A Fishing Dream

A friend was taking me fishing. I was ignorant about what to do. He was providing me gear, bait, and instruction.

First, we had to get there. He gave me instructions, but we were driving separate cars. Both were white. It then developed into a quasi-race. Oddly, as we drove, he would sometimes be beside me in his car, and sometimes I’d be beside him in his car, talking, even though we were in separate cars.

We arrived at a place but stayed there only a short period. Being there mostly seemed to amount to me walking around behind him. Both of us were carrying our gear (and wore fishing hats). Smiling people tried talking to my buddy, offering advice, or just wanting to exchange fishing insights, but he was abrupt and dismissive to everyone. After leaving there, we went down a four lane white concrete highway. Parking in a lot, we needed to cross to the other side. He made a comment, “We can do this whenever we want, there’s no time limits, and we’re not racing.” Then he went and crossed. After considering the situation – no traffic was coming – I followed.

We went into a long, low building. Sounds of running water filled the space. Rows of blue plastic seats were set up for fishing. No else seemed to be fishing. A young man had a stack of white things enclosed in clear plastic bags. He offered them to us as we went by. “No,” my friend said with barely a look.

The man called after us, “They’ll give you support.”

I was intrigued, so I stopped. “What kind of support?”

The man explained that they could support your back and shoulder, and held one up for me to see. My friend had kept going. He called back, “We don’t need support, we’re already sitting in chairs.” I thought that made sense, but the young man replied, “This will aid your comfort and remove some of the strain.”

My friend answered, “We don’t need them,” but I said, laughing, “Well, I might need them.” That’s where the dream ended.

The dream reminded me of my father-in-law, Jim. He passed in December, 1991. I met him before I met my wife, his daughter. He and my father were best friends at the time. Dad had been stationed in Germany before being reassigned to DESC in Ohio, which was supported by Wright-Patterson AFB outside Dayton, Ohio. Dad had been assigned there before and had supplemented his military pay by working part-time for Jim at a grocery store.

I met Jim through fishing. He instructed me in my early fishing efforts after I moved in with Dad. I enjoyed fishing with Jim, and will even say that I never enjoyed fishing as much as I did with Jim.

Sunday’s Theme Music

Good morning, star shine. The Earth says, ‘Hello!'” Yes, just thinking of that 1967 hit song from Hair. Not the day’s theme song, though. I have another song in mind for that.

It is another Sunday in southern Oregon, and we dutifully note and mark, April 18, 2021. The rise of Sol came about 6:26 AM, and the western sky fade away is expected at 7:55 PM. Between those hours, the sun’s going to have her scientifically-grounded impact on our temperatures, taking us from where we reside now, 60 F, to something in the seventies, or maybe the eighties. The weather prognosticators told us yesterday would be at 80 but my thermometer noted 77 as the high. Nothing to complain, just noting.

It’s day two of the three day green-smoothie fast. It’s not quite a fast. I augmented my green smoothies with a handful of almonds, another handful of walnuts, four prunes, and two stalks of celery. Never did have my coffee. I prepared to make it but didn’t follow through.

The day’s first smoothie (wife-prepared) accentuated raspberry highlights, which I found too tart. My next two smoothies (prepared by moi) were blueberry oriented, more agreeable to me. She noted it tasted very banana-y to her. I noted that no bananas were used in preparation of those smoothies. Yeah, I forgot the banana.

I felt fine yesterday. Mild hunger pangs in the early evening. More at midnight, right before retiring to bed. Breakfast time this morning found my body snarling in its best hungry-lion imitation, “Food! Now!” I went with a mango dominated smoothie. All is good now. Kind of. I wouldn’t say no to a breakfast burrito. Nor a stack of pancakes (flapjacks, waffles…whatever). Or scrambled eggs with toast. Maybe an omelet.

Music choice is writing-driven. Finished working copy number five of the novel in prog., final draft number one. I hate it. I had the this-writing-sucks blues. Writings is fine; major story issues. They must be addressed. Took the day thinking about that and knew what must be done. Now I must do it. Like many things, making that decision to do it is the hardest part of doing it. Then it’s deep breaths. Go. Start cutting. Revising. Editing. Changing. Doing it over.

The song inspired by this is “Funkytown” by Lipps Inc, 1980. The lines, “Gotta move on,” is what has me hooked. You see the writing connection? First draft is done; not what I wanted or expected. Work is needed. Gotta move on from cursing my meager skills to getting things done.

Here’s the music. Stay posi, test negy, wear a mask, and get the vax. Gotta go see some machines about smoothies and coffee.

Never saw this video before. Talk about funky. Cheers

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