And so,

We begin anew.

I've already written about new year's and how we, as a people, arbitrarily choose this as a "time" of new beginnings. Enough about that. Still, it is time, for some, to write resolutions. I, however, prefer to concoct a wish list. So, here are the things I'd like, starting now and for now on:
1. For my children: To be healthy and happy with their lives. To experience the rich life I have enjoyed. To recognize the best in themselves and to use it to give back to the Universe.
2. For my wife, Lady Linda: To be healthy and to enjoy, along with me, grandchildren. To honor herself for her gifts and for what she has done for our little family. To tolerate and love me and, just once in a while, want to jump my bones.
3. For my friends, too many to mention, and you know who you are: To continue to be the wonderful and decent people that you are and to enjoy the rewards of being so. Good health and many happy days on the water or (for non paddling friends) hours filled with the times you enjoy. To experience the richness of soul from a life well lived.
4. For my dog, Ansel: To remain spry in your old age and to maintain your wonderful and gentle disposition. To find wonderful smells on every tree and hydrant. To know your companionship is cherished.
5. For Peter S.: Send me the freakin' boat already.
6. For me: To be of service to my family, friends, community and Universe. To not be a burden to them. To obtain the wisdom to do right and do good deeds. (And, maybe, to digress a little less...but I digress).

What the hell, might as well shoot for the moon. Happy new year, good health and (just maybe this year) peace.

Paddle safe...
DS

Today's picture tells today's story

jos http://www2.jsonline.com/photo/ (you will have to click on th eDec 30th pic when you get there)

Let me explain. Greg and I headed for Bradford beach yesterday. There was a mild easterly (onshore) wind, and I expected a pleasant paddle. During the trip down, I was able to get a glimpse of the lake between the homes on the cliffs. It looked fairly calm. There weren't even any white caps. I had fail led to consider some of the other factors effecting water, i.e., fetch and shallows.

Arriving at the beach, we found the surf line to be about 3x further from shore than usual. No problem. Helmet on, off we go. A few hundred yards off shore, we found ourselves in 4 footers. No problem with that. They were breaking and some were dumping. No problem there. And, they were coming close together and from every direction. That could be a problem.

We went back into the shallows to play in the smaller waves, mostly taking them on the beam and staying up with an edge and an occasional brace. I was aware of two photographers on shore and wondered if they were getting any cool pics of us. I had, in fact, once before ended up on the front page of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

My day began with an acute onset of reality when I opened an e mail from JB to our Milwaukee paddling group. It directed us to the link above and, sadly, to the image the photog had chosen to use. As I have no permission to post the pic, I have given the link...JOS...above to click on. Be aware that it is for today's date only.

Paddle safe...

DS

New Directions?As the year draws to an end, folks are planning new year's parties and getting set to write new year's resolutions. The thing is that the start of the "new year" is a rather man-made and arbitrary way to keep track of something called time. It seems we, as humans, have a need to measure such things. So, we calculate the revolutions of the earth around the sun and make calendars and, for whatever reason, designate a day "one" and call it special.

We use the impetus of such a "special" day to declare it a time of new beginnings. This is when we declare that we will turn over a new leaf, quit a bad habit, start a good habit and, in general, finally get down to living our authentic lives. The thing is, the choice to make these changes is available to us on a daily basis and, if we were clear about our desire to make such a change, we could act now...whenever now is.

Ah, but the flesh is weak and, a year later, we still smoke, don't exercise and haven't lost a pound (probably gained a few...but I digress). We are, in the end, who we always were and who we have chosen to be. Does that mean we are stuck in our present form forever? I think not.

I have seen enormous changes in myself over my life time. Some have occurred over a period of years while others seem to have come about in an instant. Now and then, there have been life-changing experiences that have caused the old-me to die and the new-me to appear. It's sort of like the hard working author who says, "It only took me 40 years to become an over night success."

In any event, I wish you well with your resolutions and caution you about your expectations. Maybe it would be better for all of us if, instead of making resolutions, we took an inventory of the good qualities (our gold) that we some how fail to honor.

Paddle safe...

DS

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

Mr. Googles crappy site doesn't upload pics again today. I am going paddling.

Paddle safe...

DS

Hey, Mate. Might you be coming or going?Yesterday, Derrick posted a wonderful and thoughtful blog on his upcoming Tour De Force around Puerto Rico. In it, he muses about the old quandary of whether it is the journey or the destination that calls and considers many things that draw paddlers out onto the open water. I am guessing most of us have entertained these thoughts in private. I also am guessing that many of us have, at one time or another, contemplated a long journey...and never took it.

I know that during my sailing days I was always making my 42-foot cutter ready for that trans oceanic trip...which I never took. I would go out onto Lake Michigan when no one else was leaving their slips, and I'd do it single handed...the way I would cross the ocean. I was constantly adjusting this and tuning that and reading catalogues to see what goodies could be added to my little ship. To be sure, boats like her (Hans Christian 42) are sailing the Pacific as we speak. In the end, I never went further than the confines of the lake. When the time came (a physical problem...but I digress), I sold her and moved on. I became one of the majority of sailors who think about and never take that long trip.

For us, I suspect, the journey was the planning and the dreaming and that there was no destination in mind or worth seeking. For some, there was lack of time, money and opportunity. For many, however, I believe the dreaming and "practicing" was enough and that right here was, in the final analysis, a better (safer?) place than out there spending endless days alone.

So, we take mini adventures in our kayaks. We drive somewhere not far away in order to launch and land at a new place. We do an all-dayer, packing a lunch to eat ashore in an unfamiliar place. Sometimes it is a matter of going out from the same old launch site but into more threatening seas. In the end, it is to touch the need in us to take risk, however small, and to conquer our fears.

Others never go, I suspect, because here is better than anywhere else they can imagine being. In the end, I wonder if those that do go are going toward something or getting away from something. No matter if the trip fulfills that need, and I wish each of them well.

Paddle safe...
DS

Getting back my perspectiveI am a very focused individual...and a creature of habit. When I get into something, I am so focused and intense that I can miss a dragon walking through the room. I also run a lot on auto pilot and don't recall doing something after completing a task. Any interruption in my routine requires me to consciously track what I am doing.

Here I sit freshly back from a wonderful visit with my daughter and son in law. It was joyful and satisfying, and it was a change in my routine. Ending it with an airplane flight didn't help. Then I was picked up (not literally, but by car...but I digress) by daughter #2 and my son-in-law-to-be. "Suddenly", I was home and back into my routine...but I wasn't.

My routine had been changed, interrupted for a few days, and it would take awhile to get back into it. Well, I am back to my usual sleeping and eating and walking Ansel routine, yet something isn't quite right yet. I am, it seems, in withdrawal. I haven't been in a boat since before the drive-visit-trip to Cincinnati. I must go down to the sea again.

As I write this, I have e mails out to round up the usual suspects, and I hope to be on the water by this afternoon. Then, deep in my bones, I will be back.

Paddle safe...
DS

The shapes of things to comeAs this year draws to an end, I marvel at what has happened in the recent past and wonder about what awaits us in the new year. Kayaks have gone from skin on frame to plastic, to fiber glass, to Kevlar, to carbon, to roto mold, to racers, to skates and there is more to soon come off the production line.

Paddles have gone from wood, to fiber glass, to carbon to wing, to adjustable, to costs beyond one's imagination. Progress, more or less.

ACA and BCU are still two separate entities with petty differences and each with hard fast dictums of little use when the hull hits the waves. One can still paddle in shorts and shirt or invest a life time of savings in all sorts of goodies.

At the end of the day, getting out on the water, be it lake, pond or rapids is still what it is all about. The new boats are neat, and I still like rolling around in a skin on frame using a Greenland style stick...both designs being thousands of years old.

Aside from kayaking, we end the year still at war (this is a given in modern civilization...but I digress), political ideologs on both sides are name-calling, natural disasters still conquer modern cities and taxes (stated and hidden, alike) take a chuck of my change.

As usual, network TV is banal, music is louder, lyrics are offensive and some fashions are inexplicable.

Still, I continue to enjoy wonderful friendships, connection to family and service to others. Those are the things I can control. They also happen to be the things most important to me. I need no more and only ask (for myself) the wisdom to do good stuff. I leave the rest for you to fix...if you care to.

Paddle safe...
DS

You know you're old when...

...you find references to yourself in a museum, like the one above at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. My daughter and her husband brought me here for a visit, and I found what I expected to find, but I didn't expect to feel the way I did about it. I looked for, and easily found, the 2-seater Wild Weasel version of the F-105 in which I flew in SE Asia in 1967-68.But then I began finding the flight suits I wore and the patches, one (the squadron bulldog patch of the 354th) and the 100-mission patches, the pursuit of which got some of my guys killed and some a room in the Hanoi Hilton.

I was, suddenly, remembering the war. Then, it got strangely real for me. There was Chris Martin, the Chaplain with whom I'd served. And...oh heavens...Sparkie, who flew with our sister squadron, the 355th. I knew these men. I lived with these men. I experienced war with these men. (Sparkie made Colonel eventually, and you can see him on the Discovery Military channel if you catch their episode of Wild Weasels. It shows combat footage of my guys along with an overdue, tell-it-like-it-was version of how the then President and McNamara got us killed for nothing...and that digression felt good).

All around us, through 3 massive hangers, we found everything from the Wright Brothers' plane to missiles. All around me I saw the magnificence we've achieved in the art of air war. And, I looked at the enormous price tags on each plane knowing it represented the cheapest cost we paid.

Peach on earth...what do you say?

Paddle safe...

DS

I haven't seen everything...yet

(but I just got a whole lot closer)

Among our fondest mythologies and stories, is the coming of St.Nicholas. This time of year, children around the world await his arrival for he brings good cheer and gifts. Over the years, and depending on time and culture, Santa's method of getting his bag of goodies from the sleigh to under the Christmas tree has evolved. In our culture, today, it is well documented by double blind studies (funded by the toy industry....but I digress) that the jolly fellow comes down the chimney. Never mind the huge number of homes without fire places. This is his story, and he is sticking with it...up until now.
A Silbs Blog Exclusive: I made this less-than-sharp photo journalistic coup last night in down town Cincinnati. I stood out in the windy and cold weather so that my readers would be first to see and know of the quantum change in an old story. As you can see from the photo: SANTA REPELS DOWN THE SIDES OF BUILDINGS ALONG WITH HIS ELVES! And, lest you think that this is a photoshop event, here is a picture showing the entire gestalt:

Need more proof? Want to talk to someone who was there, even part of it? Then, talk to this guy, Scott, who worked one of the spotlights that illuminated this coming of Santa. And, in case you think you can't believe him (either), think again. The man is my son in law.

For those of you who still refuse to believe: Kentucky is just across the river where there is no shortage of coal for your stocking.

Peace.

Paddle safe...

DS

Where is this , anyway?As the miles slipped by between Milwaukee and Ohio, I noticed again how the interstate system looks the same where ever I go. In fact, I notice how the cities and villages, too, have lost the uniqueness of their areas. It once was that you could tell where you were by the look of the homes and the landscapes around them. Then, as we cemented over more and more of the country and cities grew larger and larger, the big boys with their big box stores multiplied like bunnies and erased any local characteristics left. Something important, to me, was lost.

So it doesn't matter where this book store is (it is in Ohio). It looks like every other one of its kind across the country. Even the books inside are 99% the same in every store. After a while, one has to wonder if it makes any difference where they themselves are.

Well, that does make a difference to me. This is where my older daughter and her husband live. This is where my grandchild is germinating. This is where they are buying a home. This place, therefore, is important to me. It is different than any other place on earth to me. So, in keeping with that thinking, I had to find something else unique here, something that said, "You are here, not in Milwaukee, but here...and no where else." So I found such a place.The beer was cold and the sandwhiches delicious.

Paddle safe...
DS

No Blog

I am tavelling and am now in Ohio. After I settle in, I will try to get my own laptop on line and get something out. Meanwhile...

Paddle safe...
DS

What a difference a day makes

with thanks to GaryLearning, at least skill learning for me, comes step-wise rather than gradually. I will work on a skill by visualizing it, doing it slowly and practicing it over and over. I often am frustrated when it doesn't work. Then, one day, it comes together and seems easy and obvious.

The day before yesterday, I was at Gary Simon's house discussing (as we usually do) the forward stroke. When I began kayaking I was told (and I tell my students...but I digress) that one learns the forward stroke in one day and then spends forever perfecting it. There is no greater devotee to the study of the forward stroke that I know than Gary. In any event, he was excited about having reached one of his Holy-Grail-steps by burying the blade quicly enough to meet his standards. He described what he was doing, showed me one of his DVDs (The Kayak Forward Stroke from epickayaks.com) and took me to his work out room in the basement where he has a Concept II rowing machine with the kayak paddling adaptor.

The next day (yesterday), I went onto Lake Michigan and (having reviewed the dvd at home) applied, one by one, the points I deemed essential to improving my stroke. That was when it came together and the magic happened. I began with being sure my arm was straight before planting the blade. I shortened my stroke and did not let my pulling arm bend past 90 degrees. I made sure that the top arm remained bent until it was time to lift the blade out. My body rotation, as always, was excellent. My little Romany took off and would not slow down. Even when I went to a relaxed cadence with a lower angle suitable for touring, the boat stayed at hull speed. For the first time I really felt myself pulling the boat through the water. Best of all, I felt, for the first time since starting kayaking, that I was in the same aerobic groove I knew as a long distance runner. Joy.

My next goal is to paddle in Carnigie Hall, so I must practice, practice, practice.

Paddle safe...

DS

All in the Family

(with apologies to the t.v. show)

There is something unique and a lot the same about the dogs we make part of our famalies. They all do a good job of seeming to be glad to see us when we've been away for a while. We must remember, of course, that these loyal pals don't have apposable thumbs and cannot work the can opener. But, aside from their dependence on us, they have been bred over the decades to be our unquestioning friends.

They all (for the most part) get excited when someone comes to the door. They all use a fore paw to encourage us to scratch them, especially if we try to stop. But, what is more interesting, at least to me, is how they differ in their personalities. Some of this is apparently breed-specific and some is just a reflection of their personalities.


Sir Ansel, who dwells in the house of Silbs, is a gentle and passive soul. He scares the hell out of people when he barks with enthusiasm at their appearance at our door. What they don't realize is that this over sized baby is agog that someone has come to see him...perchance to play. In spite of being 8 years old, he still likes to burrow into the snow and stay put. When the occaission arises, however, he can run like the wind.

A bit stubborn, he is the love slave of my daughter, Tammy, whose commands he follows without hesitation. Another of his behaviors is that he "purrs" when hugged and stroked. At least he vocalizes sounds that convey the idea of feeling loved and content. Then, there is his cousin (Tammy's dog...actually, one of her dogs...but I digress), Simon.

A pure-bread bull dog, he can only be described as a rascal. When he and his step brother, Milo, are here, a playful brawl usually ensues. Ansel and Milo (who will require an entire post to describe) get into it while Simon climbs onto a foot stool. When the action is just right, Simon will leap into the fray only to be tossed out and sent tumbling as he tries to get his stubby legs beneath himself. Then, it is back onto the stool for another jumb. It is a scene right of The Road Runner. You cannot lose hm in the house since his breathing and slobbering is audible for miles.

A few months back, we thought we might lose him. He was constantly vomitting and wasn't keeping food down. X rays and other tests (that aren't free) were all negative. Afraid to leave him alone, Tammy left him with us one day when she had to go to work. Sure enough, he soon started gagging and trying to vomit. Lady Linda watched (which is unusual considering her gag reflex) and noticed something just at the tip of Simon's tongue. With great courage, she grabbed it and extracted an intact thong. Instant cure. He is now, of course, in therapy.

Here's to man's, woman's and child's best friends

Paddle safe...

DS

Eye of the beholder

Graffiti, an art form that is under appreciated and disrepectful of property...all at the same time. A product of folks called taggers, these works often demonstrate unique and bold techniques. Some, I am told, have underying messages, sometimes relating to gang activity. Still, with their bold colors and imaginative executions, I find many of these works better than the crap in our otherwise spectacular Milwaukee Art Center (someone there needs to say, "The Emporor has no clothes."...but I digress).

Some of these artists have actually had "legit" shows in which they have been able to demonstrate their talents. Others, unfortunately, just mess up other people's property.

Still, nature and the law of physics has, in my experience, often surpased these man-made works. Working slowly, and always within the laws of the Universe, these forces have often combined erosion, seepage and other suptle, slow-moving, forces to produce art that (like the taggers') is better than some of the stuff on the canvasas hung by the "experts".

Paddle safe...

DS

Work Ethic

I grew up in a home in which my Dad had usually left for work before I awoke. Until I was old enough to help him (he was self-employed...but I digress), I didn't see him until just about supper time when I would hear his truck pulling into the garage. Sunshine or snow, well and ill, he never missed a day of work.

I must have learned a lesson by example because I, too, have worked my entire adult life (until retirement...another digression). I have worked picking up trash in parks, checking feet at a swimming pool, being a medic for the late shift at a factory, running ice cream carts in the summer...and so on. I worked part time all through college. On weekends, I made some bread with my quartet playing for weddings and sweet sixteen parties. I was able to pay for medical school by being a house fellow. After graduation came the military, then residency, then practice and a life of day, night, weekend and holiday work.

Each of my daughters, when they approached their teens, went out and got part time jobs. We never told them to do so or even suggested it. They did it on their own and were justifiably proud when they got a pay check. Anyway, I thought of this this morning when I went to take my youngest to work (she is without a car temporarily...but I digress for a record third time). I had to be up by 4 am to get her at 5 and to work by 5:30. As it turned out, she had been up most of the night with a hacking cough. In spite of that, and the fact she is prone to asthma, she was ready on time and showed up.

Showing up, that's the thing. Neither sleet nor hacking cough, those of us with a work ethic show up when we are expected to, and others come to rely on us. That is one small way in which we become valuable to this world. And, I guess, we learn it from out fathers/mothers. We learn it not as one learns from a classroom lecture but, rather, we learn it by seeing it modeled for us. We learn it by example. I will not belabor the obvious question as to how a child brought up in a home in which there is not a working parent learns the importance and value of work? Perhaps I will ponder that later today as I...

Paddle safe...

DS

BS...Squared, and The Liquid Gym

Here, in the local area, is a kayak club called The Badgerland State Boating Society or BSBS or BS Squared. Consisting of mostly white water devotees, many of us sea kayakers belong, and we do so for one common reason: the pool sessions.

Around here, winter sea kayaking is mostly done in freezing waters with all sorts of sub-comfy air temps. How, then, can one resist the opportunity to practice rolling, braces and rescues in warm waters that are crystal clear?...especially in the one place to paddle where you finish up smelling better than when you went in. Pure joy. Yet, there is, for me, another big plus to using this indoor gym.

Ever since loosing most of my left quadricept muscle on the left and having to give up long distance running, I have struggled to find an aerobic arena in which to excercise. I am, just now, delving into aerobic paddling with the help of Gary Simon, our local racing/excercise/ paddling guru. Still, steady paddling does not seem to achieve the heart rates desired for fitness training. Besides, what about strenght exercises? Well, everybody into the pool.

After two hours of constantly rolling, sculling and rescuing, I was feeling aches in places where I had forgotten muscles resided. They were those "pleasant" aches that tell me I had had a good workout and should take Vitamin I (i.e. Ibufuran/Advil) first chance I had. I did, then slept a solid 8.5 hours and actually felt only mildly (and pleasantly) stiff this morning. More pure joy.

I am seeing more and more of my old friends' names in the paper lately, mostly on the obituary page. I am, therefore, grateful for the mild aches that, if nothing else, let me know (and feel) alive.

And, I didn't (until now) digress once.

Whether on the lake or in a pool...
Paddle safe...
DS

A Man

I never knew his name. My entire "contact" with him was, maybe, 30 seconds. Then, I moved on.

It was during a trip to Israel, and we were in Jerusalem near the Arab quater. I had my old (and first...but I digress) digital camera and was no yet fluent in its use. As we walked along, I saw this man up ahead. He was sitting there and, as you can see, eating some bread. His face wreaked of character, and I knew I wanted to photograph him. But should I?

I didn't know if he was an Israeli, a Palestinian or an Arab-Israeli. I didn't know if he was rich or poor or whether or not he would take offense if I pointed a camera at him. I kept approaching until there came the moment when I was in front of him. It was now or miss the picture. He was still looking down at his food. I brought up the camera, happy that he did not seem to notice me. I could grab the shot and be off walking in seconds.

The old Minolta was not a SLR, and it didn't focus as fast as today's digitals so, it took a second or two until everything was clear in the view finder. At that very instant, as I was about to take his picture, the man looked straight into my lens. I froze and did not breathe.

His expression was inscrutable. Was he angry? Did I see a hint of amusement? I didn't know. Everything in me screamed put down the camera and get moving. But I couldn't. I was held captive by that face. I was nearlly half way around the world from home, and this moment would never occur again. I pressed the shutter release, and continued to hold my breathe. What would he do?

He continued to stare for a few seconds, then looked back down at his bread and went on eating. The non-event, for him, seemed to be over. I exhaled, turned quickly and walked off with the knowledge that I had captured one of those once-in-a-lifetime shots.

Paddle safe...

DS

Lame Lunacy

There are so many of them, and you hear them so often. I speak, of course, of referrences to the little natural sattelite that reflects the sun, stabilizes our earth on its axis, causes the tides and is the source of blue cheese.

There is, of course, lunacy, a misconstrued concept that exposure to a full moon produces crazy phenomena down here (statistics do not bear this out, but I digress). And there has to be a kazillion songs about this little piece of stellar real estate. I bet I've been in bands playing Moonlight Seranade a million times (exaggeration for emphasis, but I digress again). I also bet that some of you have initiated intimate acts while under the spell of the glow of a full moon.

The lexicon goes on and on about this little orb. One can moon another, although the source of this expression has never been clear to me. The moon, after all, does not have a visible canyon designating a vertical equator running from pole to pole.

The brightness of the moon is the same as earth during bright sunlight. In fact, to photograh it, one must use the same settings as taking a picture in bright sunlight.

Just at moonrise, on the night of a fool moon, the thing appears huge as it peeks above the horizon, an optical illusion that provides for a magnificent backround for paddling.

Still, at the end of the day, the first prize goes to Robin Williams who, in a shakesperian voice once proclaimed, " The moon, like a testicle, hangs low in the sky."

Paddle safe...

DS

Check it outUp early with a fun day ahead of me. Before having lunch with the folks from the office in which I used to practice, I am meeting my old partner at the Heart Hospital for a stress test. It is just a check to be sure I don't have silent ischemia.

At the risk of turning this into a medical advise column, let me tell you that as high as 40% of people with significant coronary blockage do not feel angina when their hearts are not getting adequate blood. This is especially true for diabetics (who are like everyone else, only more so...but I digress). As a diagnostic tool, the stress test is otherwise pretty useless (unless you are at risk) since the degree of blockage in a coronary artery is no predictor for getting a heart attack.

As it turns out, it is the quality of the blockage, that is, how likely it is to rupture, cause a clot and bring on a heart attack that determines when youwill grasp your chest and slam your face into the floor. Evaluation and treatment of this gets into cholesterol fractions and particle sizes, an area in which I enjoyed great preventative success. Now to the point.

Although this knowledge is fairlly well worked out and has been around for awhile, it is sorely under utilized...even by many cardiologists. You see, during those "successful" years in preventive cardiology, I made about $0.00 since I spent too much time with patients and never got paid enough to cover overhead. So, we continue to spend tens of thousands of dollars on angioplasties and bypasses (and say we saved a life), putting out fires that could have been prevented.

(Going on a rant...a service of this blog...and you never know what it will be about)

Paddle safe...
DS

Check it out

What's going on here?

The woman in this picture:

a, Just learned of the death of a family member

b, Just won the lottery

c, Just left the confessional and feels the joy of relief

d, Just learned that the girl she is hugging is engaged

e, Is a model hired for this photo shoot

f, a and d

g, b and c

i, I don't know

j, I don't care

I recall one year at the Wisconsin State Fair when I saw a guy selling books. I picked up one entitled, Everything I've learned about women. The author was Albert Einstein, and every page in the book was blank. Am I seeing some nods out there?

I used to understand women, but after 30 years of marriage and living with two daughters, I'm not so sure. In any event, this theme (which I've addressed before...but I digress) popped into my mind as I woke this morning. I'd slept in (to 7 AM) and, when I looked out the window, was greeted by what looked like a 4 AM blahish scene. Still, it is warm (40 F.), and I will paddle later today.

The point of all this? None, absolutely none; and, if that makes you angry or uncomfortable, I invite you to look at that little character flaw. Hey, maybe you know as much about men as you do about women....your welcome.

(d is the correct answer, i and j are acceptable answers, as well)

Paddle safe...

DS