Ok, this is really just a bunch of nonsense. I really don't even remember how I came up with it. Have fun with it.
MY LIFE AS A FROG
or "Once a Prince always a Prince, but once a Knight is enough"
I was walking across the street
the other day when it struck me…do vultures think?
As I lay in the street contemplating the cosmos, the thought just came to me.
And as the flesh was being torn from my bones
I asked them if they could make it quick
as I had nowhere to be.
I never have liked pet birds--cagy fellows.
Sometimes I have bazaar thoughts
mostly while I'm shoppingfor some tern or phrase.
It wouldn't be so bad to be a frog.
All the beer you can drink
and all the flies you can catch.
"Warts it to you?" I said.
Give me a kiss now will ya?
by David NormandCopyright 2005
Well there you have it. My wife kissed a frog once and it turned out real well for me.
I never really developed a taste for flies.
D.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Teachers
I was 15 when I first received news about how my life would go. I was a poor student, sitting in an English class awaiting the return of our homework assignments. It was assigned a few days prior. We had read some stories in class and we were asked to compare and contrast the two stories. I remember thinking that the assignment seemed rather trivial and I wrote the paper with that attitude. I turned in paper that was roughly a page and a half long…maybe, 600 words.
I was the 15 year-old kid who sat at the back of the classroom and watched the clock. I wanted the day to be over so that I could go home or go to work. I really had no direction for my life. I figured I would finish school and, perhaps college, and then go to work at whatever job I could find. I had no chosen career or goals. I really hadn’t thought about it. I vacillated between several possible careers. I was going to be a television director. Or maybe a history teacher. I really had no direction, just thoughts.
Well, I wrote that assignment in about twenty minutes at my job that afternoon after school. I turned it in and forgot about it. I was in class several days later when the student teacher, Mr. Raeburn, started handing out the graded homework. He came to me and put the paper on my desk and held it there with his finger. A++. I looked up at him and he said that that was the best paper he had ever read written by a high school student. I was flabbergasted. My friends sitting around me were all straining to see my paper. I read the paper again. Really? The best? Wow. Thanks.
I passed my paper around to my friends and they all said, "way to go Dave." I really did not know what to make of it. In the following weeks word go around school that I was quite the writer. My teacher, Mrs. Rovaris, not the student teacher, took to telling her other classes that I was one of the best writers that she had. She mentioned my name to her other classes. I entered essay contests and even wrote a few short stories but none of them ever won anything or was accepted for publication. I never amounted to much in high school.
But those words, the best, still stick with me. And what those teachers did for me is really a tremendous thing. They saved me from a life of hopelessness and actually gave me the power to take control of my own life. The fact that it has been 30 years for me to start writing on a regular basis is really not their fault. They planted the seed and for some it is a slow germinating plant. Who knows what type of fruit it will bear.
Also, several years later I attended the University of New Orleans and my first English teacher that first semester there was the student teacher I had in high school, Mr. Raeburn. Just a coincidence. I think at that time he must have been disappointed that I wasn’t doing much with my writing. I got a good grade in the class but only one piece that I wrote was memorable and I seem to have lost it over the years.
My second semester was a different matter. I went through the entire semester doing the work and getting by. Our final exam was to write a letter to a friend explaining something that we knew about. I chose a topic that I had been researching for another class. I wrote an essay on Anarchy. I was impressed with it and copied it for my files. I should check to see if I still have it buried away somewhere. I only mention that because this was another amazing event in my writing life. I turned the paper in and went about my merry way thinking no more about it except for grades and such. Credentials, that is all I cared about.
Then, next semester, quite by chance, I was walking across campus when my English professor from the previous semester was coming directly towards me. We made eye contact and we exchanged "Hellos". And we continued walking. He got about twenty feet away from me and turned around. "Hey," he yelled. I turned around. "That essay you wrote for the final exam was just about the best I ever read by a freshman." I was shocked. I was at a loss for words. I thanked him rather weakly. But inside I was astounded. I was flabbergasted again. Somebody was trying to tell me something. And it has taken me 30 years to figure it out.
I want to thank those teachers. Mr. Raeburn, Mrs. Rovaris, my poetry teacher Mr. Merriman, and that forgotten professor, who over those formative years gave me the courage to have this goal, this dream. I thank you.
At last I would like to add a poem here, a limerick actually. This was told to me by Mr. Merriman. It has a familiar title and I have never forgotten it. It says a lot about perception to those who are willing to look. Keep an open mind. Here it is:
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the cash, Nan tuck it.
Thanks for listening.
David.
I was the 15 year-old kid who sat at the back of the classroom and watched the clock. I wanted the day to be over so that I could go home or go to work. I really had no direction for my life. I figured I would finish school and, perhaps college, and then go to work at whatever job I could find. I had no chosen career or goals. I really hadn’t thought about it. I vacillated between several possible careers. I was going to be a television director. Or maybe a history teacher. I really had no direction, just thoughts.
Well, I wrote that assignment in about twenty minutes at my job that afternoon after school. I turned it in and forgot about it. I was in class several days later when the student teacher, Mr. Raeburn, started handing out the graded homework. He came to me and put the paper on my desk and held it there with his finger. A++. I looked up at him and he said that that was the best paper he had ever read written by a high school student. I was flabbergasted. My friends sitting around me were all straining to see my paper. I read the paper again. Really? The best? Wow. Thanks.
I passed my paper around to my friends and they all said, "way to go Dave." I really did not know what to make of it. In the following weeks word go around school that I was quite the writer. My teacher, Mrs. Rovaris, not the student teacher, took to telling her other classes that I was one of the best writers that she had. She mentioned my name to her other classes. I entered essay contests and even wrote a few short stories but none of them ever won anything or was accepted for publication. I never amounted to much in high school.
But those words, the best, still stick with me. And what those teachers did for me is really a tremendous thing. They saved me from a life of hopelessness and actually gave me the power to take control of my own life. The fact that it has been 30 years for me to start writing on a regular basis is really not their fault. They planted the seed and for some it is a slow germinating plant. Who knows what type of fruit it will bear.
Also, several years later I attended the University of New Orleans and my first English teacher that first semester there was the student teacher I had in high school, Mr. Raeburn. Just a coincidence. I think at that time he must have been disappointed that I wasn’t doing much with my writing. I got a good grade in the class but only one piece that I wrote was memorable and I seem to have lost it over the years.
My second semester was a different matter. I went through the entire semester doing the work and getting by. Our final exam was to write a letter to a friend explaining something that we knew about. I chose a topic that I had been researching for another class. I wrote an essay on Anarchy. I was impressed with it and copied it for my files. I should check to see if I still have it buried away somewhere. I only mention that because this was another amazing event in my writing life. I turned the paper in and went about my merry way thinking no more about it except for grades and such. Credentials, that is all I cared about.
Then, next semester, quite by chance, I was walking across campus when my English professor from the previous semester was coming directly towards me. We made eye contact and we exchanged "Hellos". And we continued walking. He got about twenty feet away from me and turned around. "Hey," he yelled. I turned around. "That essay you wrote for the final exam was just about the best I ever read by a freshman." I was shocked. I was at a loss for words. I thanked him rather weakly. But inside I was astounded. I was flabbergasted again. Somebody was trying to tell me something. And it has taken me 30 years to figure it out.
I want to thank those teachers. Mr. Raeburn, Mrs. Rovaris, my poetry teacher Mr. Merriman, and that forgotten professor, who over those formative years gave me the courage to have this goal, this dream. I thank you.
At last I would like to add a poem here, a limerick actually. This was told to me by Mr. Merriman. It has a familiar title and I have never forgotten it. It says a lot about perception to those who are willing to look. Keep an open mind. Here it is:
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the cash, Nan tuck it.
Thanks for listening.
David.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Memories - the meadow, the wife, the lake.
The Meadow.
Many years ago I lived and worked in the high Sierra’s. I lived in a one bedroom apartment that overlooked a small meadow. I remember the meadow. The little meadow with the babbling brook and the ducks would land to rest there in the mornings and evenings. In the morning I would get up and shower and shave and grab my hot chocolate to sit on my porch and watch the ducks. I would sit there for hours, waiting for the sun to hit the porch as an indication that I would need to go to work.
The Wife.
I loved that apartment. I had a lot of memories there. My wife and I first entertained our friends there. We served dinner on a rickety old table that I inherited from my parents. I remember my wife washing dishes in the kitchen. I heard her crying. I went to see what had happened. She was washing the dishes and had broken one and she started crying softly, hoping that I would not hear. I asked her what happened, what was the matter. The dishes were my grandmother’s and she was afraid that I would be upset. I grabbed her in my arms and told her that it was just a dish and she had gotten them from a gas station.
I remember when she moved in. I had old wine crates for bookcases and an old Bok Choy crate for a coffee table. She was even critical of my sofa – a wonderfully comfortable hide-a-bed that friends and relatives used when they visited. She said the orange yellow green plaid pattern clashed with the carpet. I thought that it went well together. She was right.
The Lake.
I remember hiking with a friend. Staying at his cabin built in the 1920s and waking up in the morning and watching the mist rise on the lake. We began our hike that morning. Backpacking into the mountains for four days. We hiked until mid afternoon and then set up camp by a clear, mountain lake. Pete went to take a nap but I was too excited to sleep.
I went to the lake. I saw the eagles and birds flying overhead. I heard rocks on the other side of the lake tumble from the talus slopes down to the lakeshore. I saw the marmots run from rock to rock. I sat down on a rock by the lake, fished and ate a delicious apple. With each bite I felt more like Adam in the Garden of Eden, so at peace in paradise. I would bait my hook, cast out to the lake and slowly reel in my bait as I waited for the fish to bite. The lake water was so clear I could see the fish come up to the surface and checking out the man sitting there. I played this little game with them for awhile. In some way I was communicating with the fish. I was at one with the world. It was truly one of the most beautiful days of my life. I will never forget it.
Many years ago I lived and worked in the high Sierra’s. I lived in a one bedroom apartment that overlooked a small meadow. I remember the meadow. The little meadow with the babbling brook and the ducks would land to rest there in the mornings and evenings. In the morning I would get up and shower and shave and grab my hot chocolate to sit on my porch and watch the ducks. I would sit there for hours, waiting for the sun to hit the porch as an indication that I would need to go to work.
The Wife.
I loved that apartment. I had a lot of memories there. My wife and I first entertained our friends there. We served dinner on a rickety old table that I inherited from my parents. I remember my wife washing dishes in the kitchen. I heard her crying. I went to see what had happened. She was washing the dishes and had broken one and she started crying softly, hoping that I would not hear. I asked her what happened, what was the matter. The dishes were my grandmother’s and she was afraid that I would be upset. I grabbed her in my arms and told her that it was just a dish and she had gotten them from a gas station.
I remember when she moved in. I had old wine crates for bookcases and an old Bok Choy crate for a coffee table. She was even critical of my sofa – a wonderfully comfortable hide-a-bed that friends and relatives used when they visited. She said the orange yellow green plaid pattern clashed with the carpet. I thought that it went well together. She was right.
The Lake.
I remember hiking with a friend. Staying at his cabin built in the 1920s and waking up in the morning and watching the mist rise on the lake. We began our hike that morning. Backpacking into the mountains for four days. We hiked until mid afternoon and then set up camp by a clear, mountain lake. Pete went to take a nap but I was too excited to sleep.
I went to the lake. I saw the eagles and birds flying overhead. I heard rocks on the other side of the lake tumble from the talus slopes down to the lakeshore. I saw the marmots run from rock to rock. I sat down on a rock by the lake, fished and ate a delicious apple. With each bite I felt more like Adam in the Garden of Eden, so at peace in paradise. I would bait my hook, cast out to the lake and slowly reel in my bait as I waited for the fish to bite. The lake water was so clear I could see the fish come up to the surface and checking out the man sitting there. I played this little game with them for awhile. In some way I was communicating with the fish. I was at one with the world. It was truly one of the most beautiful days of my life. I will never forget it.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Pre Thanksgiving Notes.
The other day at work my coworkers and I had a discussion about Thanksgiving plans and menus. One of our guys is going to cook a turkey with his roommates, friends and assorted family members. We were talking about his menu. Someone asked the boss what he was going to do. My boss went vegetarian about a year ago. No particular reason except to lose weight. He has been doing great. I think he occasionally has a small steak or burger but for the most part he is sticking to a healthy, low fat diet. We all wanted to know whether he was going to do a turkey or not. (He brought in tofu for a recent pot luck – it was real good.)
My boss has limited his meat intake but he still eats fish and seafood. He said he and his wife were going to do lobsters for Thanksgiving dinner. Other people in our group were surprised and said so. "Lobsters ?? for Thanksgiving?"
I quickly rose to his defense (being the brown noser that I am). "Lobsters are the turkey of the sea", I said. That got a little laugh from the group.
I came home tonight and did a little research. Turkey was not on the menu of the first Thanksgiving. But Lobster and fish were. I feel quite good about my comment.
But I started thinking about how many families duplicate the actual first Thanksgiving menu as the Pilgrims and their neighbors did it? I know my family’s menu comes from many years of testing the likes and dislikes, the tastes and not so good tastes of my brothers and sisters. I think a lot of families are like that. Everyone has foods that they don’t like.
I remember one Thanksgiving we had three different types of potatoes on the table. Packaged mashed potatoes, fresh mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Thanks Mom. These were all done to accommodate different family member’s personal tastes. I know this sounds silly but there are many reasons to celebrate Thanksgiving. One reason is to be thankful to the Creator for the bountiful country that we live in. One is to celebrate our lives and good fortune. And this is how we show it. By having a feast.
Happy Thanksgiving! Celebrate your good fortune. Be happy and surround yourself in the company of friends and loved ones.
My boss has limited his meat intake but he still eats fish and seafood. He said he and his wife were going to do lobsters for Thanksgiving dinner. Other people in our group were surprised and said so. "Lobsters ?? for Thanksgiving?"
I quickly rose to his defense (being the brown noser that I am). "Lobsters are the turkey of the sea", I said. That got a little laugh from the group.
I came home tonight and did a little research. Turkey was not on the menu of the first Thanksgiving. But Lobster and fish were. I feel quite good about my comment.
But I started thinking about how many families duplicate the actual first Thanksgiving menu as the Pilgrims and their neighbors did it? I know my family’s menu comes from many years of testing the likes and dislikes, the tastes and not so good tastes of my brothers and sisters. I think a lot of families are like that. Everyone has foods that they don’t like.
I remember one Thanksgiving we had three different types of potatoes on the table. Packaged mashed potatoes, fresh mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Thanks Mom. These were all done to accommodate different family member’s personal tastes. I know this sounds silly but there are many reasons to celebrate Thanksgiving. One reason is to be thankful to the Creator for the bountiful country that we live in. One is to celebrate our lives and good fortune. And this is how we show it. By having a feast.
Happy Thanksgiving! Celebrate your good fortune. Be happy and surround yourself in the company of friends and loved ones.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Baseball as Metaphor
"It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart." A. Bartlett Giamatti
You may have already notice that I use quotes for inspiration. I wanted to write about Baseball. To paraphrase Giamatti, it is a game that starts in the spring and brings hope and promise and ends in the fall when the days are getting shorter and the warmth of summer is fading. I was going to talk about baseball. One of the great passions of my life, but when I read that quote and started thinking, I realized that the author was not just talking about baseball but he was also talking about life. I would like to talk about both.
I am not a rookie. I have been around the league a few times and here I am in the summer of my life and the days sometime seem to be so long. Believe me. But they are also filled with warmth and sunshine and baseball. My dad is in the fall of his life and his days are getting shorter. He is looking forward to the off season to nurse the nagging, career ending injuries that will cause him to retire from baseball, excuse me, I mean life.
I always strove to be like him. I will never be as great a player as he was and we never played in the same game. But my dad taught me a lot about how to be a play the game. My dad has never thrown me a baseball, literally. He does not share my passion. But that is okay, we have shared other things. He has given me his value system, if not his beliefs. And for that I am forever grateful. But you know it wasn't always great.
I realize now that everything I have done in my life I have done either for my dad or to somehow get back at him. He was an engineer and said I should go to college to prepare me for the majors. He wanted me to become a technical writer. I didn't think I could. When I was a rookie I declared myself a free agent and hit the road. I dabbled in the minor leagues for longer than I care to admit with no thought of making the majors. I worked in a dead end culinary career for 14 years.
Then I finally took my old man's advice and made the move. I signed a long-term contract (got married) and started on a new career. I had a plan. I would do as my dad wanted, not because he wanted me to, but because we wanted the same thing. And before long I made it to the majors (better job). I haven't set any records yet but I am still learning how to play the game. I guess it is a tribute to him that I am doing exactly what he suggested that I do. He knows me better than I know myself. Or maybe he just had greater plans for me. I know for a long time there I had broken my dad's heart. I never quite lived up to his expectations.
"It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart." My dad never watched me play. In the two years that I played baseball as a kid, I got one hit. My dad didn't see it. Now I have a son. I taught him everything I know about how to play ball. We had a lot of fun. We played catch in the evenings. He learned the game and my son and I are closer than my dad and I. And when it is time for my son to sign a contract or become a free agent…. I hope he makes the right choice. But I think he may break my heart. Right now his favorite sport is skateboarding. He has given up on baseball.
I know I broke my dad's heart by my wasted youth. But I think (hope) I am making up for that now. I see my dad at least once a week now. He had a stroke a few years ago. For all of my life my dad tended his garden. It was his joy, his passion, his means to relax. He no longer goes to his garden. He can't get around like he used to and his eyes are going bad. But I know that someday he will be able to see his son hit that home run. And I hope to make him proud.
You may have already notice that I use quotes for inspiration. I wanted to write about Baseball. To paraphrase Giamatti, it is a game that starts in the spring and brings hope and promise and ends in the fall when the days are getting shorter and the warmth of summer is fading. I was going to talk about baseball. One of the great passions of my life, but when I read that quote and started thinking, I realized that the author was not just talking about baseball but he was also talking about life. I would like to talk about both.
I am not a rookie. I have been around the league a few times and here I am in the summer of my life and the days sometime seem to be so long. Believe me. But they are also filled with warmth and sunshine and baseball. My dad is in the fall of his life and his days are getting shorter. He is looking forward to the off season to nurse the nagging, career ending injuries that will cause him to retire from baseball, excuse me, I mean life.
I always strove to be like him. I will never be as great a player as he was and we never played in the same game. But my dad taught me a lot about how to be a play the game. My dad has never thrown me a baseball, literally. He does not share my passion. But that is okay, we have shared other things. He has given me his value system, if not his beliefs. And for that I am forever grateful. But you know it wasn't always great.
I realize now that everything I have done in my life I have done either for my dad or to somehow get back at him. He was an engineer and said I should go to college to prepare me for the majors. He wanted me to become a technical writer. I didn't think I could. When I was a rookie I declared myself a free agent and hit the road. I dabbled in the minor leagues for longer than I care to admit with no thought of making the majors. I worked in a dead end culinary career for 14 years.
Then I finally took my old man's advice and made the move. I signed a long-term contract (got married) and started on a new career. I had a plan. I would do as my dad wanted, not because he wanted me to, but because we wanted the same thing. And before long I made it to the majors (better job). I haven't set any records yet but I am still learning how to play the game. I guess it is a tribute to him that I am doing exactly what he suggested that I do. He knows me better than I know myself. Or maybe he just had greater plans for me. I know for a long time there I had broken my dad's heart. I never quite lived up to his expectations.
"It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart." My dad never watched me play. In the two years that I played baseball as a kid, I got one hit. My dad didn't see it. Now I have a son. I taught him everything I know about how to play ball. We had a lot of fun. We played catch in the evenings. He learned the game and my son and I are closer than my dad and I. And when it is time for my son to sign a contract or become a free agent…. I hope he makes the right choice. But I think he may break my heart. Right now his favorite sport is skateboarding. He has given up on baseball.
I know I broke my dad's heart by my wasted youth. But I think (hope) I am making up for that now. I see my dad at least once a week now. He had a stroke a few years ago. For all of my life my dad tended his garden. It was his joy, his passion, his means to relax. He no longer goes to his garden. He can't get around like he used to and his eyes are going bad. But I know that someday he will be able to see his son hit that home run. And I hope to make him proud.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Happy Veteran's Day
Happy Veteran's Day to all the veterans out there. Your sacrifice and contribution to this country is very much appreciated. I hope you all have a wonderful day off to celebrate in the way that you deem fit.
I am not a veteran. I never served in the armed forces. I regret that decision now as I get older. I see how important that service is. I work with a lot of veterans and I will let them know that their service is appreciated by me. I will tell them thank you.
Please join me in thanking all the veterans that you know. Thank you.
D.
I am not a veteran. I never served in the armed forces. I regret that decision now as I get older. I see how important that service is. I work with a lot of veterans and I will let them know that their service is appreciated by me. I will tell them thank you.
Please join me in thanking all the veterans that you know. Thank you.
D.
We Were Engaged Before We Had Our First Date.
When I was in college, I met this girl at a church function. She was a friend of my sister. We seemed to hit it off and over the next few months I would see her here and there. We would say hi and stuff but not much more. I was very shy. I went to see her at work once to ask her out but I couldn't get up enough courage. I told myself that I really didn't want to get involved because I would be moving away soon. A couple months later I moved back to Lake Tahoe. I say my life truly began this second time in Lake Tahoe because I couldn't get this girl out of my mind. I asked my sister how she was doing and she said she had moved to Texas and was not doing well. Her jobs weren't working out and she wasn't happy living in Texas. I asked my sister for her address.
This was sometime around January, 1987. I wrote her a letter. She wrote back. I wrote back, we exchanged phone numbers. We started talking on the phone for hours at a time. It was so easy talking to her. Our phone bills were $350- $400 a month. This went on for about four months when she came to San Diego for her sister's wedding. She decided to fly to Lake Tahoe to visit me.
Sometime during the previous months I had made up my mind. When she came to Tahoe I asked her to marry me. Well thankfully she said yes. So we went out to dinner and a movie. We were engaged before our first date. I always like telling people that.
And that was almost 21 years ago. Our children are our little treasures and they continue to give us gifts everyday. My daughter has a very kind heart and she just started her first job. She is very smart and I think she will be a famous person someday. My son is an adventurer. We have to watch him all the time. He is quiet and shy and loved to play baseball. He just turned 13 and has given up baseball for the skateboard. He and his friends get together and explore the neighborhoods on their skateboards.
Life has been good to us.
This was sometime around January, 1987. I wrote her a letter. She wrote back. I wrote back, we exchanged phone numbers. We started talking on the phone for hours at a time. It was so easy talking to her. Our phone bills were $350- $400 a month. This went on for about four months when she came to San Diego for her sister's wedding. She decided to fly to Lake Tahoe to visit me.
Sometime during the previous months I had made up my mind. When she came to Tahoe I asked her to marry me. Well thankfully she said yes. So we went out to dinner and a movie. We were engaged before our first date. I always like telling people that.
And that was almost 21 years ago. Our children are our little treasures and they continue to give us gifts everyday. My daughter has a very kind heart and she just started her first job. She is very smart and I think she will be a famous person someday. My son is an adventurer. We have to watch him all the time. He is quiet and shy and loved to play baseball. He just turned 13 and has given up baseball for the skateboard. He and his friends get together and explore the neighborhoods on their skateboards.
Life has been good to us.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Fish Story
A few years ago I saw a Meg Ryan movie, "City of Angels" that got me thinking. How many of you have ever done something with a pre-ordained outcome or expected results, only to be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected turn of events? My wife and I went to see the movie when it came out, expecting just any other movie. But when it was over it had succeeded in reminding us of the best times of our lives. She was reminded of the beginning of our life together and I was reminded of the best day that I ever spent fishing. The difference between women and men, I guess. There is a scene in the movie that was filmed at my favorite fishing hole.
When I was living and working in Lake Tahoe, wondering what to do with the rest of my life, I had this friend who was kind of a mentor to me. He was a little bit older than myself but we seemed to click because we had the same interests. We both liked to fish and drink. And when we didn't have the money or time to fish or drink, we would dream of writing the great American novel.
We were roommates and both worked at the same place but on different shifts. As often as we could we would go fishing on our days off. Fishing was usually limited to a half day because one of us either had just gotten off work or had to go to work later. I remember one particular day. My roommate and I had decided to go fishing early one morning. I got the thermos and filled it with a half a bottle of brandy and then topped it off with coffee. And we always have tuna fish sandwiches to show the fish who was more powerful. That would last us the morning. We had chosen a spot to go for no real reason. We had gone there before. I don't remember if we caught a fish there before or if we even had a bite but we figured "what the heck". We had seen people fishing there and it looked like a good spot.
We got there just as the sun was coming up. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sky was dotted with white puffy clouds and the wind was pushing those out over the desert as it brought new ones in from the west. We had our sandwiches and our spiked coffee. It was a perfect day. We just sat and talked the whole morning. Hours went by and we hadn't had so much as a nibble. But we didn't mind.
Finally, about noon, we decided that we should only stay about another half-hour because my roommate had to go to work. This begins the greatest half-hour I had ever spent fishing in my entire life. At about 12:10, I caught a fish. It was a beautiful rainbow trout. About 12 inches long. It was a good size fish, just right for the frying pan. We both went through our ritual of de-hooking the fish and handling it to get the fish flavor on our hands. We never showered on days we went fishing. You want to be sure that you kept all aromas natural. None of that soapy smell. The fish could detect that and wouldn't take the salmon eggs we were using for bait. Whenever we start fishing we make sure that we limit the man-made smells. We rub the bait on our hands before we bait the hook.
I proceeded to re-bait my line and set it in the water. At about 12:15, my roommate caught a fish. Then I caught another one about ten seconds later. We were pretty excited now. We quickly took our fish off our hooks and re-baited. As soon as we had re-cast our lines, we were catching fish all over again. Reel 'em in and re-bait, re-cast and reel 'em in again. The limit for Rainbow Trout in the Sierras was five per fisherman. In twenty minutes we had caught our limit. It was an amazing experience. One that I will always remember. We were laughing all the way back to the car. It was one of those life experiences that stick with someone till the day they die.
We have tried to duplicate the experience on numerous occasions, but that was a magical day and that it shall stay. I remember the lake. It is one of the smaller lakes next to Lake Tahoe. I was reminded of it then when I saw that movie. This lady in the movie had a troubled time in her life and escaped to Tahoe to work through it. She awoke one morning in a cabin overlooking my lake. It sent a warmth through my body because it holds such magic for me.
In closing I would like to say to you all, cherish those magical moments. Those moments that are set up to accomplish one thing yet have a completely unexpected result. Those moments are gifts. Those moments are special. We would often go fishing just to sit out in the sun and relax. We would have gone fishing just to sit by a lake and ponder all of life's mysteries. It wasn't important whether we caught anything or not. That is what fishing means to me. Fishing is not an action but a state of mind. The metaphor, fishing for the meaning of life.
When I was living and working in Lake Tahoe, wondering what to do with the rest of my life, I had this friend who was kind of a mentor to me. He was a little bit older than myself but we seemed to click because we had the same interests. We both liked to fish and drink. And when we didn't have the money or time to fish or drink, we would dream of writing the great American novel.
We were roommates and both worked at the same place but on different shifts. As often as we could we would go fishing on our days off. Fishing was usually limited to a half day because one of us either had just gotten off work or had to go to work later. I remember one particular day. My roommate and I had decided to go fishing early one morning. I got the thermos and filled it with a half a bottle of brandy and then topped it off with coffee. And we always have tuna fish sandwiches to show the fish who was more powerful. That would last us the morning. We had chosen a spot to go for no real reason. We had gone there before. I don't remember if we caught a fish there before or if we even had a bite but we figured "what the heck". We had seen people fishing there and it looked like a good spot.
We got there just as the sun was coming up. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sky was dotted with white puffy clouds and the wind was pushing those out over the desert as it brought new ones in from the west. We had our sandwiches and our spiked coffee. It was a perfect day. We just sat and talked the whole morning. Hours went by and we hadn't had so much as a nibble. But we didn't mind.
Finally, about noon, we decided that we should only stay about another half-hour because my roommate had to go to work. This begins the greatest half-hour I had ever spent fishing in my entire life. At about 12:10, I caught a fish. It was a beautiful rainbow trout. About 12 inches long. It was a good size fish, just right for the frying pan. We both went through our ritual of de-hooking the fish and handling it to get the fish flavor on our hands. We never showered on days we went fishing. You want to be sure that you kept all aromas natural. None of that soapy smell. The fish could detect that and wouldn't take the salmon eggs we were using for bait. Whenever we start fishing we make sure that we limit the man-made smells. We rub the bait on our hands before we bait the hook.
I proceeded to re-bait my line and set it in the water. At about 12:15, my roommate caught a fish. Then I caught another one about ten seconds later. We were pretty excited now. We quickly took our fish off our hooks and re-baited. As soon as we had re-cast our lines, we were catching fish all over again. Reel 'em in and re-bait, re-cast and reel 'em in again. The limit for Rainbow Trout in the Sierras was five per fisherman. In twenty minutes we had caught our limit. It was an amazing experience. One that I will always remember. We were laughing all the way back to the car. It was one of those life experiences that stick with someone till the day they die.
We have tried to duplicate the experience on numerous occasions, but that was a magical day and that it shall stay. I remember the lake. It is one of the smaller lakes next to Lake Tahoe. I was reminded of it then when I saw that movie. This lady in the movie had a troubled time in her life and escaped to Tahoe to work through it. She awoke one morning in a cabin overlooking my lake. It sent a warmth through my body because it holds such magic for me.
In closing I would like to say to you all, cherish those magical moments. Those moments that are set up to accomplish one thing yet have a completely unexpected result. Those moments are gifts. Those moments are special. We would often go fishing just to sit out in the sun and relax. We would have gone fishing just to sit by a lake and ponder all of life's mysteries. It wasn't important whether we caught anything or not. That is what fishing means to me. Fishing is not an action but a state of mind. The metaphor, fishing for the meaning of life.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
End of the World
This weekend my daughter taped a cable tv show on the prophesies of Nostradamas. I caught a little bit of the show while I was working on balancing my check book and paying the bills. I was intrigued by the historical aspects of the show. Nostradamas was a French astrologer who came up with his quatrains, some say, as a way to criticize his contempories. Some say that his prophesies prove something else, a great insight into the future.
At one point in the show the narrator stated that Nostradamas had picked 1997 as the date that the world would end. I know that a lot of people have written about this prospect in the past. I have a friend who stated to me once that the creation of the state of Israel was the beginning of the end of the world. I have known this guy for thirty years and I know him to be a sane individual and not one prone to chicken little prophesies. I asked him about it and he stated that the end might not be what we think. He said that most people might not even notice.
I was struck by the year 1997 because I had just posted, a couple of days ago, a post about the death of John Denver in October of 1997. I admired John Denver for his concern for the environment and I thought him to be a great humanitarian. I mentioned in that post that Mother Theresa, Princess Diana and Jacques Cousteau had all died within a few months of each other. I stated that I, at the time, thought it interesting that the powers that be in the universe thought we were doing well enough that they could take these great humanitarians from us. I guessed that we, as humans, must be doing ok.
Well, now I am not too sure. If Nostradamas was right and the world did end in 1997, then the deaths of those great humanitarians were a calling home. I am not much of a religious scholar, but could the "rapture" have happened and we didn't notice? I just don't know. But then, what of the rest of us? What are we doing? Is this our own little purgatory?
I am not a very religious person. I was raised a catholic but I haven't really been to church in a very long time. For a variety of reasons. My wife and I have tried to go back to the church but there was always something that happened that spoke to us and let us know that perhaps this wasn't a good time. I do, however, feel that I am looking for some guidance and I do occasionally pray to God to help me make decisions or to help me through some hard times. I don't know how much He is looking after me but I hope that He is close enough to help me when I really need Him.
But I digress. I mainly was getting to the question of the end of the world. I don't know that much about the scriptures to help me answer that question. I do know, however, that I know a great many good people who would have been "called home" in 1997 if that year had truly been the end of the world. Not being very knowledgeable on the subject I cannot speak with any authority about the end of the world. But if the world did end, someone forgot a lot of good people.
I really think that we are all still plugging away very diligently and the world did not end. Everyday we are all involved in a constant struggle at making our lives work. Some days are a lot harder for me than others but I think that is the nature of life. We all have our own little dramas to live out. I think that is the gist of it. Life is subjective.
And that brings me to my point. I don't really know anything. I try to get through each day safely, with the right moral decisions and with good health. I try to take care of my family. I try to educate my kids to the ways of the world. Sometimes I think I am a failure yet at others I feel as though I have done something useful and good.
To those of you who are reading this, e-mail me and let me know if I am right, wrong or completely out of my mind. I am beginning to ramble now and I don' t remember my original premise. Straighten me out on this, will ya? I would appreciate it. Thanks for listening.
D.
At one point in the show the narrator stated that Nostradamas had picked 1997 as the date that the world would end. I know that a lot of people have written about this prospect in the past. I have a friend who stated to me once that the creation of the state of Israel was the beginning of the end of the world. I have known this guy for thirty years and I know him to be a sane individual and not one prone to chicken little prophesies. I asked him about it and he stated that the end might not be what we think. He said that most people might not even notice.
I was struck by the year 1997 because I had just posted, a couple of days ago, a post about the death of John Denver in October of 1997. I admired John Denver for his concern for the environment and I thought him to be a great humanitarian. I mentioned in that post that Mother Theresa, Princess Diana and Jacques Cousteau had all died within a few months of each other. I stated that I, at the time, thought it interesting that the powers that be in the universe thought we were doing well enough that they could take these great humanitarians from us. I guessed that we, as humans, must be doing ok.
Well, now I am not too sure. If Nostradamas was right and the world did end in 1997, then the deaths of those great humanitarians were a calling home. I am not much of a religious scholar, but could the "rapture" have happened and we didn't notice? I just don't know. But then, what of the rest of us? What are we doing? Is this our own little purgatory?
I am not a very religious person. I was raised a catholic but I haven't really been to church in a very long time. For a variety of reasons. My wife and I have tried to go back to the church but there was always something that happened that spoke to us and let us know that perhaps this wasn't a good time. I do, however, feel that I am looking for some guidance and I do occasionally pray to God to help me make decisions or to help me through some hard times. I don't know how much He is looking after me but I hope that He is close enough to help me when I really need Him.
But I digress. I mainly was getting to the question of the end of the world. I don't know that much about the scriptures to help me answer that question. I do know, however, that I know a great many good people who would have been "called home" in 1997 if that year had truly been the end of the world. Not being very knowledgeable on the subject I cannot speak with any authority about the end of the world. But if the world did end, someone forgot a lot of good people.
I really think that we are all still plugging away very diligently and the world did not end. Everyday we are all involved in a constant struggle at making our lives work. Some days are a lot harder for me than others but I think that is the nature of life. We all have our own little dramas to live out. I think that is the gist of it. Life is subjective.
And that brings me to my point. I don't really know anything. I try to get through each day safely, with the right moral decisions and with good health. I try to take care of my family. I try to educate my kids to the ways of the world. Sometimes I think I am a failure yet at others I feel as though I have done something useful and good.
To those of you who are reading this, e-mail me and let me know if I am right, wrong or completely out of my mind. I am beginning to ramble now and I don' t remember my original premise. Straighten me out on this, will ya? I would appreciate it. Thanks for listening.
D.
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