Looking Back, Thinking Forward

Here we are just a few weeks away from the close of 2010. It's natural to want to assess how things went, or didn't go, as the case may be. Everywhere we look, there will be "The Year in Review" articles, magazine issues, newscasts. It can't be avoided. So I'm not going to try to, but instead, just succumb. Surrender. Not a bad thing for the mentally exhausted person I seem to be at the moment.

I have to frame this in as simple terms as possible: Writer Tom Bodett (yes, the Motel 6 guy who said a few years back they'll "leave the light on for ya") has said we really only need 3 things in this life to be happy. Aren't you relieved? They are: (1) something to do; (2) something to believe in; and (3) someone to love.

I've had PLENTY to do this year--teaching, learning to kayak, drumming in the CMC Jazz Project and at my church's youth band, textbook and novel writing, a Bible study late this year, and work on the Habitat for Humanity Board of directors here in Chaffee County. Sleep, and precious little of it, came in there somewhere. Near the end of this year, it has become starkly apparent that for my sanity and health, I'd better cut some things out of the schedule. So out goes Habitat, earlier than I should be doing it, but come January, I'll be divested of that huge--and very worthwhile--time commitment. I'll miss working with those fine folks on a regular basis, but I do hope to see them some next summer. But the other items? Most of them stay--the writing, the kayaking, the teaching (I have to eat, and buy more drums), the music commitments. So looks like I'll still have number 1 covered. Maybe a little too covered yet again. But I'm learning as I go on this "No" thing. I never thought I'd have to say that.

Of course I have number 2 covered, as well: something to believe in--namely, God, His son, Jesus, and the ministry and guidance of the Holy Spirit in my life. I truly do not know how others get along in the world without God, a knowledge--limited though it is and always will be--that surpasses anything else I could ever wrap my brain around. Or my heart. God's providence, even when it looks different than what I'd like, still fills me mostly with gratitude: I have my health, great friends, great family (though 1,000 miles away), and assurance that He loves me and cares for my every need, knows my every desire, and wants only the best for me. Every time I see those whom I know don't know God in a personal relationship, I wonder how they weather the storms, wade through the grief life hands us all. It's lonely without Him.

And speaking of "lonely," now we come to number 3: "Somebody to love." (I hear that old Queen song in my head right now. Do you?) I love my family. I love my friends. I even love my church family, most of the time. But I know what Bodett meant when he uttered this phrase on the Trinity of happiness: someone to share the deepest, innermost pieces of the heart. Someone to discover life with. Someone to discover. Someone who can discover you. A relationship so special and private that it cannot ever be adequately expressed in mere words. An almost holy thing between two people that God ordains. Tough one, that. As I've been struggling this year with a certain male-female puzzle, it has occurred to me that we're put on this planet to partially heal each others' wounds while we wait for God to continue that work and ultimately perfect it. That's even more tough because often the wounding and the healing are happening simultaneously. Or one violently after the other. It doesn't even matter in what order. The pain is unmistakable either way.

And yet, I still covet number 3, pain and all. It gives a sense of purpose to number 1, above, and it gives a stage to work out the lessons of number 2, above. I don't think Bodett had any hierarchy of need in mind when he coined this list; if he did, he'd have probably put number 2 first. But I find that third item the most needful of all--not just to satisfy some sensual part of me (though that's a benefit I can't deny), but to give me an environment to become more fully what God had in mind for me all along: a fully-functioning woman, alive to the core, helping heal others even as I am being healed.

That's my prayer, my resolution, for 2011. Amen.

Hanging Out Under MOVING Water

Kayak Lessons, Day 3

Old kayaking maxim: "There are two kinds of kayakers--those who've been in the drink, and those who are about to be."

On Monday, July 19th, I was both.

I spent a lovely first half of the day with KT, my trusty instructor from RMOC (actually, she's from New Zealand) working on a sort of review of general boat handling techniques, which was a good thing considering I hadn't been in my boat AT ALL during the month between my 2nd and 3rd lesson. Shame on me. But I was too busy. Wah, wah.

We worked under a gloriously blue sky sprinkled with a few clouds. The Class I and II stretch of the Arkansas River east of Salida about a mile from the Lone Pine takeout was clear and cool, but not painfully cold. I reviewed the famous Wet Exit, but found to my dismay I still couldn't make myself overturn my boat deliberately--kinda like jumping out of that perfectly good airplane--why? But she rolled me a few times and I exited just fine. We also worked hard (well, I WORKED HARD) on eddy entrances/exits, carving, turns, straight and sweep strokes, and a new move, the "ferry"--wherein my job was to row my 'yak upstream and across the river. Much harder than it might seem, but I suppose I got it. By lunchtime, I was feelin' it, and KT probably needed a PBR (she'll have to wait for supper at my house for that, but it will be frosty and ready).

At lunch, I asked her to grade my performance (since I'm a teacher), and she rated me at a B. I think that was pretty magnanimous of her, but hey, I'll take the compliment. Those of us who teach know the art of "praising with faint damns." I think I may have been a C.

Then, all hell broke loose. After a serious safety talk over paddle signals, swimming position, and a few other river nuances like what to do with the safety rope when or if it's thrown to me, we did a one-mile stretch just downstream of where we'd been training. She assured me we'd stay only a few boat lengths apart, that this was just a little thing ... a couple of rapids, one strainer ... nothing too big.

Yeah.

As she stroked away from me, my heart heaved in my chest while my peanut-butter sandwhich tried to make a second appearance. "Go, dammit!" I told myself. "Keep up with her!"

I navigated the first little rapid okay--some of it backward or sideways, though--and when we got through that, I relaxed just a bit. KT pointed out the strainer on my right--a rock with sticks and junk hung on it--and I hadn't even seen it. I was too busy trying to keep my boat heading straight.

We approached the second little rapid ... a few rocks here--BANG, bonk--and then I executed a classic "side pin"--my boat parallel and sideways to a rock. And I also executed a set of perfectly wrong moves in quick succession. They were: (1) rolling INTO the current, instead of away from it toward the rock, which would have likely freed my boat, and (2) attempting to STAND UP once I had wet-exited.

So number (1) flipped my kayak with ease, and number (2) made KT practically want to beat the crap out of me--that is, if I didn't drown. Yeah, the water was only about 4 feet deep, but that didn't matter. I KNEW I shouldn't be trying to stand up. I KNEW I could get a foot trapped. But my body still doesn't have the wherewithal to listen to my mind. This proves once again intellectual knowledge is a far cry from actual, practical practice. You'd figure I'd learn that by now.

This, unfortunately has been a lifelong problem.

"Don't stand up! Swim! SWIM!!" she yelled over and over. All I could think of was how could I manage to swim AND keep hold of the paddle? (Thank God KT had my boat.) I made it to shore, picked my way around the rocks toward my boat, now already dumped and balanced between two rocks.

"How was that?" she asked, a slightly smug and pleasantly malicious smile on her face, as I approached.

I only wish I could remember what I said. It probably wasn't too nice.

So, at the takeout, though it would have been GOOD for me to do that stretch again, I declined. I was whipped, and I know what happens when I'm that tired. I make even worse mistakes.

KT, bless her, recommended that I spend more time in the boat on flatwater before I get into the river again. Good idea. I WILL be in the river again, but maybe not this year. My flatwater blogging may not be as exciting ... but then again, who knows? I'm the one in the kayak, after all.

Hanging out under moving water is, as they say in Texas, "a whole 'nother thing."

My fridge has a little magnet on it that says, "Do something every day that scares you."

I think I'm set for about a month.

Hanging Out Underwater

I successfully completed the first two of three days of kayak lessons. Hard to believe, especially when I consider the outcome of my first assignment--the wet exit. Let me explain.

The "wet exit" is the technique of learning how to free yourself from your kayak while hanging upside-down underwater secured snugly in you boat by a tight, elasticized spray skirt. Think of that last piece of gear, the spray skirt, as a burial shroud. Or maybe an elasticized panic blanket.

Abetted, but not aided, by my PFD (personal floatation device), I discovered the sinister truth: the laws of gravity, or more specifically, SPECIFIC GRAVITY, and Murphy's Law work well underwater. Maybe even better than on dry land. So my first assignment in the kayaking class went something like this:

DAY 1

INSTRUCTOR: Karen, are you ready?
(I wiggle my boat into the water after watching 3 other classmates successfully complete their wet exits]
ME: Uh ... yeah. Ready as I'll ever be.
[I paddle out to where the instructor stands waist-deep in the water.]
INSTRUCTOR: Okay, here you go. One ... two ... THREE!

I gulp some air as he flips me over underwater, and, to my horror, I find that I'm now stretched out parallel to my boat--that is, with my back against the boat stern. This is precisely the maneuver the instructor warned us against not two minutes earlier, the one position that beginners often assume.

Now, I've been in some compromising positions before, but nothing like this one. Those others may have theatened my reputation, and even my sanity, but this one was threatening my LIFE. Result: I couldn't reach the spray skirt strap to free myself. And in my panic, I couldn't even realize what the problem was.

Result: inordinate, uncontrolled thrashing underwater.

I try, as my pitiful life flashes before my eyes, to raise my right--or was it my left?--hand out of the water to beg the instructor to turn my boat upright. About five years later, he gets the hint and hauls me up into the beautiful, oxygen-rich, rainy-day top of the world.

INSTRUCTOR: Are you okay? Just relax. You're fine.... Okay, how about you go hang out on the shore and get it together?

I did. And I didn't.

I spend the rest of that first day learning, or trying to learn, various paddling techniques--straight-ahead strokes, the sweep (a shallow, full-boat-length swoosh of the paddle designed to turn the kayak in the opposite direction the sweep is on), carving (wherein the kayaker leans the craft over to the right and/or left as far as possible without actually capsizing, all the while maintaining some forward speed), low and high bracing (slapping the water with your paddle just before you tip, which rights your boat), and some forward-backward manuevering. These things are all well and good, but I keep my spray skirt unhooked from my boat at the request of one of my instructors, which makes the 'yak take on a consdierable about of water from time to time. Thoughts of Gilligan's Island's ship the Minnow occassionally float into my consciousness. Or maybe of the Titanic. I occassionally dump my boat as the lessons proceed behind me. I know things aren't going exactly as I had imagined.

Before lunch, my instructor asks me to try that wet exit again. I still can't make myself roll under. I may as well have been asked to swallow a handful of broken glass.

After lunch, we play a couple rounds of "Sharks and Minnows" and "Steal the Rock," which are games designed to get your mind OFF learning to kayak, thus making you actually perform better. I am not quite sure this helps me, but the games are fun. Then a close lightning strike ends our already cold and rainy first day.

As I trudge up the shore and stand in my cold wetsuit gazing into my bag full of dry gear, I'm aware that others are busy rustling around me. "I KNOW I'm supposed to do something with this bag, but what?"

"You can change back at RMOC," one of my instructors, K.T., a girl from New Zealand, says reassuringly. Yeah. I can do that.

DAY 2:

I am the first to arrive for the second class day, sore but hopeful, and a little worried that I'm not ready to be on the Arkansas--even for the "light" stuff we'll be doing--eddy entrances, exits, reading the river, and I don't even know what else. The thought of my non-wet-exit day haunts me.

Suddenly, I'm surrounded by my instructors.
ONE INSTRUCTOR: We've talked it over, and we've been thinking ....

Right here I believe they're going to tell me I'm just not cut out for this kayaking thing.

INSTRUCTOR: ....that you're really probably not ready for the Arkansas. You know, the river is running really high right now, and we think you'd benefit from another day on the lake with K.T. How would you feel about that?
ME: [relieved] I agree. I'm not ready, and I'm fine with that.

That same relief crosses everyone's face. In no time, K.T. and I head for the same reservior and begin our workout. I feel gratitude rising in my heart, and my fear sliding away with the cloud cover. The sun comes out.

K.T. and I spend the first part of the day working hard on refining my paddling skills. By mid-morning, I'm tired, but getting better at going straight when I want to (possible in a boat, and real life, I'm happy to say), turns, make-believe eddy entrances and exits, carves, and even some figure 8 carves. My boat, like my body, doesn't always behave, but I try my best. The rest is all about learning my boat and in finding my limitations.

After lunch, we're back to the hair of the dog that bit me: the wet exit.

After going through the motions of the wet exit on dry land, we transition into the water. I am amazed at how different this feels than the day before.

KT: Okay, I'm going to barrel-roll you. Here we go.

[She rolls my boat completely several times in each direction. My spray skirt is on. My nose and ears fill with water, but my earplugs do their job, lessening my misery.]

KT: Now I'm going to roll you under and I want you to count. I'll probably have you up before you can get to 3.

She does.

KT: Now, I'm going to roll you under. I want you to say to yourself, 'I LIKE being underwater.' I'll have you up before you can finish saying that.

She does.

KT: This time, I'm going to roll you under, and I want you to hug your boat. Tap on the top when you're ready to come up.

[I roll under, hold my breath, finally getting comfortable at this idea, and she rolls me upright.

KT: You didn't tap, but I just wanted to be sure.
ME: I was fine. I hadn't yet tapped.
KT: You're getting it!

And I am. Several more variations and attempts later, I feel as though this wet-exit thing is within my grasp.

As we haul our boats and gear up to the truck, she tells me I'm ready to be on the river for that 3rd day of instruction. I am relieved and satisfied, so much so that it mitigates the pain I'm feeling after two hard days of physical labor. My mind, so accustomed to a small box, has been let out into the bright world, too. And it feels good.

My 3rd day will be July 19th. I can hardly wait. I'll be travelling to TX between now and then, and I hope to get in some boat time through renting while I'm there, and a couple more days on lakes here. My heartfelt thanks to the able staff at Rocky Mountain Outdoor Center--Greg, Ben, and K.T.--for their instruction and patience.

Here's a little something I came across in Kayaking, a book published by the American Canoe Association:
"Being relaxed in a kayak demands that you be comfortable hanging out underwater."

All I can say to that is, "No kidding."

The Yellow Boat

Well, after threatening, dreaming, and schemeing for almost two years, I finally did it--I bought a LiquidLogic Remix XP9. I guess I shouldn't call it a "boat" (lowly word that it is), but it IS a boat, technically speaking. More specifically, a kayak, defined loosely by me as, "1. any floatable watercraft containing a seat, leg traps, a semi-dry hatch, and more charisma than is probably legal; 2. a watercraft easily capsized deliberately or not (called a "roll") designed to put the appreciation for life back into its pilot as he/she hits 36-degree water"; 3. My plans for summer.

I'm a newbie kayaker, having only been in a sit-on-top about 25 years ago in OK (yes, they do have kayaks there), and I also remember how much fun the guy in the kayak had who filmed my capsized raft adventure in 1997 on the Arkansas River (Sidell Suckhole, I still respect you). We have that guy to thank, my friends and I, for the slow-mo video of our chaotic raft exit, guide and all. Later, in the Lariat Bar, our mishap paled in comparison to the monster falls and whitewater threshing machines other kayakers were braving up on the big screen. Right about my third beer, I knew I wanted a kayak even though I'd never have the guts to do those 5 and 5 ++ rapids.

So, here I am, my XP9 sitting in the middle of the den with enough equipment in it to open my own kayak retail clothing and gear shop. Am I exicted? You bet! Scared? A little, but probably nothing compared to those first few minutes I'll spend in some pond the middle of June, then on the AR River the next day. Hope deferred makes the heart sick. Fear deferred makes the heart glad!

I'm looking for enough insurance coverage to cremate me, should the need arise. And I'm hoping, of course, that I won't need it. But it is a serious consideration, what with one eye and all, and that one eye not the best-working model. But hey--no one can see in the middle of the rapid; it's whitewater all-around, and ya just keep strokin'. I've thought seriously of putting that Rush song title "Workin' Them Angels Overtime" on the side of my yellow boat.

Yellow boat. Uh-oh.

According to author Linda Greenlaw, to commercial fishermen, yellow is BAD LUCK for a boat. So is bringing bananas aboard. Or having a turned-over hatch cover (which implies a boat's capsize). It's also bad luck, according to Greenlaw, to have a woman onboard a boat, or for a woman to pilot a boat.

Considering she was one of the best commercial fishermen (she doesn't mind the "men" part of that word, though she's not gay) on the entire East coast, I think she's got the right perspective.

So, I'm going with Greenlaw. Wish me luck!

Reviving the Dead

It's tough to come back to this blog after a more than five month hiatus. Not that I had planned it that way, believe me. But sometimes, things--lives--get in the way. And for all the talk about how solitary a career it is to write, or to be a writer, or to want to be successful enough at it to pay the bills and go to the Bahamas at will, well, it's true. No one but me really has what I have at stake in nailing writing to the door of my life. It still riles the little minions who plan my schedule. They say things like, "Oh, well, we'll take care of that little thing. How about a sizable smack of classwork? Or maybe a personal meltdown of some kind? You want to write? Yeah, yeah. Tell me another good one. How about another visit from your Noonday Demon? She hasn't seen you since .... hmmm .... July. Yeah. July. One month BEFORE your last post. It's about time, ain't it?"

No. It isn't.

Summoning what I can only call "the will to write" and to keep on doing it in the face of a void is tough. But that's exactly how it works. So, here I am. Back from the void. The same one I wrote about months and months ago, it turns out, while I was musing about creating in a vaccuum. Might as well be a Hoover. I could use a Eureka.

Is the corpse cold? Yes. Is it breathing? Yes, barely. Has there been irreversible brain damamge? I don't know. You'll have to stick around and see, I guess--right along with me.