SOS is the commonly used description for the international Morse code distress signal (· · · — — — · · ·). This distress signal was first adopted by the German government in radio regulations effective April 1, 1905, and became the worldwide standard under the second International Radiotelegraphic Convention, which was signed on November 3, 1906 and became effective on July 1, 1908. SOS remained the maritime radio distress signal until 1999, when it was replaced by the Global Maritime Distress Safety System. SOS is still recognized as a visual distress signal. When you talk about distress, then you have to include the SOS of triathlons, Survival of Shawangunks.
Years ago, I read about a triathlon that, frankly, sounded like it was just for die hard, crazy triathletes. However, that was my reaction when I first learned of the distances associated with the Ironman triathlon too, but that ultimately seemed "reasonable" with greater experience and fewer brain cells. Well, in 2001 I thought that it was time to head to triathlon's SOS. The race directors don't even permit you to register, unless you have completed a Half Ironman distance within 2 years and under 7 hours, all within reach for this IM finisher. I qualified by completing the Eagleman triathlon in Cambridge, Maryland in June and was on my to "The Gunks" for the September event.
Several family members made the trek to New Paltz, NY, and we had a glorious day, sunny and just right for a morning bike, run, swim, run, swim, run, swim, and final run to the top of the Mohonk Mountain overlook. It all ended about 6-7 hours later, when we had the good fortune of sitting down to a chicken barbecue. Each of the participants was given a finisher's plaque commemorating the event, very cool indeed.
Yes, I have been fortunate to have participated in dozens of triathlons over the years, starting with my first at the Lawrence YMCA's triathlon in 1985. The distances may vary, but the feeling of exhilaration after completing each one has been the same, awesome. I am just so grateful that I have been a part of the triathlon movement, both literally and figuratively. There have been a few personal achievements along the way, but most importantly, it's been the involvement of both family and friends that has made it all worthwhile. If it wasn't for that, I'd be putting a message in bottle right now and sending out an SOS, and thankfully, the only distress call that I get from doing triathlons these days comes from my tired, old body!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
"Tippy canoe" revisited
"Tippecanoe and Tyler too", originally published as "Tip and Ty", was a very popular and influential campaign song of the Whig Party's colorful Log Cabin Campaign in the 1840 United States presidential election. Its lyrics sung the praises of Whig candidates William Henry Harrison (the "hero of Tippecanoe" who had engaged the Shawnee with Tenskwatawa and his brother, Tecumseh) and John Tyler, while denigrating incumbent Democrat Martin Van Buren. Most individuals familiar with American history would certainly recognize this campaign slogan, but few historians would likely remember the lesser known revisionist version of "tippy canoe" which came years later, but also involved a "tribe" of brothers.
After years of negotiation with my father, we finally convinced him that we needed a canoe for navigating some of the local rivers. He acquiesced and my brothers picked out an aluminum gem at Fernald's on the Parker River along old Route 1A. It was an immediate hit, as we took it out on the waterways to investigate some of the more remote local backwoods areas. Of course, we had to wear our life jackets and use the buddy system when we were out, because if we had "boat", safety would have to come first.
As part of our early safety training, my brothers and I figured that we needed to master our man overboard rescue techniques, so we started by throwing each other overboard. After considerable practice at this maneuver, we opted to try our hand at balancing while changing positions. Naturally, the best way to do this was done while standing on the rails at each end of the canoe. We rocked the canoe while trying to maintain our balance at either end, and as you'd imagine, we fell overboard several times doing that. What training would be complete without testing our skills righting the canoe once we turned it over? So we had to do that for awhile too. How else were we going to be prepared for these unlikely but potentially dangerous mishaps?
A patient of my father's had provided us with a lovely setting for our basic training session. In fact, she extended us an invitation to "practice" our skills anytime we wanted to come out to the lake because I think she rather enjoyed the waterfront entertainment that we provided. As for the historical reference, that's about where the similarities end. However, if you had heard about the fun we had out on the lake and what a sight it truly was, you would have wanted "Ta-come-see" us "tippy canoe" too!
After years of negotiation with my father, we finally convinced him that we needed a canoe for navigating some of the local rivers. He acquiesced and my brothers picked out an aluminum gem at Fernald's on the Parker River along old Route 1A. It was an immediate hit, as we took it out on the waterways to investigate some of the more remote local backwoods areas. Of course, we had to wear our life jackets and use the buddy system when we were out, because if we had "boat", safety would have to come first.
As part of our early safety training, my brothers and I figured that we needed to master our man overboard rescue techniques, so we started by throwing each other overboard. After considerable practice at this maneuver, we opted to try our hand at balancing while changing positions. Naturally, the best way to do this was done while standing on the rails at each end of the canoe. We rocked the canoe while trying to maintain our balance at either end, and as you'd imagine, we fell overboard several times doing that. What training would be complete without testing our skills righting the canoe once we turned it over? So we had to do that for awhile too. How else were we going to be prepared for these unlikely but potentially dangerous mishaps?
A patient of my father's had provided us with a lovely setting for our basic training session. In fact, she extended us an invitation to "practice" our skills anytime we wanted to come out to the lake because I think she rather enjoyed the waterfront entertainment that we provided. As for the historical reference, that's about where the similarities end. However, if you had heard about the fun we had out on the lake and what a sight it truly was, you would have wanted "Ta-come-see" us "tippy canoe" too!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
No Room At The Inn
Arguably, the most recognized story ever told involved a certain couple who were informed that there was no room for them at the inn. Instead, they calmly went off to a stable, and from there, I suspect most people are familiar with the turn of events of that famous night. The simplicity is wrought with symbolism, and has been debated for years. However, it certainly illustrates several key issues. If you are tired enough, you probably can sleep just about anywhere, and perhaps most importantly, humble beginnings don't necessarily predict the importance or magnitude of the final outcome. As my parents celebrate their 64th wedding anniversary, I'd like to recall the story of their first night, as it has been retold to me.
My parents were married on September 7th, 1946 at St. Clement's church across the street from her Bristol Road home in Somerville, Massachusetts. The pictures I have seen captured the spirit of the day, lots of happy, smiling faces. The bridal party consisted of my mother's school friends, one of my father's brothers, and several of my Mom's brothers. In those days, it was hard getting everyone together, primarily because of the distance, but whoever was invited and could get there, did. Following the wedding service, the invited guests made their way to Longfellow's Wayside Inn in Sudbury, MA., not too far from the campus of Regis where Mom went to college. Evidently, the reception was a great success, but according to a reliable inside source, the groom picked up the tab for the orchestra, as there was a slight shortage of available funds.
Following the usual send off from the family and friends, the newlyweds headed out of town for the quaint New England community of North Conway, only their reservations for the honeymoon suite were lost. Instead of a romantic first night, the couple were directed to a local funeral home where there was a room available for rent. Indeed, there probably were few "souls" looking for lodging at the local funeral parlor that night. I understand that the inn did have a room for them the next day. Naturally, during their stay the young bride wanted to impress her new husband, so she washed his socks in the local stream, only to have the color run onto the Inn's nice white towels. Not exactly the outcome she had desired, but nonetheless, the good faith gesture was appreciated and clearly not to be forgotten.
Yes. There are times in a marriage when the inn may be full, the reservations misplaced, not enough money to pay the bills, or a whole host of other calamities. However, it is how each couple deals with the adversity they face that truly tests the strength of their commitment and resolve. If it isn't obvious, my parents had all the ingredients to get past those initial obstacles and a whole lot more. How else could two people stay happily married for 64 years? Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad, and remember, your family will always "keep the light on" for our two most treasured guests!
My parents were married on September 7th, 1946 at St. Clement's church across the street from her Bristol Road home in Somerville, Massachusetts. The pictures I have seen captured the spirit of the day, lots of happy, smiling faces. The bridal party consisted of my mother's school friends, one of my father's brothers, and several of my Mom's brothers. In those days, it was hard getting everyone together, primarily because of the distance, but whoever was invited and could get there, did. Following the wedding service, the invited guests made their way to Longfellow's Wayside Inn in Sudbury, MA., not too far from the campus of Regis where Mom went to college. Evidently, the reception was a great success, but according to a reliable inside source, the groom picked up the tab for the orchestra, as there was a slight shortage of available funds.
Following the usual send off from the family and friends, the newlyweds headed out of town for the quaint New England community of North Conway, only their reservations for the honeymoon suite were lost. Instead of a romantic first night, the couple were directed to a local funeral home where there was a room available for rent. Indeed, there probably were few "souls" looking for lodging at the local funeral parlor that night. I understand that the inn did have a room for them the next day. Naturally, during their stay the young bride wanted to impress her new husband, so she washed his socks in the local stream, only to have the color run onto the Inn's nice white towels. Not exactly the outcome she had desired, but nonetheless, the good faith gesture was appreciated and clearly not to be forgotten.
Yes. There are times in a marriage when the inn may be full, the reservations misplaced, not enough money to pay the bills, or a whole host of other calamities. However, it is how each couple deals with the adversity they face that truly tests the strength of their commitment and resolve. If it isn't obvious, my parents had all the ingredients to get past those initial obstacles and a whole lot more. How else could two people stay happily married for 64 years? Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad, and remember, your family will always "keep the light on" for our two most treasured guests!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The Little Red House
The housing crisis of the last 2 years has been the subject of much debate and how it has impacted the economy. Evidently, lenders had plenty of liquid capital to loan prospective buyers, but many of the customary safeguards were overlooked. Years ago, many home buyers were expected to put at least 20% down and show a lengthy work history and an adequate income, to get approved. Shrewd investors can recognize a bargain when they see one, but can remain reluctant to take the chance, regardless. However, those savvy enough to do both, may just bring "home" the house, and when we were kids, my mother did just that.
Have you ever seen a house being moved? It is a rather impressive sight, to say the least, and the engineering involved to get the structure prepared for transport, is equally impressive. Picture this. You are 3-4 years old and you see this huge flat bed truck pull onto your street with a red sided, single story structure. What young boy wouldn't be fascinated by a sight like this? Men and trucks, it was a perfect world on that sunny day. Well, when they asked where they could find the "S's" residence, I realized that I'd have a front row seat for the "barn raising".
My mother had purchased the "little red house" at an auction and paid cash, no financing for this real estate tycoon. I recall that the price of moving it was actually greater than what she paid for it. She had the men position it on cinder blocks at the end of the driveway, and that's where it stayed for the next 20 years. She had us paint it from time to time, and we put flower boxes up, rested wagon wheels from Black River against it, and even put the proverbial, white picket fence around its base. It served as bike and garden tool storage, had a ramp for easy access, and when we were really creative, it became the "little red school house" for all of us.
Yes, the little red house was a fixture in our back yard at Estes Street for many years, like a swing set would have been for most families with young kids. It served us well, but more importantly, it was a symbol of my mother's ingenuity and vision. She created "self storage" long before anyone else had crafted the concept, and that is why she has always been at the head of her class. Just ask the folks at St. Clements or at Regis, where they referred to her as the "valedictorian", but we just simply call her Mom. We love you Madre!
Have you ever seen a house being moved? It is a rather impressive sight, to say the least, and the engineering involved to get the structure prepared for transport, is equally impressive. Picture this. You are 3-4 years old and you see this huge flat bed truck pull onto your street with a red sided, single story structure. What young boy wouldn't be fascinated by a sight like this? Men and trucks, it was a perfect world on that sunny day. Well, when they asked where they could find the "S's" residence, I realized that I'd have a front row seat for the "barn raising".
My mother had purchased the "little red house" at an auction and paid cash, no financing for this real estate tycoon. I recall that the price of moving it was actually greater than what she paid for it. She had the men position it on cinder blocks at the end of the driveway, and that's where it stayed for the next 20 years. She had us paint it from time to time, and we put flower boxes up, rested wagon wheels from Black River against it, and even put the proverbial, white picket fence around its base. It served as bike and garden tool storage, had a ramp for easy access, and when we were really creative, it became the "little red school house" for all of us.
Yes, the little red house was a fixture in our back yard at Estes Street for many years, like a swing set would have been for most families with young kids. It served us well, but more importantly, it was a symbol of my mother's ingenuity and vision. She created "self storage" long before anyone else had crafted the concept, and that is why she has always been at the head of her class. Just ask the folks at St. Clements or at Regis, where they referred to her as the "valedictorian", but we just simply call her Mom. We love you Madre!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Black Phone
In this day and age, cell phones are so commonplace, almost everyone has one. In fact, their use is so widespread, that many people have them as their only form of telephone communication. However, it wasn't that long ago that families had but a single telephone line into their home, and before that, the lines coming in were party lines. I am sure there are some young people that do not even recall party lines, let alone the purpose of the letters on the phone dial, except for text messaging. Anyone remember PRospect6-1520? Well, I grew up in a home with 2 phones, only when the "black phone" rang, it meant that the party was over, at least for a few minutes anyway.
My father practiced medicine in an era that predated pagers, and certainly, it was long before the arrival of cell phones. Consequently, he had to rely on the good old-fashioned, rotary telephone. When his office staff arrived in the morning, they would begin answering the phone, and it was understood that there was a lunch hour sometime between noon and one o'clock. Ordinarily, that was a time when no one would pick up the phone at all. Naturally, when his afternoon office hours resumed,the staff was responsible for picking up the phone. There were times when you thought the phone would literally ring off the hook. I can only imagine what was happening in the office at the other end of the line. By five o'clock most of the medical "fires" had been put out, the help would go home, but that's when the second round of fireworks would begin.
The ring tone for the black phone was quite different from the private line, so it was easy to tell them apart. However, there were occasions when the office phone would ring, and none of us would jump to answer it regardless of its importance, or the 2 phones would ring at the same time. Then what would you do? Of course, answering the black phone generally took precedence. Even as youngsters, we became reasonably adept at answering the phone and taking a message. As my brothers and I grew older and our angelic voices changed, it became more difficult for the patients, because they immediately thought they were speaking to "the doctor". The practical experience that my sisters received made them good substitutes for the office help too, particularly during vacations and on weekends. On occasion, I even remember my mother "practicing" a little curb side medicine, unsolicited mind you, when my father wasn't immediately available.
Since Alexander Graham Bell invented the talking wires, the phone has been a mainstay that has kept people "connected". Batman had the bat phone, Maxwell Smart had his shoe phone, but at Estes Street, we had the black phone. It served as a constant reminder that some of life's problems couldn't wait for the calming voice of reason or the professional guidance we all would want when we were worried "sick" about a loved one or for the office to open in the morning. No, the black phone was a 24/7 gig. It was as dedicated to its line of work, as the "voice" was on the "receiving" end. When the black phone rang, we answered, "Dr. S's home", and boy weren't we all glad he was!
My father practiced medicine in an era that predated pagers, and certainly, it was long before the arrival of cell phones. Consequently, he had to rely on the good old-fashioned, rotary telephone. When his office staff arrived in the morning, they would begin answering the phone, and it was understood that there was a lunch hour sometime between noon and one o'clock. Ordinarily, that was a time when no one would pick up the phone at all. Naturally, when his afternoon office hours resumed,the staff was responsible for picking up the phone. There were times when you thought the phone would literally ring off the hook. I can only imagine what was happening in the office at the other end of the line. By five o'clock most of the medical "fires" had been put out, the help would go home, but that's when the second round of fireworks would begin.
The ring tone for the black phone was quite different from the private line, so it was easy to tell them apart. However, there were occasions when the office phone would ring, and none of us would jump to answer it regardless of its importance, or the 2 phones would ring at the same time. Then what would you do? Of course, answering the black phone generally took precedence. Even as youngsters, we became reasonably adept at answering the phone and taking a message. As my brothers and I grew older and our angelic voices changed, it became more difficult for the patients, because they immediately thought they were speaking to "the doctor". The practical experience that my sisters received made them good substitutes for the office help too, particularly during vacations and on weekends. On occasion, I even remember my mother "practicing" a little curb side medicine, unsolicited mind you, when my father wasn't immediately available.
Since Alexander Graham Bell invented the talking wires, the phone has been a mainstay that has kept people "connected". Batman had the bat phone, Maxwell Smart had his shoe phone, but at Estes Street, we had the black phone. It served as a constant reminder that some of life's problems couldn't wait for the calming voice of reason or the professional guidance we all would want when we were worried "sick" about a loved one or for the office to open in the morning. No, the black phone was a 24/7 gig. It was as dedicated to its line of work, as the "voice" was on the "receiving" end. When the black phone rang, we answered, "Dr. S's home", and boy weren't we all glad he was!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Silence may not be so golden
Most everyone has heard the expression, "silence is golden", and recognize that it is used in circumstances where it is thought that saying nothing is preferable to speaking. Equally, the expression, "put your foot in your mouth" implies that being silent presumably would've been a better alternative to what was stated. We have all found ourselves in these situations, and the feelings that follow are, at the very least, unpleasant and at times, regrettable.
During one of our family summer vacations, I had a disagreement with one of my sisters, and I recall telling her that I was not going to speak to her for the rest of my life. As you might suspect, most siblings develop differences of opinion and perhaps opt not to communicate as a means of retaliation, and it sure beats the alternative. Parents then find themselves on the front end of a mediation process reconciling the two parties. Fortunately, we were at an age when we eventually worked things out ourselves. To this day, I am not sure what triggered the conflict, but the retaliatory behavior was far too punitive.
Now that I am considerably older, and hopefully wiser, I cannot imagine how different my relationship would have been with my sister had I never spoken to her again. I would not have: told her what a wonderful job she did in her senior play, congratulated her after graduating from Regis, stood up for her oldest son as a godparent, enjoyed and talked about the trips to Black River, Loma Linda, Grand Canyon, the BBMs, Rangeley, Estes Street, and blessed to have shared our work together at the office...the list could go on, as the list is endless. I cannot imagine just how empty that would have been, and thankfully, I never will.
As my sister celebrates her birthday, I just want to "say" with all my heart, I love you, and I am sure glad that I did not keep that promise many years ago. My life would simply not be the same, and for me, that would have been a tragic misfortune and truly regrettable. Silence, in this case, would not have been golden, but there is no doubt that you are. Happy Birthday sister, and I pray that we continue adding to the list...for many more years to come!
During one of our family summer vacations, I had a disagreement with one of my sisters, and I recall telling her that I was not going to speak to her for the rest of my life. As you might suspect, most siblings develop differences of opinion and perhaps opt not to communicate as a means of retaliation, and it sure beats the alternative. Parents then find themselves on the front end of a mediation process reconciling the two parties. Fortunately, we were at an age when we eventually worked things out ourselves. To this day, I am not sure what triggered the conflict, but the retaliatory behavior was far too punitive.
Now that I am considerably older, and hopefully wiser, I cannot imagine how different my relationship would have been with my sister had I never spoken to her again. I would not have: told her what a wonderful job she did in her senior play, congratulated her after graduating from Regis, stood up for her oldest son as a godparent, enjoyed and talked about the trips to Black River, Loma Linda, Grand Canyon, the BBMs, Rangeley, Estes Street, and blessed to have shared our work together at the office...the list could go on, as the list is endless. I cannot imagine just how empty that would have been, and thankfully, I never will.
As my sister celebrates her birthday, I just want to "say" with all my heart, I love you, and I am sure glad that I did not keep that promise many years ago. My life would simply not be the same, and for me, that would have been a tragic misfortune and truly regrettable. Silence, in this case, would not have been golden, but there is no doubt that you are. Happy Birthday sister, and I pray that we continue adding to the list...for many more years to come!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The "esses" of summer
Summertime is such an enjoyable time of the year. It is a time most of us look forward to with great anticipation, almost as soon as it ends and certainly soon after the first snow flies. What makes this season of the year so pleasurable? Well, after the cold winter and wet spring, the summer offers us a time to get outside and enjoy the fresh air. The summer menu typically changes to foods prepared on the grill, and above all, the warmth of the summer sunshine makes even a bad day seem manageable. Additionally, the "toys" of summer come out of mothballs, such as the camping equipment, golf clubs, and water craft, which simply expands the "playing field" for those of us who enjoy such activities.
Water has long been associated with health and healing, that's why many of us head to it at some point for some of our summertime fun. It offers healing for the mind and body against the toils of everyday life. Years ago, I was introduced to sailing, but over the last few years, it has, quite literally, "blown" me away with how much fun it is. There are many features which make it exhilarating, but being outside on the water, using the natural power of the wind to propel you, present a glorious opportunity to "cast off" from the dock and say "so long" to those worries of the day.
One of my friends who has coached me through the beginner stages of this learning process, takes several weeks of vacation each year, much of which is dedicated to "exercising" his own sailing skills. We in the running group have affectionately referred to his time off as his, "summer, sailing, sabbatical". When he shoves off from the dock, he says it as one of the most peaceful experiences one can have.
Yes, sailing is one of the "esses" in the summer, sailing, sabbatical, but most assuredly, it is a part of something even bigger. In fact, if you add just a few letters it becomes the "essence" of summer, and sailing is part of the "esses". However, for the diehards out there, anytime of year is a good time to go on a sailing sabbatical, wouldn't you agree?
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