Sunday, November 30, 2008

In pursuit of truth.

Many ‘educated’ individuals have been swayed to believe that there is no God and that everything can be explained away in some scientific theory. But the fact that they are referred to as theories is telling in itself. There have been many theories that as scientific study continues change. Light is an example. There is still many debates as to whether light is a particle or wave and most text books refer to it as both because it has properties of both. There are still many theories as to how the earth even came into existence.
Besides scientific ‘truths’ there is also philosophical ‘truths’ that through out time have changed as society dictates. What is an accepted truth has sometime become an exposed lie. Even religions leaders have gravely mislead the masses at times. There have been massive suicides, witch-hunts, and other disasters when people have relied too heavily on people for answers. Truth must be sought after through the spirit. Through the Holy Ghost we may know the truth of all things. This does not take away the responsibility to study and learn. Sincere prayer is a key element besides study and pondering.
It is vital that we pursue truth in order to find it. Truth is not something that we get without effort but honest effort is rewarded.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Creating Bands with Calloused Hands

We were enjoying the sights and smells of the market area in Cozumel. As we walked along the shops, the keepers would earnestly urge us to enter their place. We were hungry and looking beyond the shops to a restaurant further down. We walked quickly sparsely noticing the street vendors but one man caught my eye. I recognized at once his unique life's challenge because my son had a dear friend with a similar condition. The lower half of his body was as if an infant while the upper body develops more normally but still with complications. He gets around by either walking on his hands or in a wheel chair. He created wrist bands with these multi-tasking hands. They were rough calloused hands and strong. I stood silently looking at the bands of many colors, thinking about how he had created his own small business on this street corner. There was no roof or door, just a corner but you felt you were in his place. Instead of holding a sign begging for money he had created a nice product for sale. He had a compact display unit that unfolded he could put on his lap to wheel home at the end of the day. He had a tool box with supplies to make new bands and offered to make one with what ever lettering I wanted. I could scarcely imagine what a day would be like to be him but I wasn’t thinking about that it was my son’s friend that came to mind, Curtis. Curtis lived across the street and would spend a lot of time on the shoulders of his bothers or on his skate board, his preferred means of transportation. As an adult he too found a way to make a living. He worked in Las Vegas in a magician show where he was part of an act where they sawed a man in half and the top half would walk off on his hands. Our daughter Kendy went to the show and although she had no former knowledge recognized Curtis and visited with him backstage after the show. It was that same year that Curtis died of complications in surgery; he was barely in his twenties. The major striking similarity of both these men was their warm smiles and determination to make their own means of income.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

The Breath of Life

< April 14 2005. We descend 94 feet below the surface of the water 1/2 mile offshore the western side of Oahu, Hawaii. We faced the rusted barnacle covered bow of the Mahi, a 184 ft sunken Navy ship, sunk in 1982 as an artificial reef project. On the ocean floor lies a plaque “In remembrance of Bruce”. Bruce was a long time diver of this area who died taking his last breath from the same kind of tank we now carried on our backs. This was my twelfth logged dive, Marty’s 20th. After taking a shot of the plaque with his new Nikonus underwater camera, Marty took a photo of an eel hidden in a rock nearby. It was already time to ascend to the top of the ship.
It is always difficult to stay down at that depth for long. Air is condensed; there is a lot of pressure down there. It's the weight of all the water--and air--above you. At the surface of the water, a column of air stretches hundreds of miles out into space. When underwater, however, add the weight of the water to the atmospheric pressure. A 10-meter (33-foot) column of water weighs 14.7 pounds per square inch, so at a depth of 10 meters, the pressure is two atmospheres: half from the water and half from the air above it. Pressure also influences how divers use air. At ten meters, for example, the increased pressure means your lungs hold twice as much air as they do at the surface--and a diver breathes the air in the tank twice as fast. The deeper we dive, the more quickly we use up the air in our tanks. At 30 ft Marty took more photos and went to change to his brand new wide angle lens. It was missing he conveyed to me in a sort of make shift sign language mixed with frustration and panic. I followed him as he again descended to the ocean floor and we both looked around for the lens. Then I looked at his air. It was getting in the red zone already and we still had to ascend and make our decompression stop. After informing the others we were going up we went to the rope and started our ascent. Marty had to reach for my extra regulator and share my air. My air supply was in the red now also. He held me back as he timed our 3 minute stop at 15 feet down. The longer we stayed down and the deeper we went, the more nitrogen dissolved into the body tissues. If we ascend too rapidly, the dissolved nitrogen comes out of solution too quickly and forms bubbles in the tissues. We would get “the bends”: severe pain (particularly in joints), dizziness, blindness, paralysis, and convulsions. I looked at Marty and thought: “So this is how we die”. He let go and I sucked in a few last breaths kicking hard for the top letting my air out as slow as I dare. We made it to the surface, safe with both tanks empty and no bends. I breathed in the unchambered, free air we take for granted daily with a sigh of relief.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

“If at first you don’t succeed, don’t try skydiving”

The wind gusted past the open door of the plane so loudly it was deafening. I climbed out of the plane by grabbing firmly to the strut as my feet groped for the wheel. Hanging on tightly I lifted my feet. My legs whipped out behind me in the wind stream. I let go and made a terrific, aggressive arch. I felt resistance from my chute but not a jerk as expected. Instinct took over as I reach up for something to hold on to, my toggles. Gripping firmly I pulled down both handles.
Over the one-way radio in my ear came a command, “Yellow chute, turn left”. This meant pulling my right toggle down hard and raising my left. Shortly after came more instruction, “Green chute turn left 90°.” A realization hit me, I don’t know what color chute I am. I was forgetting all I’d learned earlier.
That morning during the five hours of ground school I had formulated a mental list of all the life-saving highlights:
1) Climb out of the plane onto the wheel, holding the strut. This I had remembered.
2) Look at the Jumpmaster for sign to let go. This I forgot.
3) Let go and arch back immediately because the chute is attached to the plane by the static-line, which opens the chute automatically. Thank goodness or I could’ve forgot to open my parachute and you wouldn’t be reading this.
4) Look up to make sure chute is fully inflated and clear of tangles. I forgot
5) Pull down the toggles (strings with handles hanging down from the chute) to fully inflate cells. Instinct took over and I did it anyway.
6) If they did not inflate properly or the lines were tangled then pull the release cord and pull the handle for the emergency chute.
When we had come to the emergency chute information I became concerned and had raised my hand. The gruff Jumpmaster looked at me with frustration because I had been asking questions all morning. ‘The Jumpmaster’ was the title she deemed herself. She was obviously proud of the fact that she worked in a predominately male profession. She was tan and muscular but short. Her hair was short too, brown and curly. Her voice was dramatically sharp like a Chihuahua trying to sound tough.
“Have you ever had to use your emergency chute?” I asked thinking how different the two of us were. I professed my femininity with my pink flowered shirt and barrette holding my long blond hair. I was pale from being indoors mothering my four young children. I was taller with softer curves. My dimpled cheeks and gentle smile prevented me from ever looking ‘tough.’ The Jumpmaster looked to be in her twenties, me in my thirties. I was sure I looked like just a cookie-baker to her and I could tell she didn’t have a clue why I was there.
“Just once,” she answered with a look of painful remorse, “It broke my leg. You see the emergency chute is not the same as your main chute. It is smaller, with less drag. You come down hard and fast. If you’re lucky you’ll only break some bones but hopefully you’ll be alive.”
After ground school we ate lunch and I was hoping it wouldn’t be our last. Then we signed a waiver stating that if we died, our relatives wouldn’t sue but would pay for damages to the equipment!
As we approached the plane, I overheard a man tell the pilot to reach the 3500-feet jumping point quickly because the wind was really picking up. Looking across the dirt runway, I saw that the air socks were whipping frantically. I wanted to say, ”OK, maybe it’s not a good day to die,” but somewhere inside me I really wanted to do this. The plane was small with only one seat for the pilot. It was old and I was glad I had on a chute. Awkwardly I maneuver my bulky equipment to squat in the back next to the other two novice jumpers. I noticed the distinct scent of nervous perspiration.
Watching the altimeter strapped to my chest, I knew when we reached the 3500 feet mark. The first guy got in position by the door. As the door opened our ears filled with the sound of the rushing wind. As he let go of the strut we heard a loud thud. Panic ensued as we rushed to the tiny window but couldn’t see him. “It’s only the hook of the static-line,” the Jumpmaster yelled with a look of amusement at our obvious terror. At this point everything was going through my head, five hours of everything: arch back, pull release strap—NO! Don’t pull release strap, will break leg.
The Jumpmaster motioned me forward. She eyed me over in a worried sort of way. I’m sure she thought I didn’t have the stuff to do this. Then, female to female, she coached sternly in my ear, “I want you to be aggressive.” She’d warned us that she hated chickens at the last minute and threatened, “Don’t do it ‘cause I’ll throw you out anyway and deny it in court.” She didn’t know me at all.
My husband knew me and that’s why he gave me this experience for my birthday. He knew I’d cliff dived, scuba dived, surfed, rode motorcycles, climbed mountains, loved roller coasters, and ached for new adventures. The Jumpmaster and I weren’t so different inside—we both had a yearning to participate in life not be a spectator. We were both driven to experience sensations and thrills.
I gave her a wink and, appearing confident, climbed out of the plane.
After going through my list and realizing I was lucky to be alive, I looked up at my parachute. It was green and perfectly inflated.
Glancing down at my altimeter I saw it read 4000 ft! How could that be? I was supposed to be going down. For five hours we had discussed and rehearsed every scenario possible except going up­. It was always assumed we’d be going down¯! I noticed the other two chutes below me were drifting up and away from the airport also.
The wind was so fierce it lifted us. The sound of the wind terrified me as it whipped and tore at my chute. It all seemed so fragile: nylon cloth, rope, and a strap were all that was between sure death and me. My hands were numbing from the tightened grip on my toggles. I was holding on as if my strength was keeping me up.
What could I do? I wished I could ask, but the radio didn’t work that direction. My heart was pounding hard deep inside my heavy jump suit. Even though no one could hear me, I screamed. Finally a voice calmly stated, “It looks like you guys are in for a long canopy ride so enjoy it while you can.”
I looked down at my feet, dangling in the background of the earth’s geometric patterns, and at my altimeter that read 5025 feet! “I’m flying and even going up,” I thought. A sense of purpose and thrill of the moment filled me. Deciding to relax and have some fun, I pulled my right toggle down hard causing a full 360° turn. Then a stern and concerned voice came over the radio, “Green parachute stay facing the airport.”
Yellow chute seemed close to landing and a vehicle was approaching the new would-be landing spot some distance from the intended one. The extreme wind caused a new horrifying event, the yellow chute began to collapse. He was in the rare air pocket we had discussed only hours ago and falling like a bullet. I watched helplessly above. Then as if the hand of God scooped him up, a gust of wind lifted the chute. Miraculously the chute was tangle free.
The unpredictable wind shifted direction. We all started drifting back towards the airport. The other two skydivers landed safely near the airport as periodic instruction came over the radio to adjust to the changing course of the wind.
The vehicle went back at the airport as I got closer to the target. Anxiety mounted as my landing neared. The earth appeared painfully hard the closer it got. I saw the airport owner, Jack Guthrey, rushing towards me yelling, “Pull down your toggles when I say”. Surprised I could hear him and it made me realize how close I really was. I seemed to be falling rather fast and felt shaky inside. “Now,” he shouted. I pulled the toggles, which slowed my decent. I landed with a little jolt, but still standing.
Jack helped me gather my chute and then put out his hand to shake mine.
“Fine landing,” he stated, “I came out to meet you myself and inform you. Your jump made the record at our airport for the longest canopy. You were up there for 30 minutes! The normal jumps are a five minutes decent. Congratulations, you really got your money’s worth today.”
This jump took place April 1991