Cazual Conversation

Surely the Squallers were jesting.

There was absolutely no way on God’s green earth that synchronized diving was an Olympic Sport. Heck, we can barely accept synchronized swimming.

But there they were last night, the loneliest people on the earth paired off like siamese twins separated at birth to perform for the masses.

There’s certainly nothing goofy about synchronized diving 

 I say lonely because there is no other explanation for what would drive someone to pursue that as a sport.

And I say lonely because as a youth, I could hang out with football players, soccer players, chess players and maybe even the math team, but you would never, ever, ever, ever, ever catch me hanging with the synchronized divers.

But what do I know about it? Not much, frankly, because about five minutes into the show the two Chinese divers embraced in their speedos and I was done.

It at least made it a bit clearer why they all insist on showering after each dive.

The newspaper today told me me three people have drowned in separate incidents in turbulent waters stirred up by storms despite officials’ warnings to use caution.

Yet no one is alarmed, no one is calling for government intervention, and no one seems to be blaming anyone but the unfortunate swimmers’ choices.

This could be because I’m in New Hampshire at the moment and the drownings above happened here. While I don’t give Yankees credit for much, they get credit for this: they are pragmatic. The general consensus is the three folks who drowned in rivers swollen from recent rain were there despite warnings, and no one is looking to parcel out blame.

Reading the News Herald online at www.newsherald.com, I see three people drowned off our beaches, making it about 10 for the year. Almost all went in during red or double-red flag conditions, and some were verbally warned as well.

Yet when their persistence or lack of awareness leads to a drowning, the cries rise for the government to levy taxes of pull money out the sky and provide lifeguards.

Sadly, it won’t prove effective even if lifeguards were in place, I’m afraid. Panama City Beach’s offshore conditions appear unique, from the dual-sandbar system to the affects of dredging to wave action.

At what price do we decide to save people from themselves?

We on one hand demand law enforcement do something about it, then complain when they ask for the ordinances they need to force people out of the water. We accuse them of doing nothing, or of being too intrusive.

Lifeguards, presumably, would have no more authority to force people out of rough waters than the cops do now. If they are going to be given that authority via ordinance, why not give it now to the existing beach and surf patrols?

Here in New Hampshire, it seems that the fact that people drown or fall off rocks is a matter of course.

The three New Hampshire drownings - one involved an out-of-state visitor - involved people slipping off rocks at popular swimming spots. There is no talk of dynamiting the rocks, closing them to the public, or militarizing them with police.

While I still hold them responsible for the War of Northern Aggression, the fierce independence and self-accountability of New Englanders is something from which we can learn.

LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE, N.H. - The thermometer on the porch overlooking the lake reads 78 degrees, the humidity is about minus 7, it is one of the busiest tourism weekends here, and there are only six boats on the water.

Two of those are kayaks.

It’s refreshing to have the lake to ourselves. And it’s refreshing to know the economic woes (but let’s not call it a recession) we face in Florida are not isolated.

It’s not to wish problems upon others, though there is company in misery.

This time last year on our annual vacation to New Hampshire, we could barely cross the lake for the plethora of boats and Waverunners. It’s 10:30 a.m., and the boat count isnow down to three from our vantage point on the front porch.

The conversation at the breakfast table last year as we gathered - my uncle and aunt, my mother, my sister and brother-in-law and their three children, and the boy and I - centered around whether we were boating, skiing or going to the Weirs if the weather was poor.

This morning our host, Uncle Bob, a retired developer who got out when the getting out was good and did well enough to be able to host all of us again this year, talked about indictments. He talked about the developer and attorneys and bankers facing prison in Sarasota, where my uncle keeps his winter home, for real estate fraud involving property flipping.

On the porch, as I write this, we are debating the price of gas and drilling in Anwar and off the coast of Florida. A year ago, this would have been an even argument. Today, my mother the staunch democrat is the lone vocal dissenter, though her husband is putting on a show of agreeing.

The house next to my uncles on the lake is up for sale for $12 million or so. It will sell, he says.

“The people living on this island are affected differently than most people,” he said.

The rich get richer, which is great if you are the rich, or related to them.

It’s a pretend week for us. Pretending we could afford to fly here (the tickets were a gift), pretending we have a waverunner so new and big that it can hold me while I pull a skier, pretending that we have the means to hop onto my uncle’s expensive, gas-guzzling boat and motor over to the Weirs for ice cream each night.

For this week, at least, we have the means. We’ll worry about next week later.

Meanwhile, we’ve moved the debate to nuclear power plants.