Sunday, May 20, 2012

Fishing Note

I love to fish. When I was younger, I loved to fish. My parents were die-hard city dwellers. I had an aunt and uncle who had three boys, and I was given the honor of being their weekend daughter. So I grew up loving to camp and fish, ride dirt bikes, and fiddle with all types of cars and trucks. Just one of the boys.

I always dreamed of some tall, dark and handsome man taking one look at my boat, feasting on my fine cooked cuisine, then falling head over heels in love with me.

Instead, I met my hubby at a friend’s birthday party where a  band played 1980’s dance music. Steve was there with a buddy and became smitten by a tall, willowy ash blond with bright green eyes playing pool and dancing until the wee hours.

I am no longer willowy, I honestly don't remember going dancing since then, and Steve is color blind so he thought my eyes were hazel, but (I presume) he’s still head over heels for me. I know I am for him.

Even though he doesn’t fish.

I am stumped as to why he doesn’t. Fishing is a solitary activity. It’s quiet, peaceful, and gives a person endless opportunities to simply sit and think. (Unless you are me, of course, and are too busy pulling in fish. Just sayin’.)

There are endless items for compulsive contemplation. Rods, reels, line, hooks, bait, flies, weights, still fishing, trolling, fly fishing. ‘Catch and release’ versus ‘hookem and eatem’. (I’m for the latter, thank you very much.)

Even when I drag my hubby with me, rig his line for him, prop him up with a rod, comfy pillows and a coffee or cold soda depending on weather, he still hates it.

Years ago Steve had a buddy at work that loved to fish. We were often able to go with him, and those are some of my favorite memories of past. The best lake we went to had Kokanee, which is a landlocked lake salmon. Buddy and I would haul in fish as quick as we could re-bait. Nothing like a freezer full of these tasty delights. Eat them, Steve will.

Thinking back about it, I am honestly not sure if Steve ever caught a fish. Could be why he doesn’t like to go fishing.

One of my favorite Bert and Ernie skits has them fishing together on a lake. Hours have gone by and Bert hasn’t caught a thing. Ernie had been just sitting and reading.

When Bert questions this, Ernie puts his book down, leans over the edge of the boat and calls, “Here fishy, fishy!” Bert is perplexed. Ernie calls again, then again.

Suddenly, a huge fish swims up to the boat, pops up out of the water and says to Ernie, “You called?” Bert falls over in the boat.

I think that I must be a fish whisperer. When I take the kids out fishing, they occasionally catch something while I pull fish in hand over fist. Since I’ve rigged and baited for them, I’m not really sure what the difference is. No one in my family likes fishing but me.

Is there a way to teach an Aspie a new single interest?


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