fruzicle | Entries tagged with swim

Previously: Janie and Alex have a magic feather which transports a person anywhere in the world. They had a plan to visit Guinea, but unfortunately, the feather was unable to move both of them so it dropped them off in Antarctica on their way to Africa. Alex proceeds on to Guinea, leaving Janie behind in Antarctica. He's off to get a second feather. By the time Alex returns, Janie has taken a turn for the worse.

Links to all previous episodes follow the entry. Episode 2 describes Alex's acquisition of the feather.

oooOOOOOooo

“I hope I’m not too late! I hope I’m not too…late. Oh…no!”

I died a little bit inside when I spotted the lump that I presumed was my sister Janie curled up on the ice in Antarctica. It was a painfully brilliant sunny day, but the cold was relentlessly penetrating; the frigid wind was trying to rip my clothes off.

It had to be Janie. First of all, I had left her with my jacket when I had to leave to get back to Guinea, in Africa. I would recognize that red jacket anywhere. Secondly, she had assured me, that when you travelled with the magic feather, it always returned you to exactly the same place and time you had left. But had it?

I rushed over and took her very blue face in my hands. I put both of my hands on her cheeks hoping to warm them up, then gave her a little slap to wake her up.

Nothing.

“Janie, Janie, it’s me, Alex. I’m here to take us back home!” My stomach seemed to lift into my throat as I tried to get some sign of life out of her lifeless body. I raised my voice and yelled. “Wake up! I’m back!”

Nothing.

Well, this was no good. Obviously, I thought, I have to get her back to someplace warm. Guinea was warm but if I took her back to Australia, we could access first world medical attention if we needed to. If, instead, we headed for Janie’s home in California, we would need piles of money if the hospital became necessary. Australia it was.

Hoping to engage her mind if possible, I began a running commentary. Could she hear me?

“Janie, I got another feather from the witch doctor, Mama Owusu Mkanni. Boy, that was quite an adventure. Maybe that’s why I was a little bit late.”

I pulled out my new feather, as well as the old one, and wrapped her fingers around both while also gripping them in my cold hand at the same time. Janie was completely unresponsive. I sure hoped this was going to work. I lay down next to her and wrapped my left arm around her and hung on for dear life. Then I said what I hoped were the magic words, “Home in Australia.” If it worked like the old one, we should be transported instantly to the location we were thinking about.

I knew it seemed to have worked as soon as I realized I was inhaling warm air. I looked up and saw that we were on my front porch in Australia. I didn’t want to overstep the endurance of the feather, but to save the ten minutes it would take to have to lug her around to the back porch and then in to a bed, I simply said, “Janie’s bed.” Poof. We were inside and both lying on Janie’s bed. Janie was still not moving so I removed her shoes, as well as my own, and covered the two of us up with a comforter.

“Unnhh,” Janie moaned. A groan never sounded so wonderful!

“Janie, let me tell you more of the story. I would really have enjoyed my return to Guinea to visit the witch doctor for the new feather except for worrying about getting back to you. You were right, my little friend Mamadou de Baro was still only about five years old. He wanted to come with me to visit the witch doctor, though it made him a little nervous, too, since he had been in such pain before. His dad Baro once again took us over on his dirt bike, though this time without the horn blaring. Of course, this time, I was still in a hurry, thinking about you left behind on the ice.

“Mama Owusu Mkanni was very skeptical about giving this foreigner another feather but I bribed her with the Neosporin that we had brought, telling her it was strong magic that would cure many kinds of wounds.

“So, we went through all the same steps we had done when she was treating Mamadou the first time. I let Baro catch a chicken again while I dug the hole. Fortunately, she had another magnificent rooster that she was happy to part with—after all, he wasn’t laying any eggs and he kept fighting with another rival. Besides, I had given her the Neosporin magic.

“Mamadou watched everything but covered his eyes when it came time to slice the bird and let its guts spill into the hole. He didn’t have to drink the potion this time, but I did. Believe me, it tasted just as sketchy this time as last.

“This time she gave me several of the bird’s tailfeathers. She gave me quite a lecture in Pular, their native language, about respecting the feathers. Baro did his best to translate, but it was hard for him to keep up with her emotional torrent of words.”

Janie moaned again. I was even more thrilled when she twitched a leg. I was starting to be aware of the sound of her breathing. Had she been holding her breath all the time up until now? I hoped she was merely in a state of suspended animation like frogs do when they’re buried in ice cold mud.

I figured it was no time for me to relax my efforts, so I continued. “You know, Janie, every time I go to Guinea, I am so impressed with how rich their lives are in spite of having very little of what we consider essential. Forget microwaves, they are very happy to cook over fires made with dung and to wear the same clothes day after day. Laundry day means a trip to the river to beat the clothes with branches. Here in Australia, as well as back home in California, we make mountains of trash every week, there, leftover food, when there is any, gets fed to the chickens. Food doesn’t arrive from a store wrapped in plastic, it is produced from their own farmyards. Any piece of tin can left over from the store gets repurposed into some toy, or, more likely, some mechanism that can help make their lives better. Baro had even created a pot for boiling tea as well as the stove for heating it up. All with several old tin cans. They are so resourceful. I would say we, in contrast, are excessively wasteful.

“Just think about the traditional tribes of American Indians or Australian Aborigines. Everything was made out of stone or sticks or leather. Anything that wore out was simply allowed to return to nature. We could learn a lot about living simpler lives.”

Hark! Janie’s eyes fluttered for a moment. I was actually starting to feel overly warm under all these covers. “Janie, I’m going to make you some soup. Does that sound good?”

“Mmmm,” she moaned.

Of course, the bed bounced some as I rolled out of it. I glanced back to check on my patient as I left the room. Was that a bit of a smile crossing her face?

I got to work on the soup as quickly as I could. I found a can in the cupboard and dashed back to peer in the bedroom. I pulled a pot out from under the counter and practically hit my head scurrying over to check on her. Fortunately, her bedroom opened directly onto the kitchen so it was about as close as it could be. While the soup warmed on the stove, I stepped back in and gave her a gentle tapping on the face. It was feeling warm!

I returned to the kitchen to decant the soup into a bowl, then fetched a big spoon. When I came back into Janie’s room, what did I see but two barely opened eyes squinting at me! Hallelujah!

“Yousa Indins?” she muttered.

“Did I see Indians?” I repeated back to her. “No, I was just saying how the way the Africans live reminded me about the lifestyle of the Indians. Certainly they make do without many of the trappings of modern life.”

“Sticks an’ ledder?” she mumbled.

“Oh, sticks and leather? I was commenting on how all their supplies for living were completely natural and did not fill up landfills when they were done with them.” I could hardly keep the excitement out of my voice. Not only was Janie alive, but we were having a discussion! “Here, let’s get you some soup,” I suggested.

I propped her up with pillows and stuffed a towel under her chin. Then I began to ladle soup carefully into her mouth. You know how being cold can make you hungry? She slurped down the entire contents of the pot!

“Ahh,” she sighed. Her eyes were brighter now. “I guess you got the feather?”

“Yeah, otherwise we’d BOTH be popsicles right now!” I handed her the new feather and we both admired how this one was somehow both red and blue at the same time. I hadn’t really paid attention before.

“Interesting,” Janie said.

“What?” I responded.

“With their simpler life, they still manage to create magic that is beyond that of the western world,” she replied.

“True,” I replied. Her comment gave me something to think about. ”Of course, we have Neosporin and they don’t.”

“But Mama Owusu cures lots of things with her potions,” answered Janie.

“Well, some of the time,” I responded. “Neosporin certainly works better.”

“But Neosporin and other modern medicines require plastic tubes and years of scientific development.” Janie crossed her arms over her chest. “And don’t forget about antibiotic resistant bacteria. The modern world can’t cure everything.”

“That’s why scientists are still doing constant research.” I replied.

“I’m sure Mama Owusu’s potion reflects centuries of trial and error. That’s not that different from scientific experimentation.” Janie was holding her ground.

I was warming up to what she was saying. “And though they don’t keep notes in lab books, they pass the knowledge down from elder to younger. How else do they know which plants to eat and which to cure a headache?”

Janie sat up. “I’ve decided on my next adventure,” she announced.

“Oh? Ready to travel again already?” I raised my eyebrows. “After what you just went through?”

“Yeah. I want to visit with Mama Owusu and learn her trade.”

“That might work best if you stayed in Guinea.” I was all for the idea but I didn’t really see it having relevance in the First World.

“You were saying yourself how life could be better if we adopted some of the ways of the more traditional people." Janie retorted.

"So maybe a blend of old and new." I realized I was going to have to talk Janie down from her latest pipe dream.

"You're right," Janie agreed. "Maybe I'll go to medical school, too." She had a far away look in her eyes."I guess I better get back to that bio homework I was avoiding."

She continued, "But I sure don't know how Mama Owusu created this magic feather."

"That's a conundrum for sure," I agreed. "I don't know how that could be recreated in a lab."

"But there is one thing," Janie continued.

"What?" I was all ears.

"It's biodegradable!"

"So it is." I nodded. "But let's hope it doesn't bio-degrade for a looong time."

"No," Janie added, "I have a lot of places I want to go first. Do you suppose there's somewhere I could chat with some Aborigines? Who knows what magic they have?"

"Well, we'll have to check that out!" I smiled. It was nice to have her back again.

oooOOoOOooo

For Roger:
Please make sure you check

nibot_lab for a discussion about focusing a beam of light or laser light.

Re: My students' comments about fertilizing chicken eggs.
It strikes me at this point that part of their confusion about fertilization arises because they are thinking in terms of the way plants are fertilized by farmers, ie, in powder or spray form from above. I'll have to keep that in mind in the future.

Re: Eric's status in his academy class.
I must make it clear that the points earned in class were a lot like the Olympics; class standing was frequently determined by the difference of hundredths of points. I did not put in Eric's actual score. It came down to something like 92.78 (the decimal places being unknown to me) but those decimal places were the all important deciding factor.

NEW NEWS

Yesterday we indulged in two activities which classify us as taking a "staycation;" that is, having fun while not really going anywhere.

First off we went to Lake Mission Viejo, which is a medium sized man-made lake. It is kept pristine by many regulations limiting swimming and fuel use. We avoid it to some extent because it seems more appropriate to the enjoyment by toddlers. However, it does offer kayaking for $3 per hour, a price which is undeniably basically free. So for the second time in as many weeks, we paddled around the lake.

Somehow the breeze at the lake is always fresh. The water is, as I said, pristine. And there are big leafy sycamore trees providing perfect shade over lush green lawns, neither of which we have at home. Before kayaking we swam in the lake. Four year old Marcus found the 90 degree water to be ideal for his swimming skills, what with ample shallow areas just right for his walking around chest deep and lots of adults to swim to. He really is a very proficient swimmer. I love hearing his mom Stacie say, "Marcus, use your arms. Use your legs. And don't forget to rotate." That's how a highly trained competitive swimmer coaches their four-year-old! I also swam and probably cared more about the warm water than Marcus did, having matured into a regular cold-water wimp.

To cap off our day of frivolity, we went down to San Clemente Pier for a 10 pm swim. This was in preparation for a planned September relay swim from Catalina to Palos Verdes (on the Mainland, a swim of about 21 miles.) O has been the spearhead leader of this latest boondoggle. It is recommended to be swum at night because the afternoon winds across the Catalina channel can whip up intimidating seas. (For a reminder, see my previous post about the day the ferry was canceled.) Nighttime seas are regularly far calmer.

In spite of the long anticipated night swim, it was apparent from the snippy responses from certain unnamed participants that a certain amount of anxiety was present. However, O and I seem to be friends this morning. Stacie came along as well; she will be part of the relay team. It was she who thought pinning on five different colors of glow stick made for a more festive occasion. Indeed it did.

I saw them off from the sand. They were clearly visible several hundred yards offshore. You could just make out a bright spot of neon pink and green glowing as it progressed through the glassy blackness of the ocean. Though there was no moon, the swimmers were easily able to keep the lamps of the pier in sight. I hustled up to the pier and hurriedly followed along the length towards the end.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not), the vitriol of the observers on the pier was impressive. I heard many different synonyms for Idiot and Retard. And more repetitions of the F word than I have heard in a while. I actually kept my status as a member on the support crew under wraps--literally. I was wearing a glow stick on a cord around my neck and kept it hidden under a towel. Some supporter I turned out to be! I must also mention, however, that two different groups of women were impressed and wished them luck.

It was a good training run. The pier was surprisingly well populated in spite of the hour and extremely well lit. Even so, the experience of paddling through inky black, shiny water was enough to give the spooks to the participants as well as their pier side observers (not me, however.) However, they quickly got over their heeby jeebies after about 7 minutes and finished the swim with elation. It only took them twenty minutes and, when finished, were on the verge of giving it another go. The relay itself will require a swim of one hour, so next time they should try to duplicate that condition. After the successful adventure, we scooted back to the house for celebratory tea and chocolate pie.

!

We woke up this morning to bright sunny, clear skies and mild, warm temperatures. We eat breakfast, bagels and grav laks. We finish breakfast. It is suddenly announced, "How'd you like to take me swimming?"
Me: "Oh well, sure."

We drive down to the coast. Huge gray, billowing, cumulous clouds are massing. We drive out to Doheny Beach. We step on the sand. Brisk winds buffet our faces.
"Nutcase." I murmur. The sea is a glacial gray-green. Chop speckles the surface. I put on a second sweat shirt.
"Nutcase," I murmur, as he strips down to his psychedelic orange and blue speedo.
He pulls on his body-tight wetsuit and wiggles to pull it on, like a lady with her pantyhose.
"Nutcase," I repeat under my breath.
He greases his body with special anti-chafe lubricant, then pulls up the wetsuit. I zip up the back. "nutcase."
He finally hears me... "ha ha hmmmph..."
We stroll out across the sand to the surf. I pull the hood of my first sweatshirt over my head, just in case one of the hundreds of sea gulls cruising overhead is a good aim.

The surf is low. The seas alternate between gray green and steely blue, checkered by cloud shadows. The occasional white cap punctuates the expanse of windswept water. He points to the right, across a mile of open water to the distant breakwater that guards the entrance to the Dana Point Harbor. The harbor is formed by two jetties which reach out from either side like the wide arms of an embrace. He will swim to the southerly arm, then cross the opening to the end of the northerly arm.** He will then proceed northwards along the ocean side of the north jetty until he reaches the beach at the end, which happens to be right at the foot of the bluffs of Dana Point.

A catamaran swoops out of the harbor and rounds the jetty for the open sea. "I think I'll make a beeline for that point instead of hugging the coast, he says. After a kiss for good luck, he steps into the water. He shudders and waves goodbye.. I point out the sea lion pup that is body surfing 50 feet away and wonder if it is the same one we saw last week.

He swims out. I consider moving but stay put in case he is using me as a landmark as he moves offshore. Eventually I decide to get the binocculars, but once I retrieve them from the car, he has totally disappeared in the chop.

I get back in the car and drive to the harbor, then to the island in the middle so I can observe his crossing of the harbor entrance. As soon as I scan the opening, I spot him plowing across, from left to right. He has just passed the jetty on his right. He has roughly one hundred yards to cross to the point of the second jetty. With binoculars, I spy a sailboat that is about to run him down. I lower the binocculars and realize that the sailboat is actually more than two hundred yards away from him, no possibilty of contact.

He swims to the buoy that marks the center of the channel. Looking to the right and to the left, he sees nothing and begins the second half of the channel crossing.

Running parallel with the jetty behind him, a large tour boat emerges into the channel opening, then turns slightly to port to exit the harbor. The swimmer I am watching disappears from view; all I see is the stern of the boat, emblazoned by Dana Pride. It seems to slow down. I wonder what happens when a large boat mows over a swimmer.

Suddenly an electronic megaphone voice pierces the calm of the harbor.

"Get out of the water immediately. Swimming is not allowed. What you are doing is completely illegal. You are about to be run over by a 95 foot boat."

"Nutcase," I murmur. I see his arms methodically windmilling the water as he emerges on the starboard side of the boat and continues his journey across the channel. I get back in my car to go meet him at the end of his planned swim.

As usual, spectators on the shore, those who happen to notice, say things like, "What is that? A swimmer??"

Two mile swim finished, he climbs out of the surf, drunkenly swaying in the excessive gravity of dry land, grinning foolishly. "How about a coffee and crumpet?" he suggests.
"Did you hear the boat,?" I ask.
"Hear it? I saw a boat. No, I didn't hear anything."

Nutcase.
Case closed. ...until next week...

O, the illustrious swimmer in this oh-too-true-tale, swam from somewhere in the brown area of this map, to the point of the jetty on the right, across the opening, and then continued from right to left to the beach on the left side of this map.

**Though in reality, O's journey begins by swimming southwest to the eastern jetty, then crosses the entrance from north to south, then finishes by swimming roughly westward, or northwestward, by convention, we refer to anything "down"coast as being on the southern edge and anything "up"coast as being on the north. Think of the entire coast of California, and which way you'd have to walk if you were to eventually reach Canada (in the North) or Mexico, to the South.