THE AUDITION

“I didn’t make it Papa. I missed by 3 points”. It was my grand daughter Shea calling to tell me her audition for the honors band had not gone well. As always, she was very direct and honest, even though it was a difficult call for her to make.

Shea plays the clarinet. Except for some occasional help from her band directors at school she has taught herself how to play. She even writes her own music. She created a composition called “Papa’s Song” which she proudly played for us at a family birthday party. While other kids her age were bopping around with Miley Cyrus on their i-Pods, Shea was listening to Artie Shaw, a famous clarinetist from the big band era. At least that is what I think she was listening to. It’s hard to tell when she has ear plugs in her ears and appears oblivious to everything around her. She made the school band and played in several concerts where we proudly watched as she sat rigidly upright, intently focused on the conductors wand.

Not being one to be satisfied with the status quo Shea wanted to try out for the honors band. She was extremely nervous for the one on one audition with the band director. She told me that as soon as she started playing her nerves calmed down and she performed well. But her early uneasiness cost her enough points that she was not selected. Her forthright manner in discussing what was a set back for her was admirable.

In an effort to do what grandfathers do I told her how proud I was of her. How you can never win the game if you are not in the game. How can you fault a young girl who has the courage to attempt something when one of the consequences can be rejection. I do not have any worries about Shea being a success in life.

LIGHTHOUSES

I revere lighthouses. They are silent sentinels gracing some of the most scenic coastlines on our planet. Strategically placed to warn mariners of jutting headlands or to mark the entrance to ports of call, they command great respect. If some of the grand old lighthouses of the world were people they would be people like Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, Thomas Jefferson or Nelson Mandela. There are famous photographs of massive waves breaking against majestic lighthouses, salt water spray reaching skyward as tons of water is unleashed at their base. They don’t utter a sound but you can almost hear them saying “Pound on me all you want, I am not going anywhere and I will continue to beam my light to mariners at sea”.

There are two ways to look at lighthouses. One is from the land. They can be found on rocky outcroppings, high on a bluff or cliff, on reefs and sandbars and on breakwaters or jetties at the entrance to harbors. They can have lights that flash at regular intervals or a rotating, sweeping arc of light. Some are smallish metal structures while the grand daddies are circular structures several stories high painted white with red stripes like a barber pole. Standing next to them you look seaward and your imagination can run wild.

At sea looking toward shore is the other way to view them. At night the lighthouse serves as a warning of a place to be avoided. It also is a point of reference as sailors, fishermen and ship captains take their bearings to verify their location. If you are in pea soup fog you are praying that you see the light before you are on the rocks. When you do see the light, if it is a harbor entrance, you will know you are minutes from the safety of the harbor. If it is a rocky point or reef you know you must beat a hasty retreat.

On a stormy night the blinking light from a distant lighthouse can be a great source of comfort. The light from those placed high on a bluff can often be seen 25-30 miles at sea. It is as if there is a connection with the safety of the land and those at home. If you are traveling along the coast at night you watch as one light fades away behind you and eagerly await the next up ahead.

The Beginning

Feeling that their Dad had a smidgeon of writing ability my kids suggested I start a blog. The first order of business was to pick a name for my blog site. In my search for a name I started with all the obvious names that related to me, my family, my interests, etc., only to be rejected time after time. Resorting to a second and third level of names that loosely correlate to my interests, the name “floatinglog” was accepted. My blog site is now floatinglog.blogspot.com.

As a matter of explanation this is the significance of floatinglog to me. I have a passion for all things ocean. Any day close to the ocean is a good day for me. I love being on it, in it, under it and around it. I love light houses, boats, ships, sea ports, sea side towns, walks in the sand and people who share my passion. As such, I enjoy fishing our oceans. Especially off-shore fishing. When fishing off-shore you must find fish. While searching you scan the ocean for any sign that would indicate there may be fish nearby. Among the many are swooping birds, schools of bait fish, ripples on the surface and floating logs. Floating logs are particularly reliable because they attract fish. Floating kelp and other sea life attach to the log and small fish seek out the shelter as protection from larger fish. Often times, in clear blue ocean water, you can see a variety of sizes and species beginning with the tiniest of fish close to the log to larger and larger fish as you look deeper into the depths. The trip has a good chance of being successful because you found the floating log and the log and its community is a microcosm of life itself. Thus the name, “floatinglog’.

In coming up with a name for the first blog one of my daughter’s suggested, “What Would Woody Do?” Woody being my nickname the thought was to provide me with the opportunity to express my feelings on matters of importance to me. A chance to reflect on some things I have done, hope to do and how I feel a man should live his life. As I have often been told, if you want to write, write. The world of blogging gives me the venue to write what is on my mind. If others find that to be of interest, that is a bonus.