Photographs

      I started taking pictures in 1966 when I was twelve.  My sisters were graduating to Instamatic cameras, and they passed down their Brownie Starmite. 

It used “126” film and shot square photos. 

     At sixteen, our Explorer Scout leader sold me his Minolta 101 single-lens reflex camera with two lenses for $75. I shot a bunch of rolls of Kodachrome, especially during our Explorer Scout Virgin Islands sailing trip

  But I was thinking bigger.  I had heard that Japanese cameras could be had for less in the Virgin Islands and I brought cash. I had enough for a Nikkormat single-lens reflex camera body, with an in-camera light meter (!), which I purchased there for $105. Back at home, I bought a 50-mm lens and a 105-mm lens for it and took pictures with this camera for many years, finally giving it up in the 1990’s for a better Nikon SLR.

       My brother Mark, with whom I've had a fun arms race on almost everything was the first to go digital, and I ended up with a cool Canon 5d Mk 2, though I'm told by my tech-savvy son that it's obsolete.  

       I drowned so many small digital cameras on kayak and camping trips that I gave up and started buying waterproof ones.  During the years when we did more scuba diving, I bought a Nikonos underwater camera and shot many rolls of film.  ("MORE underwater pictures?!")

       So, with all of these cameras through the years, I must have taken some outstanding pictures, right?  Unfortunately, the majority of photos taken by the majority of people are pretty mediocre, and usually just serve to help them remember important people and moments in their lives.  It is estimated that between 4.1 billion and 4.7 billion photos are taken every day; that’s 47,564 per second!  About 95% are taken with digital phones, and this percentage becomes greater every year.  

       I just checked, and right now (February 2024) I have well over 100,000 photographs saved on my hard drive, from the 1940’s to the present, including many Kodachromes from those early years that were still bright and clear when I scanned them several years ago.  Digital storage makes the preservation of so many pictures too easy, and many (most?) should be tossed.

     That said, there are some that should be saved, and grabbed as I leave the burning building.  Ancestors long gone need to be remembered and honored.

     I could hope, perhaps in vain, that a few of the less-homely shots of me might be passed down.  While I’m still here, there are images that sharpen and sometimes correct my memories of sweet and important moments in my life, a life that has been pretty good to this point.  

Sure, there might be a few among the stacks that others might appreciate; that shot of a Hatteras sunset, 

or that one of the glacier on Mt. Huaytapallana with tiny figures descending, 

that macro shot of coral polyps in Bonaire.  

But those are the tiny minority.  The important ones are quietly held, and taken out from time to time.  They speak to me of things eternal, of growth and progress in this phase of existence, of precious moments frozen in bits and bytes that echo feelings of love and laughter, of times when I could run a little faster, when there were a few less beautiful wrinkles on the face of my love.

Those are the ones that matter.

Dave

This is how I roll!

     It all started with the Inuit people in the very - I mean REALLY northern parts of the world, Canada, Siberia and such places where light and maneuverable kayaks have been used for thousands of years.

     These boats were covered in skin, and were light enough to be carried by a single person.  The kayaks were largely used for hunting walrus and seal, and were hung upside-down when not in use, high enough that the hunters' dogs couldn't chew the skins.  Even today, people hate it when their dogs chew their kayaks.  

     Nowadays, however, the skin thing is considered pasé, and most kayaks are made from roto-molded high-density polyethylene or fiberglass.  That's where the similarity ends and the wild variety begins.

     A very common type of boat is the "sit-on-top" kayak (also known as the "fall-off-top" kayak).  They are easy to use, and if you fall off, as sometimes happens, you merely climb back on, minus your wallet, car keys, sunglasses, iPhone and dignity.  

     Sea kayaks are graceful, slender craft meant for distance travel, slicing smoothly through the water with minimal exertion, complete with watertight compartments for stowing your gear.  They can be considered the S-class Mercedes of the watery world, often with pedal-operated rear rudders.  

     Then there are the whitewater boats.  These are made for doing potentially stupid things.  Like waterfalls.

or giant waves on seriously crocodile-infested rivers,

or maneuvers that in the end really don't impress the chicks.

   If the sea kayaks are the upper-class limos, whitewater boats are the desert-rat off-road warriors.

     About the only things that whitewater boats have in common with their more-civilized cousins are a) they float in water, b) they are propelled with a paddle, and c) their opening is made watertight by a skirt.  The latter is important in either situation.  As my brother says, "Real men wear skirts."

      If you are serenely paddling your upper-crust sea kayak on the Inner Passage of Alaska and an orca rudely upsets your craft, or you get tossed by a standing wave on the Upper Gauley in your beat-up whitewater boat, your skirt keeps the water out and helps keep you in, but.... you eventually should get upright again.  

     This is where the "Eskimo roll" or just "roll" comes in, allowing you to get right-side up.

     When my sons were growing up, they couldn't come on the annual Spring Break "Big Boy Kayak Trip" with their cousins and uncles until they could successfully roll a kayak.  

     Everyone would hold their breath when the newbie capsized on the river, and then cheer wildly when he came upright, having hit his first "combat" roll.  The penalty for not hitting the roll was having to pop the skirt and bail out, necessitating a "yard sale," as everyone collected the paddler, his paddle, his lunch and his now-flooded boat as they bobbed down through the rapids.  

     Sadly, I haven't been on a river in years in my whitewater boat, which can be more accurately described as a '96 Subaru with a lift kit than a sleek European sedan.

     I brought it to a youth summer camp on a lake near Raleigh last summer.  I was assigned to be the on-the-water cop during canoe time, chasing miscreants who were wandering out of sight, helping with capsized canoes and participating in paddle-splashing fights, which I always won, by the way.

     Lots of fun, but I was shaken by missing a couple of roll attempts near shore and having to bail out.  It has been a dumb little thing on my mind's back burner since then.  Am I getting too old for such things?  (Obvious answer - Yes.)

     One of Raleigh City's Parks and Rec pools is covered in the winter, and used by the public and the nearby high school swim teams.  

     On Friday evenings between New Years and Easter, the swimmers are pushed aside and the pool is opened to boaters.

     Last Friday night, I shoved my kayak, paddle, skirt, life vest and eight dollars in the macho minivan and headed for the Optimist Pool, not very optimistic about my kayak rolling ability.  I went early to avoid the public shaming that would result if I couldn't get my roll back.

     After slithering into my boat and siding off the edge of the pool, I paddled around for a bit and chatted up a couple of guys in their S-class Mercedes and Lexus sea kayaks.  Realizing I had to do it, I paddled out in a clear space and rolled over.

     And I rolled back up!  Reasonably smoothly!  (At least from an underwater point of view.)  But the next twelve attempts were successful, and some even looked OK!  

     Oh, man was I relieved!  As the hard-core guys started strolling in with their little trick boats to warm up, I said a silent prayer of thanks and crawled out of mine.  I dried off and carried my wet gear back to the minivan and drove home happily.

     I hope that you, too can still hit your kayak roll, or your triple axel on the ice, or your backside tailslide on your skateboard or whatever before age catches up, which, sadly, it always will.  

     Yeah, but until then...

Dave

Merry Christmas! And Brrrr!

     My brother Mark is three years younger than I am, but he's a very able guy.  He picks up new skills much quicker than I do, and has always pushed me to try new things.  

     We have been kiteboarding for about fifteen years, with some years off for various reasons.  Normal kiteboards look almost like wakeboards and can go in either direction, called "twin tips."

     However, there's always something new, and about five years ago hydrofoil, or "foil" boards were becoming very popular.  They look like short surboards, but with a "mast" attached to the bottom of the board and two wings, or "foils" on a horizontal bar (the "fuselage") below that.  

     When the foil board moves through the water, the large front foil produces lift like an airplane wing, and since water is about 800 times denser than water, that wing can be relatively small and doesn't have to move very fast.  It easily lifts the board and rider above the water's surface.

      You might well, and should, ask, "So what?"  Well, a couple of things.  First and foremost, the companies that make such equipment have found something new to $ell, and these things are not cheap.

     Second, when the board rises above the water, there is very little friction, with only the wings and mast underwater.  That means that foil boards go fast, even in very light wind.  Kite foil guys can use small kites for propulsion and be out sailing in light wind when the rest of us are whining on the beach.  

     Third, with only the wing and mast underwater, the ride is very smooth, good for old guys' knees.  The practitioners of the activity say it really feels like flying serenely a foot or two off the water.

     My brother Mark saw a new challenge and dove right in.  He quickly learned how to 'foil' behind a jet ski, and was soon doing it propelled by a kite.  

     OK, fine.  I tried several times behind his jet ski and got nuthin.'  Flat out nuthin,' and figured that maybe it was one sport too far.  

     Name something where there are ascending levels of coolness of the equipment.  OK, OK, that's dumb.  Name something where there AREN'T ascending levels of equipment coolness.  Cars?  Yep.

     Bicycles?  Ditto.

     Ironing boards?  Duh!

     OK, maybe that was a lame example.  However, as usual, there are better, newer foil boards, and Mark realized that he was being held back, and so for Christmas....

     YEE HAH!  I got the old one!!  Oh, yeah... the one that I could never get up on...

     Well, hope springs eternal!  These things are made for the water, right?  Remembering that our next-door neighbors are nice people, we ran next door to see if the board would at least float in their pool.

    Here in North Carolina, the winters are described as being like "running fast through a freezer without any clothes on," in other words, it gets cold, but not for long.  However, the nights have generally been right around freezing, so the water

was cold.  I mean really, really cold.  However, we had a purpose!

     So it floats!  Now we'll see if I can finally get the hang of foiling.  That's a rather large "if."

     We hope that you have had a great Christmas, and that if your neighbors aren't heating their pool you'll at least have sense enough to wear a wetsuit when you test your new foil board.  

     And Paula reminds me that people with even more sense don't jump in pools in North Carolina on Christmas.  Yeah, whatever.  

Dave

No good turn goes unpunished!

     A nice family up the street left a crib and a stroller on the curb a couple of months ago, both in good condition.  Paula collected them, and they ended up helping a young Afghan refugee couple.  

     The other day, we finally remembered to take a thank-you note to the neighbor.  On the way back, we passed four teenage guys playing street hockey, using a hard ball for a puck.

     Without warning,  WHACK!  the ball hit my right temple, a slap shot from the hockey game.  It knocked me down, and I needed a couple of seconds to get oriented again.  The player that made the shot came over and asked the usual, "You OK?" and when I stood up, he went back to the game.  

     I felt funny the rest of the evening, and there was kind of dent on the right side of my head.  When I went to the doctor in the morning, he said, "Yeah, that feels funny.  I don't think I want to push on it," and then he said, "You know, you're an old guy [WHAT?!] and you've sustained a hard blow.  It's CT-scan time for you."

     Believe it or not, that was accomplished within the next hour.

    Luckily, the reading of the scan was negative.

     The right side of my head is still kind of sore.  

     Like I said to Paula, that's the last time I thank a neighbor for a kindness without putting on a helmet first.  

     We hope that your neighborhood kids are more careful with their street hockey games.  Or their street archery practice.  Or their street skeet shooting.  That kind of stuff.

Dave

Despite the craziness in the world...

important and good things continue to happen.  

     Our youngest son Mike and our favorite (only) daughter-in-law Adrienne messaged us late Saturday night to let us know that yep, she was in labor.  Things apparently got pretty intense soon after that, with the usual discussion points, such as "YOU DID THIS TO ME!!  I HATE YOU!!  AAAAGH!!"

     A good epidural helped the perspective of all of the participants, and at about 3:45 AM, Emma Margaret Henderson slipped into the world, weighing only six and a half pounds and equipped with feet that come close to qualifying as water skis. 

     Paula and I got the message when we woke up on Sunday morning, so we zipped up a suitcase and headed north on I-95.  I grew up just outside of DC, and I am convinced that one of the inner circles of Hades was designed by copying the roads and traffic around that city, and I have no desire to inhabit either place.  

     By the time we arrived at Christiana Hospital between Newark and Wilmington, Delaware, all was calm and the three were resting quietly.  Paula's abundant and kind Grandmother character was quickly apparent.

     For some thirty years this whole giving-birth process was a major part of my occupation, and being around it again brought a few things back to mind, but it's different on this side.  Now, I get to enjoy the more tender aspects, and leave all that medical stuff to the young medical folks.  

     Emma's five-year-old sister Kate was over the moon the next day when she met her little sister for the first time.

     Meanwhile, life at Mike and Adrienne's house has gone wacko, as usual with a brand-new kid.  Paula has been helping a lot, using her Grandmother-multitasking super powers and trying to let Adrienne rest as much as possible.  

     She's been cooking, provisioning and keeping things in order.  That includes playing numerous rounds of Chutes and Ladders with Kate (by the way, the kid cheats prolifically) and card matching games (again, don't take your eyes off the board).

     I've been trying to help out also, though my efforts pale by comparison.

     Any of you that have had a newborn in the house know how everything gets knocked out of kilter, and folks have to get rest when they can.  Mike and Elsie grabbed a quick, uh, cat nap,

while Emma and her mom relaxed for a bit.

     As I said, despite the worrisome stuff surrounding us all, life continues.  Whatever your philosophy or your 'belief tradition.' or whatever, the echoes of eternity are apparent in this event.  We welcome Emma, and together with everyone who preceded her here, we wish her well as she begins this adventure.  

Dave & Paula

Letters! I get letters!

     For several years, I have written a weekly letter to my grandkids.  At the moment, there are twelve of them, soon to be thirteen, although that one won't be reading for a while.  There are weeks that I don't end up writing or weeks when I write to the whole group instead of the usual individual ones, but those are in the minority.  

     Several of them write to me most weeks, and some almost never write, and that's OK.  From a few of their letters, I can visualize their mother standing over them as they write the commanded thank-you notes for birthday and other presents.  

     I think that among the various ways of communicating, letter-writing has become an old-timey thing, though I admit that I use e-mail to deliver mine to the grandkids.  When I read the personal letters of people like John and Abigail Adams, I am impressed by their eloquence and command of the language, to a degree rarely seen today.  

     In my far-more-humble missives, I try to include pictures, the goofier the better, and I attempt to customize the news and comments of the week.  While Edwin may appreciate the technical details and Joseph may like the adventures, I know that Eleanor could care less about my latest interactions with Air Traffic Control.  

     From the older granddaughters in Kazakhstan I get the latest news about horseback riding and interactions with other teenagers who live there, as well as things happening in their family of seven kids.  From a grandson in Jacksonville, North Carolina I hear about cross-country meets and his part-time job.   

     William Sherwood is an enthusiastic six-year-old living with his six siblings and parents there in Astana.  He is beginning to tackle handwriting and spelling.  A week or two ago, he presented his mom with a personal note to me, already in a hand-made envelope, and asked her to address and stamp it.  It made its way to the 'pouch' and arrived yesterday in our mailbox.  

     As noted, he even constructed the envelope, by folding over a piece of printer paper, placing his letter inside and carefully stapling the open edges.  And I mean stapling!  I think this kid may have a future in the package fulfillment universe!

     The letter within was a heartfelt expression of his appreciation for having been at the beach with me, and how he's looking forward to seeing me again.  While there may have been minor errors in spelling, there was no doubt as to the letter's sincerity, nor the effort taken in writing it.  

     I have fun communicating with my grandkids, but I believe that there is real value to it.  While it may be a useful exercise for both them and me, I believe that it's a way for them to come to know their grandparents, and that's more important.  I plan to continue, at least until my spelling gets worse than Big Bill's.

Dave