On Constellations and Consonants

Several years ago, while Britton was earning his PhD in Aeronautical and Astronautical Engineering at Stanford, we were invited to attend the defense of his Dissertation.

The panel that was assembled to pose questions to him consisted of a group of world-renowned Professors, (some of which were Nobel candidates), Engineers, and Department Heads.  It was an impressive gathering of experienced, brilliant, and talented minds.

In addition to the panel, many of Brit's fellow doctoral candidates and graduate students were in attendance bringing the room total to roughly 40 plus people.

I sat there, in the back, and soon became fully aware that I was literally, quantitatively, and by any other method of measurement, the dumbest person in the room.

I was the statistical outlier.

I was the IQ curve buster.

More on this later...

One of my main purposes for being there however,  besides being the father of the candidate, was simple and non-academic.  It was to provide the post-meeting treats.  If there is one thing that Stanford doctoral candidates are infamous for, it is their inability to provide a decent spread!  Britton recognized this systemic flaw and, in a vain attempt to "pad" his attendance numbers, promised those who came that it would NOT be the normal "cookies and juice" after-meeting refreshments but instead to expect a delicious, and delightful, post-defense dessert.

We delivered.  Rave reviews by the geniuses were plentifully doled out for our efforts and Britton was proud to be the candidate that "raised the bar" for any future post-grad grub.

Later, during an after-party gathering at his next door neighbor and best friend's place (who by the way, has gone on to be CNN's go-to expert on the Federal Reserve) I found myself engaged in conversation with a young man who was a fellow doctoral candidate.

"What is your field of study?", I asked him.

"Cosmology.", was his short, "Sheldon like", response.

My mind began to scramble (like most do when you are engaged in conversation with people who will only provide you with one-word answers) for ways to make this interaction more interesting by feigning interest with probing and intelligent questions, so I queried,

"So, are your hopes after graduation to work for a large company?" I asked.

Then...here it comes...what I referenced above...

"...like Max Factor or Ralph Loren?" Figuring, they must need some scientists for their secret formula's.

Then, above the din of multiple conversations and from completely across the room, Britton, who saw this car crash coming, yells out...

"It's Cosmology, Dad...NOT Cosmetology!"

Dang consonant...

I AM the outlier.

Elihu was right...

Near the end of the Old Testament Book of Job we are introduced to a character named, Elihu, who, had he lived in our time, would probably be a "Millennial" if not simply for his utter lack of respect toward his "Baby Boomer" elders, Job and his three friends.

He starts off with, "I am young, and ye are very old...great men are not always wise; neither do the aged understand judgment..."  In other words, Elihu is saying, just because you're old doesn't make you smart.

I proved that theory to be true on Monday.

Margo and I, along with our friends Carl & Celia (Gen X), and Dick & Donna (fellow BBer's) decided it would be a great adventure to camp on Santa Cruz Island, which is one of the 8 Islands that comprise the Channel Islands off the coast of Ventura in Southern California.  A ferry takes you on a 1-hour plus ride and dumps you off at the dock where you take all your camping gear and hike to your campsite.  There are no amenities, no cell service, no comforts.  You are on an island with water and a port-a-potty.

Some of the attractions of this island is the great hiking trails, beautiful vistas of the Pacific Ocean, snorkeling in clear (cold) waters, and sea kayaking through some of the most awesome sea caves in California.  We brought 2 sea kayaks, wet suits, snorkeling gear, and other equipment to take advantage of this great venue.

We had a wonderful time for the first 3 days there on the island doing all the activities I described above and on Monday, our last day, we broke camp, hauled our stuff down to the pier, set up our chairs and leisurely waited for our boat to pick us up at 4:00pm.

Our "Elihu moment" came when Margo and I decided that there was plenty of time for one last kayak trip through the sea caves.

I opted not to wear a wet suit and just put on some water shoes and shorts as we headed off to the cave that we had nick-named the "Elephant Cave" because of its remarkable resemblance to an elephant's profile.

The sea was really rough from the strong winds but we battled through them and made it to the caves.  The trick to getting through this tunnel cave is to pick the time when the current is going through the cave in the same direction you are heading and to get through before the current reverses when it comes back through from the other side. There is a rock in the middle of your path and you need to stay to the left side going in and the right side if you are heading back the opposite direction.

We successfully paddled with the current through the left side and came out the other side just fine.  We then decided that we would try going back the opposite way and for some inexplicable reason, instead of going to the right side we tried to navigate to the left side of the rock which is much narrower.  Just then a large swell came from the opposite direction pitching us into the rock and then capsizing us into the turbulent waters.

There was the "Oh, crap" (although in my mind, it was a much more profane word) moment followed  by sheer terror as I bobbed back up out of the water and I could not find Margo!  Seconds passed as I scanned the water for her and I began to hyperventilate from the fear that she had been swept into the rocks or an undertow.  Finally, she emerged from under the kayak, but now we are being buffeted in a current that is part eddy and part "washing machine" as the two competing currents throw you back and forth and into the sides of the cave entrance.

Margo got back on to the kayak and when I tried to get back on the waves and currents were tossing us around so much that I capsized Margo again. She was able to get back on with me holding the kayak steady as best I could considering the churning currents.  With her on the kayak, we spent the next several minutes trying to figure out how to get out of this predicament and I kept getting slammed into the rocks with their razor sharp barnacles slicing my lower legs.  It was at this juncture that I was resigned to the fact that this was a pretty tenuous situation and the odds of a positive outcome may not be in my favor.  We thought that maybe I could swim to a rock and hang on while Margo went for help, or maybe she could tow me while I held on to the bow line, but none of our "maybes" were viable options under the current conditions.

Just then, I saw about 50 yards away a snorkeler. For them to rise their head up and even look in our direction was a miracle in itself and we waved frantically. The snorkeler cheerfully waved back! (Expletive Deleted).  After a few more minutes the snorkeler had moved a little closer to almost shouting distance, came up, and after giving a more hearty, "HELP US!" wave, finally swam over toward us.

She was an experienced diver who had such a calming and relaxing demeanor that the fear I was feeling began to disappear,  With her long fins treading she was able to stabilize the kayak long enough for me to "seal flop" onto the boat, find our oar spinning in the eddy, and paddle back to the safety of the beach and our friends who were wondering why we were taking so long.

The first thing Margo said as we were safely paddling back was, "Our kids would be soooo ticked off if we had died doing this!", we laughed as we thought about how our funerals would be full of comments like "...what were they thinking?" and "...they were too old to be doing that!".  Second guessing would be the main topic of conversation at our viewings.

We survived, however, thanks to our snorkeling savior.  One can even see this as a metaphor...of how the Savior, Jesus Christ, can, as the hymn goes, "calm my troubled heart" by preserving us physically, and, more importantly, save us spiritually as well.

Safely ashore, my legs were bleeding bright red from dozens [Editor post-script: I've counted 52] of cuts, slices, and scrapes and, after using every available band aid, Celia lent me her "cool" socks to cover the wounds.  It was an interesting look for a man, well into his 60's, with shorts and knee-high women's socks.  We rewarded our return to the mainland with a trip to In & Out Burger and I unabashedly strode into the restaurant still dressed in this fashionable attire. However, I absolutely felt no shame because I have aged to the point of eccentricity.

And, Elihu, that frickin' Millennial, was correct in my case...