I had to laugh, reading a web site that belongs to a friend who owns a kayak/canoe shop. It said that people are always saying to them that they must love the water. “If we loved the water, we’d be out paddling it every day. What we love is the people.”
I came to the same conclusion the first time I “retired” about seven years ago. One of the things I considered doing was starting or buying a business related to something I enjoy, with paddling being among those interests. I looked into several alternatives and quickly reached the conclusion expressed by my friend.
Working in paddling meant not paddling, at least not to the extent I do or during the prime times my friends were out on the water. The business model didn’t make sense either; too much risk for too little potential reward.
It is possible to pull it off. I’ve had businesses in fields I enjoyed. But working in them was doing them.
I’m getting ready to leave for six days of enjoyable paddling, which wouldn’t be possible if I was running a shop. There’s something to be said for working in what you love, but not at the expense of not doing it.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Monday, June 07, 2010
Grumpy old men - not!
I was listening to the radio with the morning java and the host referred to grumpy old people who are unhappy and have nothing better to do with their lives than keep their noses in someone else’s business. This is not incongruent with the stereotype, but I read an article last week that a recent study showed that does not appear to be valid.
Older people are happier, especially the male of the species. Maybe we fret less about aging. Basically, the elderly have learned what doesn’t matter and is of no concern, and enjoy more of what they should.
Another recent study at the University of Virginia revealed that happiness doesn’t correlate with age. For the most part, people with a negative affect (anxious, depressed or neurotic) are the unhappy ones, regardless of age. It supported the other study in that the elderly shifted values and gained emotional regulation and improved relationships.
For example, poor health was thought to be a possible factor among the elderly. Older people who stewed about that were unhappy. Those who viewed their situations as better than things could be retained a positive outlook. Negative affect is a strong predictor of life satisfaction.
What about cognitive function? That must be broken down into two segments. The fluid type is reasoning, abstraction, making inferences, etc., or what you might call the ability to think. Crystallized is what you have learned, memorized or experienced.
Neither type had any impact on the relative happiness of the elderly. However, lower fluid intelligence did correlate with unhappiness among middle and lower age test subjects. Researchers theorized that sharper thinkers enjoyed greater success on the job and in other endeavors, generating higher levels of life satisfaction.
Social relations are the strongest predictors of well-being. People who retired to places where they had better social networks were happier than those who gave priority to culture and recreation.
Grumpy old men? They think not. Or, not all. They conclude that the most important determinant is attitude. If you’re positive and around positive people, chances are you’ll be among the happy ones. “Good health and an active mind are nice, but if you’re depressed, anxious or neurotic all the time, you’re just simply not going to enjoy their benefits.”
Sounds like a good reason to party.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
New technology vs. good ol' thinkin'
I was sitting in a theater last night and observed that it reminded me of the tooling industry.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” responded my companion.
“That announcement they just ran.”
“I’m listening.”
Plastic molds used to be made by machinists. Artisans, really. They were quite expensive because of the time and care involved. Then, the industry migrated to CNC machining. Instant molds, to some extent, but they were often flawed. The artisans began to disappear as molders embraced the computer driven metal cutting. Those who remained could name their price and hours. You could have a mold cut faster and cheaper, but just try to get it tweaked into working correctly. New technology is a wonderful thing. But, only if you apply it to supplement the art, not supplant it.
The same is true with marketing and public relations. Today, you can get your message out in a heartbeat through a multitude of channels. But, where did the thinking go?
The theater is part of a complex supported by a tax levy. In other words, it’s funded by taxpayers. The show was preceded by a high tech presentation about the theater. In that, there was an announcement that the recent renovation included all new seating, which was made in Spain. A collective groan arose from the audience.
There may be good reason for importing the furnishings. But, do you really want to trumpet that in a depressed economy? Is it prudent to boast that taxpayer dollars are being spent to employ those abroad while people are out of work at home? Nice presentation, but I’m not sure the message was a good decision.
Last week, I was invited to a rally for a political candidate. He used an effective multimedia approach for recruiting attendees. One of the principal planks in his campaign platform is job growth in Ohio. The rally was being held at a Kentucky venue, which was broadcast as widely as the invitations. Again,
I’m sure there was some reason for that. But, it does raise the question about his perceptions of ways to augment Ohio business.
New technology is a good thing if it’s employed to amplify good thinking, not replace it.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” responded my companion.
“That announcement they just ran.”
“I’m listening.”
Plastic molds used to be made by machinists. Artisans, really. They were quite expensive because of the time and care involved. Then, the industry migrated to CNC machining. Instant molds, to some extent, but they were often flawed. The artisans began to disappear as molders embraced the computer driven metal cutting. Those who remained could name their price and hours. You could have a mold cut faster and cheaper, but just try to get it tweaked into working correctly. New technology is a wonderful thing. But, only if you apply it to supplement the art, not supplant it.
The same is true with marketing and public relations. Today, you can get your message out in a heartbeat through a multitude of channels. But, where did the thinking go?
The theater is part of a complex supported by a tax levy. In other words, it’s funded by taxpayers. The show was preceded by a high tech presentation about the theater. In that, there was an announcement that the recent renovation included all new seating, which was made in Spain. A collective groan arose from the audience.
There may be good reason for importing the furnishings. But, do you really want to trumpet that in a depressed economy? Is it prudent to boast that taxpayer dollars are being spent to employ those abroad while people are out of work at home? Nice presentation, but I’m not sure the message was a good decision.
Last week, I was invited to a rally for a political candidate. He used an effective multimedia approach for recruiting attendees. One of the principal planks in his campaign platform is job growth in Ohio. The rally was being held at a Kentucky venue, which was broadcast as widely as the invitations. Again,
I’m sure there was some reason for that. But, it does raise the question about his perceptions of ways to augment Ohio business.
New technology is a good thing if it’s employed to amplify good thinking, not replace it.
Friday, June 04, 2010
The first day of school
Not any first day of school. The first day you entered junior high, high school or college. Trepidation about the unknown.
The thought occurs to me because a friend told me she signed up for a course in whitewater kayaking. She’s my age and fairly new to the sport, so I give her a lot of credit.
She was excited when she told me about enrolling. Even though she’s game, I detected a note of apprehension and offered to take her out for a preview. She was relieved. It’s always better to know.
I took the same course about six years ago, so I could appreciate her position. Well, not quite. I had gone in with canoeing experience and had taught that with the organization that’s giving the courses. So, I had more prior knowledge of what would transpire than my classmates.
The course I took was held in the early spring to ensure adequate flow to apply the principles of whitewater paddling. It was a chilly and drizzly day, which doesn’t make people feel comfortable about wiping out. And, you will wipe out.
If you worry about that, you’ll tense up. And, if you tense up, you’re more likely to take a swim.
We arrived at the appointed place early in the cold, damp morning and did the land instruction. The class was an interesting mix of five cocky young guys, a couple middle aged women and a Japanese man who didn’t appear to have fully mastered English. The young guys seemed more intent upon teasing me and the women about our ages, in relation to this undertaking, than learning. I didn’t care. The river would do the answering for us. My experience in teaching was that young males would try to muscle through it when technique was almost everything.
I kept one eye on the river. I knew we wanted high water, but a few days of rain had raised the level to the point where the features of this training spot were all but washed out.
We concluded the land training and the instructors huddled. Apparently, they shared my concerns. So, we packed up the equipment and moved to a rocky creek. The water was roaring, captivating the attention of the student body and eliciting blank stares. The teasing was suddenly conspicuous by its absence.
I knew the drill. The layout was a sharply descending rapid. At its termination, there was an eddy (a relatively still pool) on either side. You were to run the rapid and veer into one of the eddys, which requires some of the skills taught in the course if you are to remain upright. Then, you would cross back and forth across the flow between the eddys (S-turns). Then, it was repeat, repeat, repeat.
Two of the young guys bailed out before the first run. Another watched the women get chewed up by the rapid and headed for his car. The other two bucks each took a brutal run and left. And then there were four.
The women learned quickly, as I expected. My teaching experience taught me that they are more likely to listen and learn the technique. And, they have lower centers of gravity, but only someone with a death wish would vocalize that.
The girls didn’t have much trouble with the rapid but got tripped up entering the eddy. They only needed to go to school on that two or three times before they relaxed and handled it well. The Japanese fellow didn’t fare as well.
I don’t think he ever made it down the rapid in his boat. Every time I looked, the boat was on edge and he was flailing wildly with his arms before taking a swim. He didn’t do much better with the eddys. Each time, an instructor would take him aside and explain what he was doing wrong. He’d nod rapidly and go back and do the same thing. I believe it was a language barrier.
But, he didn’t give up. Time after time, he emptied his boat out and went right back at it. I give him points for that.
Me? I did pretty well, leaving only a modicum of skin on the rocks. I went in knowing what to expect and was loose enough to apply the principles. It’s better to know.
There are exceptions to the rule, as always. Recently, I organized an advanced sea kayaking class for some of my friends and passed out the curriculum. They were energized and anxious for the first day of class. Then I told them that, to better prepare for an upcoming trip, we were adding a 12-mile open water crossing on Lake Erie and practice rescues in the rocky breakers. The mood took a turn.
At least there’s time for them to get used to the idea. Or, come up with a scheduling conflict. (Addendum: the instructor subsequently notified us he was changing the launch location for the open water crossing and it would be a six-mile round trip. It is better to know.)
The thought occurs to me because a friend told me she signed up for a course in whitewater kayaking. She’s my age and fairly new to the sport, so I give her a lot of credit.
She was excited when she told me about enrolling. Even though she’s game, I detected a note of apprehension and offered to take her out for a preview. She was relieved. It’s always better to know.
I took the same course about six years ago, so I could appreciate her position. Well, not quite. I had gone in with canoeing experience and had taught that with the organization that’s giving the courses. So, I had more prior knowledge of what would transpire than my classmates.
The course I took was held in the early spring to ensure adequate flow to apply the principles of whitewater paddling. It was a chilly and drizzly day, which doesn’t make people feel comfortable about wiping out. And, you will wipe out.
If you worry about that, you’ll tense up. And, if you tense up, you’re more likely to take a swim.
We arrived at the appointed place early in the cold, damp morning and did the land instruction. The class was an interesting mix of five cocky young guys, a couple middle aged women and a Japanese man who didn’t appear to have fully mastered English. The young guys seemed more intent upon teasing me and the women about our ages, in relation to this undertaking, than learning. I didn’t care. The river would do the answering for us. My experience in teaching was that young males would try to muscle through it when technique was almost everything.
I kept one eye on the river. I knew we wanted high water, but a few days of rain had raised the level to the point where the features of this training spot were all but washed out.
We concluded the land training and the instructors huddled. Apparently, they shared my concerns. So, we packed up the equipment and moved to a rocky creek. The water was roaring, captivating the attention of the student body and eliciting blank stares. The teasing was suddenly conspicuous by its absence.
I knew the drill. The layout was a sharply descending rapid. At its termination, there was an eddy (a relatively still pool) on either side. You were to run the rapid and veer into one of the eddys, which requires some of the skills taught in the course if you are to remain upright. Then, you would cross back and forth across the flow between the eddys (S-turns). Then, it was repeat, repeat, repeat.
Two of the young guys bailed out before the first run. Another watched the women get chewed up by the rapid and headed for his car. The other two bucks each took a brutal run and left. And then there were four.
The women learned quickly, as I expected. My teaching experience taught me that they are more likely to listen and learn the technique. And, they have lower centers of gravity, but only someone with a death wish would vocalize that.
The girls didn’t have much trouble with the rapid but got tripped up entering the eddy. They only needed to go to school on that two or three times before they relaxed and handled it well. The Japanese fellow didn’t fare as well.
I don’t think he ever made it down the rapid in his boat. Every time I looked, the boat was on edge and he was flailing wildly with his arms before taking a swim. He didn’t do much better with the eddys. Each time, an instructor would take him aside and explain what he was doing wrong. He’d nod rapidly and go back and do the same thing. I believe it was a language barrier.
But, he didn’t give up. Time after time, he emptied his boat out and went right back at it. I give him points for that.
Me? I did pretty well, leaving only a modicum of skin on the rocks. I went in knowing what to expect and was loose enough to apply the principles. It’s better to know.
There are exceptions to the rule, as always. Recently, I organized an advanced sea kayaking class for some of my friends and passed out the curriculum. They were energized and anxious for the first day of class. Then I told them that, to better prepare for an upcoming trip, we were adding a 12-mile open water crossing on Lake Erie and practice rescues in the rocky breakers. The mood took a turn.
At least there’s time for them to get used to the idea. Or, come up with a scheduling conflict. (Addendum: the instructor subsequently notified us he was changing the launch location for the open water crossing and it would be a six-mile round trip. It is better to know.)
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Anthropometry
This morning, after our pool laps, Liz invited us out for a late breakfast. It was obvious she had something to get off her chest. I’ll ride trail bikes in the mountains, kayak to the middle of the ocean and recommend restaurants to friends, but I don’t buck Liz, ten years her junior or not.
We ordered and then out it came. Liz slapped a catalog onto the middle of the table. “What do you think of that?”
At first, I thought they were wetsuits. But, they were more specialized, targeting open water swimmers. “They look a little expensive.”
“Not that. That!” She stabbed her finger at a size chart.
Still not getting it. “Okay, Liz, help me out here before you take my head off.”
“Look at the paragraph to the right of the chart.”
There was an “A” superimposed over a silhouette of a woman and an “H” on one of a slightly different shape. The explanation was that A suits were for women whose waists were proportionately smaller than their hips and that the H suits fit those without significant variation, top to bottom.
“I think that’s better than saying these are for wide butts and those are for masculine builds.”
“Better? It says the same thing.”
“But, in a nice way. I was talking to someone over the weekend who had overcome her childhood weight problem. She said that her heavy brothers got ‘husky’ sizes, which could almost be a positive, but the girl’s equivalent was ‘chubbette,’ which leaves little wiggle room in the interpretation. At least it sounds like the catalog writer made an effort.”
“So, if you’re a female swimmer, you can’t have a feminine build?”
“Probably couldn’t find a letter that shape in the English alphabet.”
“Not funny. And where are the equivalent variations for men? Are you all so perfectly formed?”
“From someone who’s disproportionate and has struggled with paddling wetsuits for years, I’d welcome it.”
“And you wouldn’t care if you were typecast by some stupid letter?”
“If I could find something that didn’t crush my rib cage and still ended within a foot of my toes, they could use hieroglyphics for all I care.”
“You’re paying for breakfast.”
I should’ve stuck with my initial instinct.
We ordered and then out it came. Liz slapped a catalog onto the middle of the table. “What do you think of that?”
At first, I thought they were wetsuits. But, they were more specialized, targeting open water swimmers. “They look a little expensive.”
“Not that. That!” She stabbed her finger at a size chart.
Still not getting it. “Okay, Liz, help me out here before you take my head off.”
“Look at the paragraph to the right of the chart.”
There was an “A” superimposed over a silhouette of a woman and an “H” on one of a slightly different shape. The explanation was that A suits were for women whose waists were proportionately smaller than their hips and that the H suits fit those without significant variation, top to bottom.
“I think that’s better than saying these are for wide butts and those are for masculine builds.”
“Better? It says the same thing.”
“But, in a nice way. I was talking to someone over the weekend who had overcome her childhood weight problem. She said that her heavy brothers got ‘husky’ sizes, which could almost be a positive, but the girl’s equivalent was ‘chubbette,’ which leaves little wiggle room in the interpretation. At least it sounds like the catalog writer made an effort.”
“So, if you’re a female swimmer, you can’t have a feminine build?”
“Probably couldn’t find a letter that shape in the English alphabet.”
“Not funny. And where are the equivalent variations for men? Are you all so perfectly formed?”
“From someone who’s disproportionate and has struggled with paddling wetsuits for years, I’d welcome it.”
“And you wouldn’t care if you were typecast by some stupid letter?”
“If I could find something that didn’t crush my rib cage and still ended within a foot of my toes, they could use hieroglyphics for all I care.”
“You’re paying for breakfast.”
I should’ve stuck with my initial instinct.
If you believe
It was a beautiful day, but I had already indulged myself the past few and needed to address my to-do list. It glared at me from the computer screen and seemed to grow even as I tried to select one of the less onerous tasks.
The phone rang, or whatever it is they do these days. “We’re hanging out around my pool. Why don’t you come over?”
I really should chip away at the list. “Who is we?”
“Some of the girls.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass.”
“We’re going to Aponte’s for pizza after a while.”
“I’m on my way.” Aponte’s trumps anything lower in priority than life & death,” and she knows it.
They were all lined up on lounge chairs, water bottles, towels and PDAs at their sides. The fresh makeup and carefully coifed hair told me they wouldn’t be getting wet. Why they were gathered around the pool is a mystery to me.
I said my hellos and jumped in to swim a few laps and cool off. Then, I took my place on a lounge and drifted off in the warm sunshine to the gabble about who knows what.
A chiming woke me up. Kathy clutched her PDA to her chest and announced excitedly that it was Steve. I was to learn that they had just recently started to date and she was anxious that it amount to something.
She was all smiles and giggles on the phone. Yuck. “The girls” exchanged knowing looks. “Invite him over,” suggested Jane. Kathy clamped her palm over the PDA and shushed her.
The call finally concluded without the invitation and Jane asked what the problem was. “I don’t have my lucky bra with me.” Ah. They all nodded, just as though that made any sense.
“What does that mean?”
Kathy flushed. I had become invisible to them about two minutes after my arrival. “It’s what I wear for important occasions.” The group nodded in agreement.
“It seems to me that if underwear has come into play, luck is no longer a factor.” There are only two times when women get upset with me; when I talk to them and when I don’t.
I didn’t know women had lucky clothing or other things. Thought it was a guy thing.
Growing up in organized sports, I had seen men with stringent pre-game rituals and fanatic attachment to certain articles of clothing. I had never bought into the superstitions. Well, I did have one t-shirt that I always wore under a game jersey. Maybe I bought into it a little. But, that was then.
Or maybe not, come to think of it. I own a pair of ratty hiking shoes that have been on every challenging expedition I’ve undertaken in the last decade. They’re past their prime, but I’m reluctant to replace them because nothing’s gone awry, even in some difficult situations. I have a number of kayak paddles, but only one is “The Magic Stick.” That is, no matter what kind of waters I found myself in upside down, it’s rolled me up without fail on my first attempt. Right side, left side, whatever; it doesn’t matter.
Intellectually, I know there’s nothing magic about it. It’s because I know I’m coming up, I come up. I’ve always found that applies across the board. So I do believe that if you expect to succeed, for whatever reason, you will. But, if you don’t anticipate success…
Kathy told the girls that she hoped to forge some kind of relationship with Steve by the onset of summer. I’ve already got him chalked up.
The phone rang, or whatever it is they do these days. “We’re hanging out around my pool. Why don’t you come over?”
I really should chip away at the list. “Who is we?”
“Some of the girls.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass.”
“We’re going to Aponte’s for pizza after a while.”
“I’m on my way.” Aponte’s trumps anything lower in priority than life & death,” and she knows it.
They were all lined up on lounge chairs, water bottles, towels and PDAs at their sides. The fresh makeup and carefully coifed hair told me they wouldn’t be getting wet. Why they were gathered around the pool is a mystery to me.
I said my hellos and jumped in to swim a few laps and cool off. Then, I took my place on a lounge and drifted off in the warm sunshine to the gabble about who knows what.
A chiming woke me up. Kathy clutched her PDA to her chest and announced excitedly that it was Steve. I was to learn that they had just recently started to date and she was anxious that it amount to something.
She was all smiles and giggles on the phone. Yuck. “The girls” exchanged knowing looks. “Invite him over,” suggested Jane. Kathy clamped her palm over the PDA and shushed her.
The call finally concluded without the invitation and Jane asked what the problem was. “I don’t have my lucky bra with me.” Ah. They all nodded, just as though that made any sense.
“What does that mean?”
Kathy flushed. I had become invisible to them about two minutes after my arrival. “It’s what I wear for important occasions.” The group nodded in agreement.
“It seems to me that if underwear has come into play, luck is no longer a factor.” There are only two times when women get upset with me; when I talk to them and when I don’t.
I didn’t know women had lucky clothing or other things. Thought it was a guy thing.
Growing up in organized sports, I had seen men with stringent pre-game rituals and fanatic attachment to certain articles of clothing. I had never bought into the superstitions. Well, I did have one t-shirt that I always wore under a game jersey. Maybe I bought into it a little. But, that was then.
Or maybe not, come to think of it. I own a pair of ratty hiking shoes that have been on every challenging expedition I’ve undertaken in the last decade. They’re past their prime, but I’m reluctant to replace them because nothing’s gone awry, even in some difficult situations. I have a number of kayak paddles, but only one is “The Magic Stick.” That is, no matter what kind of waters I found myself in upside down, it’s rolled me up without fail on my first attempt. Right side, left side, whatever; it doesn’t matter.
Intellectually, I know there’s nothing magic about it. It’s because I know I’m coming up, I come up. I’ve always found that applies across the board. So I do believe that if you expect to succeed, for whatever reason, you will. But, if you don’t anticipate success…
Kathy told the girls that she hoped to forge some kind of relationship with Steve by the onset of summer. I’ve already got him chalked up.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Scale
Last fall, the Nina and Pinta were in town on the Ohio River. Actually, they were replicas of those ships. I took a group of people to see them. They were surprised at how small they were, although I don’t think they fully appreciated the scale.
Imagine being in one on the vast Atlantic, out of sight of land for over a month. Few people ponder that. Or, know that the Santa Maria survived only half the trip.
But, what an adventure that must’ve been. Being out on the open sea like that. I think I’ve touched on that with some offshore kayak trips, but it’s far from duplicating it.
I’m hoping to capture some of the essence with a kayak trip through the Apostle Islands this August. Don’t let the month mislead you. August on Lake Superior resembles August in Ohio only in spelling.
I posted the trip on a paddling web site and drew all kinds of interest. The announcement contained the necessary qualifications, but not everyone pays attention to that. Or, maybe they don’t register what an open water crossing is.
Some of them do. The others, I strongly suggested they join me in a preparatory course on Lake Erie beforehand. That reduced the number of candidates.
I informed the remainder that the course would take place on South Bass Island, where we would camp, which everyone thought was great. After further discussion with the instructors, we altered the plan a bit. As part of the course and preparation, Plan A would be to camp on the mainland and paddle out to the island, barring extreme conditions.
I communicated this to the group and the question was predictable. How far? Twelve miles. The group became smaller. Better to find out now than after a drive to the tip of Wisconsin. If you’re not comfortable with a couple days of double-digit crossings on Lake Erie, you’re going to have a hard week with five of them on Lake Superior, paddling from island to island.
Most of the paddling we usually do is within sight of land, if not a stone’s throw from it. You don’t get a sense how vast things can be like you do when you’re little more than a dot on a big body of heaving water, out of sight of land. That’s scale.
Imagine being in one on the vast Atlantic, out of sight of land for over a month. Few people ponder that. Or, know that the Santa Maria survived only half the trip.
But, what an adventure that must’ve been. Being out on the open sea like that. I think I’ve touched on that with some offshore kayak trips, but it’s far from duplicating it.
I’m hoping to capture some of the essence with a kayak trip through the Apostle Islands this August. Don’t let the month mislead you. August on Lake Superior resembles August in Ohio only in spelling.
I posted the trip on a paddling web site and drew all kinds of interest. The announcement contained the necessary qualifications, but not everyone pays attention to that. Or, maybe they don’t register what an open water crossing is.
Some of them do. The others, I strongly suggested they join me in a preparatory course on Lake Erie beforehand. That reduced the number of candidates.
I informed the remainder that the course would take place on South Bass Island, where we would camp, which everyone thought was great. After further discussion with the instructors, we altered the plan a bit. As part of the course and preparation, Plan A would be to camp on the mainland and paddle out to the island, barring extreme conditions.
I communicated this to the group and the question was predictable. How far? Twelve miles. The group became smaller. Better to find out now than after a drive to the tip of Wisconsin. If you’re not comfortable with a couple days of double-digit crossings on Lake Erie, you’re going to have a hard week with five of them on Lake Superior, paddling from island to island.
Most of the paddling we usually do is within sight of land, if not a stone’s throw from it. You don’t get a sense how vast things can be like you do when you’re little more than a dot on a big body of heaving water, out of sight of land. That’s scale.
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