My father, the incomparable Robert Clower, only made it FIVE WEEKS into being an octagenerian before doing possibly the only cliche thing ever in his life: he broke his hip!

Luckily, it was just a minor fracture of a tiny piece of bone, easily replaced in a simple surgery. He’s apparently happy as a lark in his hospital room, chatting up the nurses and making friends as usual. Mom says no one will believe her that he just had hip surgery – and in fact he should be able to walk within a couple of days.

I guess this could have been a serious health scare, but I have to admit I’m more amused than concerned. It’s just so unlike Daddy to be predictable (turn 80: break a hip). And so funny to hear Mom describing his cheerful in-hospital demeanor.

In other family news, Jeff and I spent the weekend in Tampa for Tammy’s senior recital – the only time we’ve actually gotten to see her perform! She pulled off a great mostly one-woman show, with about 10 songs from various musicals and 2 dance pieces that she choreographed; impressive work, and it must have been intimidating to perform with your entire family sitting 5 feet from the stage with cameras!

Of course, we picked an unusually cold weekend to visit Tampa, so we didn’t get to take advantage of the beach. We did, however, take advantage of the BUCKETS of Long Island iced teas that are available at the bars along the waterfront. University of Tampa kids know how to celebrate in style!

When I finished jury duty, the other jury panel was still deliberating over the verdict for the shooter. There was always a chance that he might be found not guilty, even though our guy (the driver) was convicted.

Although I understand the reasons for keeping the trials separate this way, it bothered all of the jurors that this possibility even existed. We felt like if the driver was convicted, clearly the shooter should be held responsible as well. Inversely, if the person who actually fired the gun was found not guilty, how could we in good conscience convict the driver?

The LA Superior Court keeps an online index of convictions, which you can search for about $5 a pop. I gave it a few weeks for the information to make it in there, and performed my search this afternoon.

I was hugely relieved to see that the shooter was convicted; in fact, on the same day that we finished our deliberations. I suspect it would have gnawed at me for a long time if I saw “acquitted” on the screen.

I wound up with an appointment at the Red Cross this afternoon. See, I finally got around to giving blood last November (for several years prior, I’d managed to have a cold every time they came on campus), and now I’m on their list. And since I’m B-negative, I’m on the Extra Special List. I can now expect to get a phone call every other month that goes something like this:

“Did you know California is currently experiencing a severe shortage of donor blood?”

“Er, I didn’t know that.”

“And did you know that B-negative is the rarest blood type?”

“Huh, I didn’t know that either.” (ok, this part I won’t be able to use again)

“And that it’s now been more than 45 days since you last gave blood?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right…”

“Great, so, when can we schedule an appointment for you? Is tomorrow good?”

Since I really have no excuse NOT to give blood as often as possible, and in fact rather enjoy the excuse to scarf down some cookies and skip going to the gym for a day, I’m pretty much a sucker for this sort of mild guilt trip.

My bloodletting was uneventful as always, although I really think I could have bled faster with a little more effort. It took me a record 7 minutes this time to fill a bag – that’s hardly enough to qualify as the champion gusher I know I really am.

I had a bit of a gross-out moment while the nurse was taking everything out of my arm. I suddenly felt something rather warm – actually, pretty darn hot – against my hand. Puzzled, it took me much longer than it should have to realize that the tubes coming off the blood bag, themselves full of blood, were hot. I was feeling the heat of MY OWN BLOOD.

I don’t know why I found this disturbing, or even surprising – I mean, what did I think “warm-blooded mammal” meant? Part of my brain must have assumed that blood just defies the laws of physics and instantly cools upon leaving the body, or that the surgical tubing has some sort of magical insulating powers.

Anyway, I shook off my discomfort with a very cool exclamation along the lines of “Oh! That’s hot! I guess that makes sense, right? I mean, it is blood.” The nurse nodded and smiled like she’d heard this dozens of times (no doubt she has), and continued wrapping up the bag and tubing into a big pile of warm rubber.

On a lighter, jury-duty-free note: Jeff and I went to our second Avalon Harbor Underwater Cleanup last Saturday, out on Catalina. Our first one was two years ago, and it was cold and pouring rain all day. This time around, we had excellent weather – and drysuits, to help us stay extra toasty.

We crawled out of bed at the ungodly hour of 4am so we could make the 6:15am ferry to Avalon. Mornings like this really make me wonder why I ever took up diving. It’s a bit of a hassle to get over to the island on cleanup day, since you’re one of about 500 divers – most of whom don’t want to shell out to spend the weekend on the island. The ferry crew must be absolutely sick of us already by the time we’re all on board with all our gear bags, tanks, drysuit bags, weights, and camera equipment. That’s right, Jeff refused to go diving without his camera, even if we were basically just going to go pick up trash. Not that I’m really complaining all that much, since I love having photos. I just don’t love transporting a zillion pounds of gear around, especially when you have to get it all loaded onto the ferry in ONE TRIP. At least when we go on boat dives, we can be leisurely about getting the gear on and off!

There were about 10 Sole Searchers on the ferry with us this year, and the original plan was to all go get breakfast while our gear was transported by truck to Casino Point. Between a shortage of luggage tags and a shortage of gear trucks, a few of us decided it would be easier to just grab a cab. Jeff and I, along with John Marin, gave our extra tags to the rest of the crew and headed on over to the point to grab a spot.

45 minutes later, with not nearly enough time remaining to go get a real breakfast, we were all set up by the Point. The rest of the crew showed up just in time to hear the pre-dive briefing, and before we knew it, the dive was on!

Doing the Avalon Harbor Cleanup is popular with divers because you get to dive in areas that are normally restricted to boat traffic. Our group dived from Casino Landing, which is opposite the Casino Point Dive Park. In other words, we were on the side that did NOT have stairs into the water. Two years ago, I just about aborted the dive when I realized I was expected to clamber down the slimy jumble of cement and boulders that makes up the jetty, instead of being allowed to utilize those oh-so-lovely stairs. With plenty of help, I managed to make it in and out without incident.

This time around, I was a more confident diver in general – however, I had one new disadvantage. Jeff and I, as always, went with our HydroOptix masks for good underwater vision. But on the surface, that means I’m walking around without my contacts in. On slimy, uneven concrete and boulders. In a drysuit that’s too tight since I gained the last 10 pounds.

A random person helped me over the waist-high wall (I can’t quite manage to straddle it, so I have to kind of hop up into a sitting position and then swivel, without letting the weight of my tank pull me over). Then two volunteers had to each grab an arm and walk me slowly down the incline. And if I didn’t feel like enough of a sissy after all that, once I was seated at the water’s edge to put on fins I discovered I no longer had enough slack in my drysuit to bend over far enough to put on my own fins. So someone had to do it for me.

The nice people help me into the water:

So I was an awkward, helpless klutz – but at least I wasn’t terrified out my mind this time around. Let’s say we call that progress.

There wasn’t nearly as much trash this year as the last time we went. I guess 25 years of educating the public and cleaning out the harbor has finally started to have an effect. We picked up a few pieces of bottles, a brass fitting from some bit of boat plumbing, and one side of a metal window frame with shards of glass still attached. That was a bit unnerving to swim around with; I kept worrying that I’d accidentally whack Jeff in the face with it or something.

Don’t mess with me:

We skipped the raffle and award ceremony in favor of lunch, followed by a second dive at Casino Point. This time we got to use my beloved stairs – but it was low tide. LOW, low tide. The stairs ended well short of deep water, so there was boulder-scrambling involved again. I took it slowly, and made it over the rocks without incident, largely because there was zero surf. When the waves are rolling in, you have to worry about where you put your feet – you don’t want to get your foot wedged in a crack and then get knocked over sideways!

We had an uneventful but pleasant dive around the park, and I even found some more trash. First I discovered an empty beer can (and posed for pictures “drinking” from it). By the next time Jeff glanced back at me, I had picked up someone’s mesh bag that must have blown off the point into the water.

Casino Point is always popular with classes and with new divers, which can get a bit awkward if you wind up in the middle of them (or stuck behind them on the steps). On this dive, we were treated to the sight of a new diver literally WALKING on the bottom, kicking up gobs of sand behind him and no doubt smooshing a few sea cucumbers. I’m sure he wasn’t in a class, because no instructor would let a diver get away with that!

We had a few hours left on the island after our dive, so we hung out with some of our Sole Searchers buddies and treated ourselves to ice cream. Lars and Ceci had their baby Max along (only Lars was diving), and I have to say: it is SCARY how well-behaved and cheerful that kid is. I’d say my odds of ever giving birth to such an accommodating creature are pretty much nil, unless we can somehow remove all my DNA and leave only Jeff’s. He was probably a perfect baby.

All in all, we had a great day – but I find myself wishing there’ll be more exciting trash to pick up next year!

More pics are here.