Baby Boomer Babbling-er-Musings

I'm from the baby boomer generation. I have a mop of white hair, courtesy of my gene pool. And a botox-free face that sports frown lines in the forehead and around the eyes. Love handles instead of a waistline. Can't say I'm exactly crazy about any of these old age indicators but I accept them with grace. And now I've lived long enough now that I ponder on a lot of things, new and old.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

The Fishing Date

The Fishing Date
We had not been dating long.  He asked if I would like to go fishing on his yacht.  His face was wreathed in a smile.  My mind was whirring.  Fishing?  I didn’t know he liked fishing.  But then we were still getting to know each other, so he might be a fisherman.  But a yacht?  He was a farmer.  Did farmers make enough money for a yacht?  Although suspicious my answer was “Yes. I would love to go fishing.”  I told him that I was not into fishing, so my plan was to sunbathe and read a book while he fished.  A yacht should be very comfortable for that.

Early on Saturday morning he drove up in his truck to pick me up and the yacht was sitting in the bed of his truck.  It looked like a little dinghy to me.  He found the little aluminum boat on the side of the road, he proudly told me.  It had a hole in it.  He had fixed the hole himself.  I’m nervous, but Big Cedar Creek is not very deep so I don’t think I’ll drown if it sinks.

We put it in the water down on Joe Bill Campbell’s property.  A water moccasin slithered off into the water from the bank on the other side.  I’m starting to get a little nervous.  I won’t drown but will I die of a snake bite?

Once I saw the size of his yacht, I had thrown out the idea of soaking up the sun with a good book.  But he had other plans. He put a narrow piece of plywood in the dinghy.   Mmmmm…it’s going to be crowded in the yacht.  I asked, “What’s that for?”   He rolled a beach towel into a neck roll and proudly told me that it was my sunbathing bed.  Ah. 

He hooked up a little trolling motor on the back of the dinghy er yacht and off we went.  The trees were lushly hanging out over the clear water of the creek, creating shadows of cooled air.  Not bad for a hot summer day.

He found a spot where he would be in the shade but I would be out in the sun.  I laid down on my fancy sunbathing bed with neckroll in place, pulled out my book, and settled down for his day of fishing.  He baited the line, snapped his rod out over the water, and slowly drew the line back.  He did this again.  I was content.  He threw the line out again and slowly drew the line back again.

“They are not biting here.”  I’m jolted back to reality, away from the book I was reading.  He is putting his rod back in the boat.  I must get up from my plywood bed and once again the troll motor is humming as he searches out another spot on the creek.  It took a few minutes to get the yacht situated where he would be in the shade and I would be in the sun. 

Once the sunbathing board was in place, I settled down with my neckroll and my book and the warm sunshine on my face.  I can hear him baiting his line and the snap of the rod.  He is slowly drawing the line back.  I was relaxed as he did it all again.  He threw the line out a third time and slowly drew it back again.

“The fish aren’t biting here.”  What?  I raised up on my elbows.  He put away the rod, pulled up the plywood bed, got me settled again on the seat, and off we trolled to the next potential fishing spot.

After finally getting settled down with my book again, I heard the lulling sound of him snapping the rod, slowly drawing back the line.  Three times.  Exactly. 

“They aren’t biting here.”  This time I raised up sputtering with laughter.  “You aren’t really a fisherman, are you?”  He was sheepish, but admitted that he was not.  I put away my book, he put away his rod.  I moved to the edge of the sunbathing board.  He laid down beside me with his head on the rolled up towel.  I put my head on his chest in the crook of his arm.  We snoozed while the water gently lapped against the sides of the yacht.  In the late afternoon we woke up and then started slowly trolling further up the creek, just enjoying the summer day. 

During the remainder of our dating years he surprised me with so many fun adventures similar to this one.  At one point or another almost all of those adventures were filled with side-splitting laughter.  So I married him. The fun continues to this day but no fishing allowed.


I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

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