was arriving to do rescue drills so I got to have a handsome fire fighter help me stand up and walk to the stairs.  Five more minutes and I was fine, breathing normally, no headache.  Again I would like to reiterate, at  NO POINT did I feel like Ash wasn’t in control of the situation.  I was not in control, but that’s one thing rescue divers learn in their course is how to deal with panic.  I was at least on the surface!

And now (drum roll please)…

THE DECISION.   I finally have to cry uncle and say I cannot dive in California.  I remember my Dad used to joke “I don’t know why they call it the Pacific.  It’s anything but….”  I will have to reserve my diving for the tropics or lakes or maybe one of those hot springs in Utah.  It makes me a little sad but at the same time relieved that I’m through trying to prove to my ego that I can do something I cannot. Ashley has said several times “I love working with you because you are as stubborn as I am.” (I would like to point out that 900 dives and 6 years ago Ashley did her first Discover Scuba and overcame a fear of drowning for fish sake.)

We both did the best we could.  I will be joining her and other friends I’ve made when we go to Bonaire in the Caribbean in February for a week, to dive in warm, calm waters.  I plan to do a lot more diving before I hang up my BCD for good, but for now it’s back to diving THROUGH Pacific waves on the shore  in my swimsuit and taking boat trips out to see the whales and love my Pacific Ocean from the surface.

Catalina Island…

.

After many weeks in the pool, learning my skills to become open water certified, (you wouldn’t believe what it entails, and Ashley makes me do it until it’s natural. No weekend group lesson for me.  I have special needs), I was ready to tackle the ocean.  We were headed out to Catalina Island, took the earliest ferry out of Long Beach.  I had spent the night at a friend’s home in Huntington Beach so I wouldn’t have to get up at 4 a.m. and drive from San Clemente.  As it happens I could have done that because I was too excited to sleep well.

It was a beautiful day, and the Catalina dive park is easy to access. I just have to walk down a few stairs and catch a wave and I’m in the water.  Ashley said “we will swim out to that buoy.”  No problem. She told me to hold onto the buoy line.  Then we descended.   Apparently I thought if I let go of the line I would float away to Hawaii and I would never be found, so I held on much tighter than I needed to.  This was ridiculous and wore me out, but I wasn’t  down there too long.

The first problem happened immediately, but before I tell you this I must say it was magical.  Orange garibaldis and all kinds of fishies were parading around down there through the kelp which looks funky and awful on the beach but graceful and sparkly down under. There is nothing like being under the water which is why I persevere.

My mask was flooding and although I know how to fix that, it kept flooding. If not slight panic, then certainly frustration was setting in as well as confusion as to why this was happening.  I signaled Ashley that we had to go up but she needed to make some kind of adjustment on my gear.  This was where I tried to foil her attempts to help me.  I was slightly panicky by this time and concentrating on not breathing through my nose, not caring that I couldn’t open my eyes (my mask was still flooded) and still holding on to the buoy line as if I were in outer space and if I let go I’d be off like Major Tom.  Except with my left hand I wasn’t grabbing the rope.  It turns out I was grabbing poor Ashley’s snorkel.  She didn’t need her snorkel but it wasn’t helping  whatever the hell she was trying to do.  We found it VERY funny on the way home and it is testament to her sense of humor and commitment to the Mary Scuba cause.

We did get back to shore but I was shook.  Why had my mask been flooding?  Well, my dear friends a mask strap that is too tight causes flooding.  It is not there to keep it on your face, suction from your nose does.  I finally had to admit to Ash that I had been tightening it the last few times we were in the pool.  With her usual hard boiled tone she said “If I had seen you doing that I would have given you shit.”

Unfortunately, I was indeed quite rattled.  I was unable to stand up on the stairs with my gear on – it’s heavy, dammit- so she took it off and carried up the stairs for me.  I sat in the picnic table feeling like I looked like my mother must have looked in her last months.  I was exhausted.  And discouraged.  And pissed off. And scared.

Ashley finally said “how bout we go out and just snorkel for awhile.”  She’s sneaky, that one.  As soon as I saw all the fishies down there I was ready to try again. We went back to the picnic table, I donned the gear and it was the first time my biggest obstacle to scuba presented itself.  I get an instant, migraine level headache when I try to walk with my equipment.  So I have to put it on in the water, which is  not impossible and is a skill you learn in the pool, so that’s what we did.  We went down and I started to realize how much more difficult it is to control buoyancy in the ocean (there are things down there you don’t want to bump into) than the pool.  That was my lesson for the day.

I was feeling totally discouraged, as I had visions of shore diving in the future.  Shore diving involves walking down 60 or so steps with your gear.  No can do.  Talking with pals on FB there were assurances that I would be helped but seriously, who wants to help an old bag every time.  “Oh gee, Mary, I would love to scuba on Saturday, but…” I decided I would just have to dive off boats, which is more expensive but so be it.  I’ve blown the kids’ inheritance already on this excursion into senility.

I completed my day bummed out and it would not be the last time. I went home and crawled into bed but not before messaging Ashley that I would not give up so easily.

Why do I keep at it? Because under the water it is pure heaven.  I don’t even care if I see a whole lot.  It is a fantastic and indescribable feeling.  Each time I go out I have been nervous the night before and feeling like a crazy person when I’m on the surface, and then…I go down under and I’m in my own little world with my pals.

One last thing, then on to adventure number two in the ocean: Ashley swears he wasn’t and rolls her eyes, but that one fish WAS judging me.  All the other just swam around, but he stopped. He watched me.  He judged.  I know he did.

We were snorkeling in Cozumel in May of 2017.  I watched as our guide dove down to the sandy bottom, looked around and then shot back up to the surface.  Her legs were pinned together as she propelled herself upwards using only the massive fins on her feet.  In her skin suit and with her long black hair trailing behind her and the huge fins she looked all the world for a real life mermaid.

I wanted to go down there.  I now know I CAN go down there while snorkeling and even know how to perform the now-not-so- terrifying snorkel clearing procedure once you get back to the surface.  Maybe I should have just learned to do that, but no.

”2018 is the year I am going to learn to scuba dive” I confidently proclaimed on a Facebook in January of 2018. I don’t remember exactly how I got hooked up with local divers but I started conversations with them.  First question: Am I too old? (“No”)   To this I now say “bullshit” but only where my instructor can’t hear me.

Through many conversations and much reading, I decided I didn’t want to die scuba diving and therefore I knew I wanted private lessons and was willing to take as long as it took to learn thoroughly and pay what I had to pay achieve the goal of not dying underwater.  I knew intuitively that panicking underwater would kill me just as surely as running out of air would, even if I had a 3/4 tank of the life giving necessity left at my disposal.

I had dreams.  I would wake up in the morning, see that my fellow facebook scuba group members were meeting at 7 a.m.in Laguna and if I hurried I could make it to do a little shore diving.   I would dive shipwrecks.  I would have a sea lion swim up to my face like a boxer puppy and look at me with the same wide-eyed goofiness that I had come to adore in my boxers.  It would all be so magical.  I would also not die in the process.

I met with Ashley, my forever instructor (I say that because apparently it is going to take forever for me to master this), on a beautiful day in August 2018 at a burger joint in Laguna.  Al was with me because I wanted him to feel comfortable that I would not die.  I listened to her plan, her philosophy (“I will not let you die”), how much it would cost, etc.  I remember telling Al after I signed the papers “This is probably going to cost about $1500 with lessons and equipment.”

Any divers who just read that sentence could have five extra air tanks and would still perish due to involuntary breath holding from laughing so hard.  You’ve just learned the most important rule in diving. Don’t hold your breath. Ever.

Later on I would tell Al: “Well, if this is the cost of a nice cruise vacation, if I only do it for a year or two it will have been worth it.”  After 37 years and more than one expensive hobby under my belt (musical equipment runs a close second to diving equipment), he just nods his head,  It’s not a permission thing, by the way.  It’s our money.  I just like him to know I’m aware there might be a funeral to pay for some day.

I left Laguna with a belly full of burger and a wallet empty of everything.  I had my learn to scuba manual which I had to read, take tests and then meet again with Ashley.  I couldn’t wait to get at it, but we were headed to the Baltic and other places for five weeks so I would t start actual lessons until October.

A word about Ashley.  If you have followed my FB at all you know this woman is brilliant, fearless (4 tours in Afghanistan, go figure), unstoppable (I’d have quit long ago had she let me, which she hasn’t and won’t) , and apparently is happy making about a buck an hour after all the time she has spent/is spending with me.  Most importantly she has not let me die. Or give up.  A recurring theme in my journey is me bitching about how hard it is and I don’t think I can do this and surely I’m going to die since I can’t breath (I’m on land) and Ashley just watches me have this adult meltdown, not saying anything and when my respiratory rate has returned to normal she says “ready to try again?”  As if she didn’t just hear me all but say “I’m quitting right here and now.” This is a woman I hate to love and love to hate  – I  sure I’m not the only one and she wears that reputation more proudly than any Army medal she may have earned.

Again, she hasn’t let me die. There are skills one must learn when diving, most of which in retrospect are easy as pie in the pool sessions,  not so much when you have to demonstrate them in the ocean.  One such skill is taking your regulator (read: source of life and happiness, that which brings the air to your lungs) out of your mouth, not hold your breath but let little air bubbles float out through your pie-hole and then put it back into your mouth, purge the water out by using the wonderful button made for that purpose or forcefully do it yourself and then start to breathe again,  Ah!!!!!  Air!!!!!  They key phrase there is PUT IT BACK INTO YOUR MOUTH.  Only once recently when demonstrating that skill, combined with another one,  I couldn’t seem to open my usually big fat mouth to get the whole thing past my lips to make the obligatory seal. (Not the animal, the seal that allows the air to go into your face and not out and up to the surface, thus deferring death for yet another dive.)

You haven’t lived, literally, until you’ve had Ashley slam a regulator into your mouth and not let go until you’ve regained your composure, gotten your lips around the whole mouthpiece and realized you could breathe.   One of her students found out after a training dive that she’d been a Master Sergeant in the Army and remarked “no wonder she’s so forceful” – actually, son, she’s just not going to let you die on her watch.

This Part I has gone on longer than I intended, so I will stop now.  I’m realizing that this journey is going to take up quite a bit of blog time and space.  The more I remember about this past 9 months-that-seems-like-years – well, the more I realize how much I have to put down for personal posterity.

So more to come later, including the story behind this piece of advice: when you are diving and slightly panicked and holding on to the buoy line for dear life (totally unnecessary but as I said…slightly panicked) do not grab your instructor’s snorkel while she is trying to help you.

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