2014: From Residing to Embracing

I take stock on a reading rock, in the town where I grew up. It's a rock bulkheaded riverbank, looking onto a glassy December river. It's too cold to have to worry about snakes.

I came down to Oxford to take a particular photograph, which I have. Now I am in the gravy. Sitting along a river I have swum across on a bet; looking at a dock we jumped and swam off of as kids.

I am 42. At this time last year I was married and working as a government contracted technical writer in Washington, D.C. This year I am separated and between jobs. And I am happier than I have been in a long time. There are reasons for that, one of which is knowing myself and learning my heart. Another is returning to activities that make me feel alive. Last year I was sleepwalking through life; this year, I am awake.

Today I am a tourist in the town my father's family has lived for centuries. A backpack with books, a notebook, ski cap, snacks and water; taking pictures of things that catch my eye; walking streets and sidewalks and sitting cold to scrawl a note or contemplate a color. No two people would describe "brackish" in the same way.

This has been a difficult year in places. In March, I went on Zoloft to help me through the worst of it. I was worried it would change me, sap my creativity, hollow me out. It didn't. But I stopped taking it in October when I found myself too numb to life around me; not feeling enough. I don't regret either decision.

I have connected with new people and reconnected with others. Adversity can lead you to a clearer understanding of friendship, of family, and of who those folks are. I am finding, I think, that my way forward in life has rarely ever been a straight line; maybe a series of cutbacks and switchbacks and circling spirals, ultimately leading up the mountain.

I have too many blessings to count. Health, my own and my family's, and two honor roll student athlete daughters to whom I want to give the best life possible.

Tourist. Maybe that's my problem. I have been a tourist in my own life. I have not recognized enough the things, people, places that I love and committed to them. But that's changing.

Work. Passion. Love. Family. Art. Self reliance. Home. Pablo Neruda's epic autobiographical book/poem, written over the course of 20 years, is called "Residence on Earth." There is something to that notion: residing, inhabiting. But it sounds too passive. For me, I need the idea of engaging with others, activity. Maybe beyond engaging, it's actually embracing. Yeah, I think that's it.

Last year I was residing. This year I have started living. Now it is time to embrace.

Car vs. Swimmer: Oxford-Bellevue Challenge

"The impossible dream"--no one thought that Doug Hanks could turn his time in bars into a book deal. To hear the story, meet the author, and mack on his mojo, come to Latitude 38 in Oxford this Saturday, March 15, from 3 to 7 p.m.

If you ask Doug Hanks, "Barguments" began at a bar. Duh. But in the case of Hanks's new book from Simon and Shuster, it was actually sparked by a beer tap in Latitude 38. The tap was for a black-and-tan beer, and showed a lion wrestling a bear. Hanks is nothing if not a debater.

"Who do you think would win in that fight?"

I worked as a cook in Latitude at the time, and by the time I got off work was usually 6 to 12 beers behind in a discussion, but doubtless Henry Hale tending bar wasn't aware that he was witnessing the birth of a book.

During his life as a journalist, while living in Oxford Doug wrote for The Star Democrat, then the Daily Times in Salisbury, then the News Journal in Wilmington, before landing a stint with The Washington Post. For the last 7-ish years, he has been Coconut Grover, writing for The Miami Herald. All this is to say, he's got a writing pedigree. And if you find yourself in the Oxford Museum, or browsing a local's bookshelf you'll see a novel called "Muskrat," about a band of sailors from the Eastern Shore who win the America's Cup, as well as a great photo-history of "Oxford: Then & Now." These are by another Doug Hanks--Dougie's father.

So there's some background behind the Barguments phenomenon. As you can see from the book cover and the website, a "bargument" has to be simple and controversial enough to elicit discussion--perhaps heated, without a necessarily correct answer. So I want to tell you a story about a bargument that wasn't. It wasn't because we answered it.

Oxford is a town surrounded on three sides by water. If you drive through, much less live there for some time and spend time on the water, you come to realize that the Oxford-Bellevue Ferry draws some attention. It is thought to be the oldest continuously running, privately owned ferry route in the country.

"Do you think it would be faster to swim across from Oxford to Bellevue, or drive around?" the discussion began.

Immediately, people took sides. There ended up an almost equal number of "swimmers" and "cars," who would pick up the debate on at least a weekly basis, discounting after work beers in Doug's shed. The bargument evolved (and they generally always do) to, "Who would win in a race, a swimmer swimming across the Tred Avon from Oxford to Bellevue, or a driver driving around?"

Then is when the stipulations come in. The driver has to drive the speed limit--if he or she speeds, it discounts the experiment. Okay, and none of us are swimmers, so the swimmer can pick between flippers or a life jacket. Alright, well there has to be someone from the "swimmer" team who rides with the driver to make sure they don't speed. And a "car" person has to ride over on chase-boat to make sure the swimmer doesn't just get in the boat. The particulars worked themselves out. Now, all they needed was a swimmer.

At this particular time, summer 1996, I had found running. I was running and lifting weights regularly, while Hanks and most the rest of the crew, were barguing. It helped that I was working nights, away from their inebriated charms until the kitchen closed.

So by virtue of being in shape, I became the swimmer. I am not a swimmer. I always passed the swimming test at the Tred Avon Yacht Club's sailing class by treading water for 20 minutes, but the motivation for that was not to look like a dork having to wear a life jacket all summer.

Knowing that I was going to have to swim, I did what most people would do: went to swim. At the YMCA pool, since there were fewer jellyfish. You can imagine my surprise to learn that one mile in the Y pool was something like 18 laps or 36 lengths of the pool. Holy crap. In my one swimming trip to the Y, I don't think I swam a full mile. I kept running and lifting, and hoped general fitness and flippers would get the job done.

August 23, 1996

It was a breezy, warm summer evening. A Friday. The wind and tide were strong moving east (towards Easton). Board shorts and flippers vs. a Nissan Altima. If memory serves, Bo Manuel was selected as the "swimmer" to accompany Hanks as the driver. Eric Abell's Wahoo was loaded with Bud 10 oz cans and a handful of people as the chase-boat.

Funny thing, Oxford being a small town: people heard about the race. Local fixtures and bar-goers Ed and Helen Thieler were out in their boat. Henry Hale and the Oxford Fire Department brought a crew in their boat. And my parents had a boat full. We had a fleet following the swimmer across!

"You see what the tide is doing, Mike?" Ed pointed out. "It's a strong tide, what you want to do is point yourself left of the ferry dock--aim at that house and you'll wind up at the dock. If you aim for the dock, you'll have to keep swimming back towards it."

On the call, I dove in the Tred Avon and Hanks drove through Oxford. It was late August and the jellyfish were long in full effect. Counting stings would have been sheep to an insomniac. But I aimed for the house and kept going. The chase-boat checked in to make sure I was alright and stayed alongside, to make sure I didn't get run over (for any re-enactment fanciers).

In roughly 28 minutes, I touched a piling on the Bellevue Ferry Dock, roughly 0.8 miles away, signaling the end of the race. The crew in the boat yanked me out of the river, and tried to chase the river water in my lungs with Budweiser. In the time it took me to get my feet in the boat, raise a beer, and look up, Hanks pulled down to the ferry wharf--not a full minute behind.


Man had beaten machine. The swimmer had defeated the car. And the bargument that wasn't-to-be was solved, the debate over. And that was one that didn't make the book. Hanks's ode to head-scratching decisions and discussions is full of more universal themes, all sure to engage debate. Come on out in Easton at Harrison Street Books during the day to meet Doug and find out what else didn't make the cut, OR, come join the party where it all began: Latitude 38 from 3 to 7 p.m., this Saturday, March 15.

For a taste until then, you can check out Barguments.com and follow along on Doug's blog for the latest news and opinions.

A slow news day--an article from The Star Democrat and the sign in front of the Oxford Fire Department the day and weekend after the challenge.