Drop of Calm

Floating Through Life

By Amy Larson

“That was the most relaxed we’ve ever seen you, Mom,” said my daughter, Erika, after we’d spent the day at the beach on Maui. The water had been the perfect temperature, the sun had gently warmed our skin, but there was something more to it. 

“I think it was the salt,” I answered, recalling author Aspen Morrow’s manuscript, “MedFree BiPolar” I’d been editing, wherein she expounded on the body’s need for salt, and how when in emotional crisis, a salt drip was the first restorative thing hospitals do for people. No wonder, since bodies are made up of a whopping 40% salt that we sweat out, cry out…then don’t always replenish.

When we get a little low, things don’t work well. Generally the organs, specifically the mind.

Funny that I’d be downtown getting my sugar fix at Candy World when the Salt Guy walked in. I quickly learned Caleb Fawkes was an avid “floater”, something I’d never heard of.  He invited me to try floating at his float center two doors down. I nodded yeah, okay, but was hesitant. It sounded a little too off-beat. Being slightly claustrophobic, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with climbing into a dark little water-filled “pod” in a strange place.

More than anything, it was curiosity that got me to finally go.  I needed to try it before writing off floating for good. 

It didn’t hurt that once I finally got to Drop of Calm, there was resonating art, comfortable chairs, thoughtful lighting, and books everywhere. My room for the next ninety minutes looked nurturing. There was a vibe that’s hard to explain (possibly growth?) within the room. 

The area holds a shower where you rinse down, both practical and psychically beneficial, clearing off hairspray, cosmetics, perfume, lotions…the masks we wear in order to be “okay”.

The pod looked like a giant washing machine, which if you think about it, is pretty symbolic. It was dark in there; that I didn’t love. Taking a timid step into the water, it was exact body temperature, so felt like nothing, and not in the least bit cold. You sit, then lie back, then feel your legs and arms pop up as you become very much afloat. Caleb warned against splashing around much, lest you get “A thousand pounds of salt in your eyes.” 

The sensation felt familiar, womb-like. Made sense, since we’re 40% salt, and up to 65% water.

The darkness enabled my typically overactive mind to finally, blissfully catch a break. Part of my problem “on the outside”, I realized, was that when it was suggested I relax, I had no good frame of reference for that. The closest two instances were floating at Hawaii on a boogie board, and last summer when my daughter rowed me across Lake Cascade in our little inflatable raft while I napped in the sun.

This was like that times twenty.

In the pod, it’s just you. You’re not thinking about your weight, your appearance, there are zero distractions. It’s as alone as you can possibly get.

The first float was about getting used to that freedom. Being dark, weightless, and with no sense of where you are, other than the occasional soft bump on the sides when drifting a little, you’re in a state of blissful relief. Fists unclench, jaws relax, shoulders stop hunching, knees straighten. Dredging up petty thoughts of irritants or worries takes actual mental work, and in that condition, it’s too much of a chore to pursue. I found that only three things stood out. Those I loved, the comfort, and the soft sounds of my own breathing. 

Caleb told me some struggled to get the hang of floating, but I had no such resistance. I found my perfect arm position (over my head, the one most writers and those who work on computers prefer, since it relieves forward muscle pressure), and got pretty good at stretching out neck, arms, legs, and torso without splashing salt water into the eyes.

The only part I didn’t relish was getting out. At the end of your time, gentle music comes on, slight at first, then growing in intensity to a comfortable yet audible volume, as if waking from a dream. Lifting your head, arms, and legs is a chore after being gravity-less. Your body protests and you’ll want to climb back in, lie back down.

I couldn’t wait for the next one. Once back in the pod, I promptly fell asleep, and into a state of nothingness that only REM slumber had previously supplied. By the third float, I was over-anxious to find peace again, but realized enough about the process to know I could use floating to my advantage. Relaxed minds are empty canvases for painting what you want out of life. I envisioned articles practically writing themselves, national magazines I’d write for, time with my kids, beautiful meals with family and friends, and someone giving me vibrantly-colored flowers.

It was only after that third float that Caleb Fawkes granted me an interview. With knowing grin, he expanded on why so many are hooked. 

“You’re essentially soaking in 960 pounds of Epsom salt. Salt draws out toxins, and has a mild muscle-relaxing effect. There’s also magnesium. So many are magnesium deficient, and your body can’t process calcium without it. Posture depends on the person. Just get comfortable, and drop expectations. It’s going to be good, no matter what. There’s no gravity, you’re removing all stimulus, you’re getting magnesium into your body. It’s alone time…it’s an incredibly simple way to help yourself.”

Caleb’s grandfather introduced him to basic meditation when he was eight years old. He’d do a little just before going to sleep. By age twelve, he was meditating regularly, and now has over 21 years of meditation experience. 

“Anytime you’re thinking about your breathing, it’s beneficial. One basic method is to mentally grab a color you think of as negative. I use red. When you exhale, think red. When inhaling, think cool, calm blue.”

When hearing about float tanks, he was intrigued.

Three years ago, he tried his first float, intentionally not meditating in the tank so he could discern the effects of the float, nothing else. When leaving the tank, he felt calm, grounded, peaceful, as if he’d meditated. 

“Do what you love, and you’ll never work another day in your life. I liked meditating and teaching people to meditate. But that’s a hard way to make a living. Minutes after the float, I knew it was the business I wanted to be in. There’s nothing there in the pods, just the core of your being. When people come to Drop of Calm, I’m not selling them anything. The world says, ‘Take this pill, use this cream, you’re not good enough’. With floating, you are enough, you are everything you need. I’m selling them nothing. And people want that nothing.” 

Caleb has a long list of floating benefits.

“If you want to lose weight, when you float, you’ll either let go of the idea or be dedicated to it. After floating, people notice their digestion getting better. Chemically, floating aids a ton of organ processes. You have pure water entering your body at a cellular level, which is fantastic for your skin health. Floating helps to prevent injury, recover faster from hard workouts, and relaxes you enough to perform better as an athlete. When it comes to visualization, floating is powerful. Closing your eyes in a dark, non- stimulus, gravity-less space and imagining shooting perfect free throws for an hour is just as effective as the real thing. Those into archery can practice in their minds and have better marksmanship. A painter told me he sees floating as a way of “going to the well”. With control groups of musicians, those who had floated produced music with much more variety. Those with PTSD can benefit by getting down to nothing, so it’s safe to process those things without physically experiencing them. Those who have a hard time really being in their body, or are too much in their body, can find that natural balance. If you’re living with situations you don’t like, or going through trauma, floating helps. So, you’re removing toxins, you’re feeling better, you’re getting more connected with yourself.”

Frequency depends on your goals. For some, it’s like getting a massage, something to power down with. Some float in concert with workouts and are regimented about it, floating three times per week. If you want to maintain the effects of floating, once a week is best. You can tell when you’re ready to float again when people and things start to irritate once more. Easygoing-ness is one obvious side effect.

After floating thrice, I’d highly recommend it to others. I visualized what I wanted while in the tank, articles writing themselves (some, but not all, have felt that way), national magazines I’d write for (still working on that, but after a few more floats, hey, it could happen), time with my kids (after floating we went on two spontaneous camping trips to Lake Cascade), beautiful meals with family and friends (that happened), and someone giving me vibrantly-colored flowers. (Those were happily received).

If you want a “massage” for both the conscious and subconscious mind, and you want to feel pretty darn good in your body, I’d tell you to float.

“Once you’re good with your mind,” says Caleb Fawkes, “everything else flows from there.”

Treasury of Memories

Interest piqued, I returned once again to the Warhawk Air Museum (a place I thought once upon a time I’d never go) to interview Director Sue Paul. I thought a good intro would be to ask her which items spoke to her, given my experience during my last visit. I should have guessed the answer:

“The whole museum speaks to me. Everything in here has meaning to me. I know the history of all of them. These are someone’s memories.”

Sue and her husband John are the co-founders. He’d been restoring WWII airplanes for years. When they moved from the Bay Area to Idaho in 1986 they brought two restored fighter planes and a P-51 Mustang that was in pieces along with them. They opened their manufacturing company and then built a small hangar at the Caldwell airport.

They were promptly overwhelmed by the amount of interest from people wanting to see the planes, unaware at the time of the Valley’s military history with Mountain Home AFB. Many people started coming to the Caldwell airport to see the planes and to talk about them. Boxes of uniforms or WWII memorabilia were left at the door with notes saying, ‘I don’t know what to do with these; would you like to put them with your airplanes?’

The Pauls were disturbed by this; these were precious pieces of peoples’ histories. Sue knew the items must be preserved and saw the need for a museum. She researched how to form a non-profit museum and in 1989 the Warhawk Air Museum, a non-proft 501c3, was born. It had taken a full year to put it all together.

“From there, it just exploded,” says Sue. “We had a board of directors and all kinds of dreams for the future. By the year 2000 we’d completely outgrown the 7000 square foot Caldwell hangar and knew we needed something bigger and centrally located. I also wanted a program where children could come for field trips and learn about history.”

John and Sue felt fortunate to have had their planes used in the movie Pearl Harbor with Ben Affleck. The various actors went in and out of each plane during the filming. John and Sue went to Hawaii for six weeks during production. The planes were flown down to the Naval Base at Coronado Beach, then put on a barge, pulled by a little tugboat across the ocean, which was worrisome to the owners, even though Disney had the planes insured for millions. If the planes were lost, they’d most likely never be able to replace them, since there are only around 20-25 of the P-40s left in the entire world, and only four of that particular type of Mustang.

As soon as the public was aware of the 20,000 square foot building, everything started coming in. During the next five years people brought in their collections, one after the other. Systems of cabinets were needed to create a space for it all. Volunteers appeared and started helping wherever they could. The Museum is always open for more, too. Those that volunteer are given a chance to find their own passion and niche. One archivist, Lou Bauman, who started out doing field trips now puts all of the displays and binders together.

“He loves it. He does a brilliant job,” said Sue, “Many others started off doing one thing and then found something else they had a passion for, so that’s what they get to do.”

Sue quit her ‘paying job’ in 2001 and is now the full-time volunteer director. She’s at the museum full time.

‘---Because that’s what it takes,’ she told me.

In August of 2010 the new 18,000 square foot Cold War Era wing was opened, where you can walk through a Berlin Wall replica into a very different sense of American history.

“As you walk into the second section, you’ll have a whole different feel of the fifties and sixties. The last section was an era where America was engaged in the war. Man, woman and child. Everybody was involved. We knew who our enemy was. There was a beginning to the conflict and there was a definite end. We knew we won. We knew exactly who our foes were; we knew who our friends were. Then the war ended and we went into the Cold War Era with the fear of communism, fear of ideologies. Not solid. There weren’t boundaries. The wars of the Cold War became something like trying to put your arms around a cloud. Americans were not engaged this time in that. You didn’t see them out there with flags; you didn’t see the patriotic posters. People in America were trying to move on with their lives. The GI bill was huge. For the first time in American history, anyone could get an education, and they did.”

“The GI bill educated America. Our doctors, lawyers, businessmen during that time all came from the Bill. People wanted to build homes and move to the suburbs. They didn’t want or understand why when the Korean War started. We were in one country as advisors; it wasn’t clear cut. Vietnam was the same thing.”

This was the section representing the jet age. Bomb shelter information is coming soon. The build up of Communism and the feeling of the fear of Communism lingers. Visitors can see that the technology vastly changed from one era to another as the TV entered homes during the 50s and 60s. The media had a big portion of the control when it came to how America viewed Vietnam.

Kiosks house information about Cold War history where different stories are told. The tales are there for those that choose to stand and listen for a while.

“We hear people telling us all the time that this is the most personal experience they’ve ever had in a museum,” Sue told me, “That means so much to us. You can go to a lot of museums and see things without knowing the history of it. Take this Huey, here…it wound up in a junkyard in Sacramento. We found it and brought it here, having no idea that we’d also find all of the last of the crew that fought in this exact aircraft. They’ve all been here, and it was a very emotional experience for them. They lost thirty-four men while fighting in this Huey. For the first time they were able to hold a Missing Man Ceremony to honor those men here, with this Huey. It’s about the stories; it’s about the people.”

“Visitors are shocked not only at what they find, but over the amount of time they want to spend here. They want to come back again and again because we’re always adding more. This is not a stagnant museum.”

A dad, a grandfather, an uncle will bring their collection, wanting their loved ones’ memories preserved because they like what the Museum has done.

On the first Tuesday of every month from 10am-12 is the Kilroy Coffee Klatch, free for veterans. It’s a connection thing. The group has grown from a mere fifteen to twenty to the current 125-150. Men who’d served on the same ship at the same time yet had never met each other swap stories. Two men found each other and discovered that one’s man’s wife had been another man’s girlfriend sixty years prior.

Another program is the Veteran’s History Project. Partnering with the Library of Congress, the Museum has preserved over 700 personal histories on film. They keep one copy, give one to the interviewee, and one goes to the Library of Congress. Families get to hear stories they’ve never heard for the very first time, directly from the person they care about.

“We do get emotional during the interviews,” Sue says, “We can turn off the camera at any point. We hear some real hard stuff, but a lot of joyful things too. It’s just very personal. There’s a sense of trust here; they open up. One veteran, although he’s not the only one this happens to, had never talked about his experiences. He was involved in the firebombing over Japan. When we finished the interview he was like a teenager, he just had this relief. He ordered seventy-five copies of the dvd!”

Sue recalled having a man approach her at a luncheon, saying, “You probably don’t remember me, but I’ve just got to tell you that my family and I spent Christmas morning with you.” He then went on to tell her that she’d interviewed his grandfather, who’d died just two months later. On Christmas morning, his parents gave them each a copy of the dvd, and they all watched it together.

“You have no idea what that means to our family to have my grandfather who we all loved so much sitting there telling his own story,” he said.

“To me,” said Sue, “The greatest joy is not just preserving the stories, but the fact that the families have these stories now.”

“What a treasure,” I commented.

Sue looked me right in the eye and said earnestly:

“That’s what the whole museum is. It is a treasure.”