AHOY MATEY!

“…we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting

biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean…

And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to

watch it, we are going back from whence we came."

President John F. Kennedy,

at the Australian Ambassador's Dinner for the America's Cup Crews,

September 14, 1962, Newport, R.I.

I sailed for the first time this past Saturday.  I hardly slept Friday night because I was so eager to learn how to sail.

I’ve lived in the Land of 10,000 Lakes my entire life. 

You’ve got to understand that I’m Minnesotan through and through. 

  

 

As a kid during the winter I skated on an ice-rink in my backyard.  In the summer I often canoed in the Boundary Waters.

In true Minnesota fashion I’ve always referred to the school I graduated from, which is also the place where I work as, “The U”, assuming that people throughout the world would know I was referring to the University of Minnesota Twin Cities campus. 

In the summer the Chicago White Sox are the enemy. 

In the fall I think Floyd of Rosedale belongs in Dinkytown NOT Iowa City.  Winters I curse the weather gods when the cold fronts move in from Alberta, Canada.

I’ve had a belly full of spring flooding thanks to the overflow of melting snow from the wasteland called North Dakota. 

Wisconsin?  Except for my relatives, and a few close friends who live there, those people just rub me the wrong way 12 months a year.  (Badgers? We don’t need no stinkin’ Badgers!)  I’m your typical Gopher.      

Despite the fact that I’m as Minnesotan as a person can be, I have managed to pass the half-century mark in age without ever setting foot on a sailboat.  I’ve been on pontoons, speedboats, rowboats, and canoes; a lot of canoes.  I’ve even ridden the log flume at ValleyFair!

I suppose it makes sense that canoeing came easily to me as an enrolled member of the Ho-Chunk Nation.  It had to be either the Native American blood coursing through my veins, or the fact that Mom and Dad instilled in their children a love of the north woods by taking us camping and canoeing in and around Ely Minnesota on the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

I’ve long wanted to sail though too, if nothing else, just for the romance of it.  Mankind has harnessed the winds for centuries to travel about the seas.  Sailing was one of the first means of opening the world to global travel, commerce, and discovery.

Homer wrote of sailing in The Iliad.  Melville explored, whaling, obsession, and sailing in Moby Dick.    Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his 1870 work,  Civilization, referring to sailing and seafaring, said, “The most advanced nations are always those who navigate the most.”  How could a person NOT want to learn to sail?

Presidents Bush (the elder), Carter, Ford, Johnson, Kennedy, and Nixon, were sailors.  So were entertainers Humphrey Bogart, Johnny Carson, Bill Cosby, and Kirk Douglas.  Athletes Yogi Berra, Bob Feller, Stan Musial, and Roger Staubach took to the high seas too.  An august group, to be sure, and one I’d like to be included in.

I had a great time on the lake Saturday, but, there was very little wind that day.  We sailed a bit, but not enough that I’d consider myself anything more than a novice sailor.  I did, however, secure an invite from our friends who hosted us, to try sailing another time when the winds might be greater which would provide a better learning experience.

 

So, until schedules can be coordinated, I guess I’ll need to, as President Kennedy said, “Go back to whence I came…” but not to the sea.  I’ll just be going back home to Minnesota, taking encouragement in the words of Mark Twain,

“Twenty years from now, you'll regret the things you didn't do, rather than the things you did do. So cast off the bow lines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

An old guy like me still, exploring, dreaming, and discovering.  Who knew?

   

Make new friends AND keep the old...

“Make new friends, but keep the old,

One is silver, and the other gold.”   Traditional Children’s song lyric.

I’ve made a new OLD friend in the last couple of weeks.

 

Walt lives four doors down from us in our suburban neighborhood just west of Minneapolis.  I’ve seen him walking by on his occasional journeys through the neighborhood for most of the 18 years we’ve lived here.  He and I were always too busy to stop and chat though.  Sure, we always waved, nodded or said “Good morning/afternoon/evening” – depending on the time of day we passed each other – but we never stopped to talk though.

Until a few weeks ago.

I was out mowing my small lawn when Walt walked by aided by one of those walker/stroller/wheelchair combo devices that are now a popular lifeline for a generation of senior citizens.  Those mobility aids allow older folks to move about their environments even though the effects of aging limit their ability to take walks and explore their surroundings.  Walt was moving at a snail’s pace as 85 years of life has slowed his step.

It was hot that Saturday afternoon, and my lovely bride was at work, so the entire day lay in front of me like a blank tablet; nothing planned, no obligations, I could do whatever I wanted.  A perfect lazy summer day - the likes of which schoolchildren throughout the world savor.  I value them too.  A lot.  Sometimes I think the child-like enthusiasm I hold for the remnants of my youth that I’m still able to enjoy help to keep me young. 

Maybe, maybe not.

Since I was overheating, with nary a beer nearby to remedy my discomfort, and the old man from down the street was slowly strolling by, I decided to stop, and chat with him for a change.  I needed the break; I believe Walt appreciated it as well.  He turned his walker around, sat in the seat, and we chatted.

I introduced myself to Walt – because of his cloudy looking eyes (he’s going blind) and his diminished hearing (he tilts his good ear towards you) - so he would know which neighbor he was talking to.  After a quick minute he said, “Oh yes!  You’re the one with the kids who play hockey.”  In deed they did, indeed I am.  And it was partially that fact, the hectic schedule of a hockey parent, that had prevented me from getting to know Walt all those years ago.

I don’t regret a moment of it though; hockey served my children well, teaching them valuable life lessons about hard work, dedicating their efforts to a team and successfully achieving   goals.  It also got my daughter into an Ivy League university, and created life-long friendships for my son.  My wife and I are positive that the crazy schedule and the deep involvement in our kids’ activities also kept us young.

 That afternoon, despite our 30 plus year age difference, Walt and I chatted about the weather, raising children, yard work, and a few other things common to suburban dads. It was good to finally get to know him.  I vowed to myself that now that I’m a recovering hockey parent (both kids are grown, out of the house, and have hung up their skates) that in the future I’d take the time to talk with Walt, and the rest of the neighbors, when they were out and about.

I did just that a few days later when Walt was out in his driveway, with his walker, a radial arm saw (a major piece of woodworking equipment) and some very large lumber.  I stopped to ask him what he was up to.  He mentioned he was making planter boxes for his yard like a smart neighbor of his (me) had done.  He laughed at his joke as he explained he was referring to me.  As I drove away from our short chat I was kind of concerned about an 85 year old man, half blind, and profoundly deaf, using a power tool of such magnitude, but, thankfully, he safely pulled it off.

I kind of assumed Walt would be successful because of the example of another octogenarian man I knew well.  Dad passed away this past January, two months prior to his 81^st birthday, 40 days after being diagnosed with esophageal cancer.  Since he died I’ve been helping Mom up at their lake home doing the chores my 80 year old Father had been doing; sweeping the chimney, cleaning the rain gutters, hauling firewood, fixing the dock, staining the deck, and patching the gravel road.

I always thought by the time you reached 80 you could slow down and relax.   Dad and Walt wouldn’t have any of it though.  My parents’ lake home is a great retreat in the northwoods, and Walt’s planter boxes turned out very nicely precisely because a couple of guys remained active and worked hard to get things done.

Then it struck me.  These guys were able to stay so active because THEY STAYED SO ACTIVE.  They’ve inspired me to keep active. It's not your outlook that keeps you active and young, and it's not a busy schedule, nor surrounding yourself with young people.  IT'S JUST STAYING ACTIVE.

I’m writing this to inspire any and all who may read this to stay active as well.

If you live in the Twin Cities there is a great trail system you can use to stay active.

Just today as I biked on the South West Corridor Trail I saw, walkers, walkers with canes, walkers raising Cain (by walking on the wrong side of the trail), walkers using walkers (like Walt’s),  people walking dogs, and racewalkers (those funny hip-wiggling walkers).

I saw people like me on bicycles, recumbent bikes, tandem bikes and beach cruiser bikes.  I saw families biking for fun, singles on errands and Lance Armstrong wannabes in their bright colored spandex.

I saw roller skaters, rollerbladers, roller skiers, and runners.   I saw a whole world of active people propelling themselves using only their own muscle power to move through workouts, strolls, a quick trip to the restaurant/store/lake and enjoying themselves as they did so.

Who knew that both Dad and my new 85 year-old friend Walt could inspire me to stay on the trail skating and biking?  Who knew that the real secret to staying active was to just get up and go?

What will it take for you to become more active?