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- Fishin’ — A Tribute
Today, my father, Jimmy Jewell, turned 112. When his wife turned 109, July 26, i was overwhelmed with medical issues and administrative demands. Consequently, i just put of a post celebrating her, of which i am embarrassed if not ashamed. i don’t think she ever went fishin’ with him. She supported his passion by never complaining. They were a great husband and wife couple. i was lucky. But today, this is about that man.
Fishin’
he backed the trailer down the boat ramp
to the water’s edge;
nightfall had set in, the new moon and stars
were hidden by clouds over the tennessee lake
the cows had not lain down all day:
good for night fishing they say;
he stepped into the boat, walked to the stern;
sitting next to old Johnson 25 horse outboard motor,
he worked the choke and pulled the cord to start it;
his fishing buddy of which there had been many,
backed the trailer a bit furtherinto the lake
where the motor’s screw could take purchase;
he backed the 14-foot alumacraft off the trailer,
circling round until
his buddy could park the truck and trailer
to join him at water’s age.
he took off at top speed across the lake
to one of his favorite fishing spots;
they dropped the homemade anchor
of several window weights to the bottom;
they lit several Colman lanterns,
and
hung them over the larboard side
with reflectors to beam the light
unto the deep black waters.as scrores of shad minnows gathered under the lights,
they used his seine to scoop them up,
storing them in a bucket of water
except for the three they put on their fish hooks –
he nearly always and two rods out –
they lowered their lines with the appropriate weights
below the swirling shad pool;
waited;
on a good night it would not be long
before a striped bass struck and reeled up
into the boat and placed on a stringer;
then more of the silver fish would be
added to the stringer.
he claimed he and his buddy
caught 120 one dark night;
when i was the buddy, he would catch many
while i was lucky to land one or two;
often he would have a bite on both lines,
the rods bending suddenly;
he would move back and forth between the two rods,
holding one steady while reeling the other
until the bass was landed,
putting the reel and fish
on the bottom of the boat
to turn his attention to the other reel
until that bass was also brought aboard
when he would unhook them both,
adding them to the stringer.he would have left home around eight or a bit later
after a full day’s work;
they would pull up the anchor
as first light ruined the lantern’s appeal;
he would get home several hours before work,
clean all the fish
before giving them away –
he didn’t like to eat fish –
before going to work.
some weeks, he would go two or three times.you see, fishing was his passion
right along with his family and his church.
it was wonderful to watch him go fishin’.
- Sleep Well
The world seems to swirl around me, catching me in the current, not abiding contemplation, demanding decisions without the time to consider all of the information, denying peaceful moments of considering risk and benefits.
This is a sideshow to aging.
i have been awash in dealing with it, not necessarily depressed but passive in my efforts to be productive. After all, productivity is no longer required even though it is intrinsic in my being.
The medical world has descended upon me in spades. It is mostly annoying but required to ensure some annoyance will not develop into a life threatening condition…or worse. So, this is a requirement even though the medical community is awash in computer wizardry, which separates the providers from patients’ concerns. This is a whammo for the old Navy officer who worked hard to ensure my commands were improving in performance of their mission while the sailors were treated well with their needs addressed.
After chasing the medical gremlins, i stop and avoid the news and, as much as i can, don’t comment or reflect on the sour turn to fear, anger, hate, and greed our politicians and their followers want us all to pursue. i do reflect on how fortunate i am with daughters and their families, my wife, our home, my friends. i perform tasks, some needed, some not. i write for me when so compelled, but no longer make those writings public every day.
i suspect i am at a crossroads and hope it leads me to what i imagined life would be in my 80s: reading the rather large collection of books i have on shelves, plus those that come across my trail, listening to music, telling tales to those who might like to hear or read them, reflecting on a rather kaleidoscopic life, wishing i could pass on what i’ve learned and observed from living it, watching the sunsets, enjoying dinners, taking in the coolness of the early mornings.
i also hope this turn onto the road i choose allows me to post more things for my friends, not for adulation, or praise, but just express how damn good this life is if we focus on what is good, refusing to wallow in the fear, hate, anger, and greed that seems to envelop us today, and encourage all of us, including myself, to do the right thing.
Sleep well. i will.
- Iron Law of Distribution:
Them that has, gets.
- Thoughts i had looking at a painting by Lisa Tang i found at the emporium next to the Star Ferry boarding pier on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong
he heard the cry, barely audible
he didn’t know from whence it came
he thought it was a woman’s cry
he could not be sure
the cry could have emanated from the cave
with a small entrance in the side of the hill
but
the cry also could have come from
deep in the brambles of the surrounding wood
he was not sure
he heard the cry again,
soft, almost a moan
crying for something, he thought
he did not know why
he stopped and listened
he heard a murmur, a moan perhaps
he stooped and entered the cave
he turned to the left tunnel of the two
he stepped in only to fall into the chasm
down he plunged into the abyss
the moan became louder
changing into a soothing call
he felt the change in him
he saw her fluttering up to him
his fall stopped
he found he had wings
she touched him with her left wing
he found his right wing touching her
the two soared upward
out of the chasm
out of the cave
they soared over the wood
to the sea
the two ospreys flew together
into the rising sun
- The Not So Grand Whiner Strikes
i wasn’t in a good mood this morning.
i had errands to run i didn’t want to run. i had chores to do i didn’t want to do. Maureen and Nikki, two of my favorite women on earth, went to see “The Odyssey.” i declined because the idea of super new graphics being used did not sit well (hey, i am old school: the only graphics (?) i like are the ones in the old , “Superman” TV serials and the “Rocket Man” serials in the movie theater before they showed the Saturday matinee oaters). Also, i am too damn old to sit in a movie theater seat for three hours. Besides, i had chores to do.
“i opened the garage door to take the car out on my errands. There blocking the mail box and the third lane of our driveway was Imperial Star Destroyer sized Toyota “Tundra” pickup, appropriately painted the color of the Star War Stormtroopers.
It obviously belonged to one of the guys working on the renovation next door. Our new neighbors to be are good folks and i like everyone i met who has been working there, even befriended quite a few.
But this gigantic Tonka toy partially blocking our driveway ticked me off.
i went back inside, wrote out a message on piece of paper with my green (XO) Sharpie, and used masking tape to affix it to the driver’s side window. It read:
Apparently, you don’t know, but your hood’s right side is partially blocking a driveway…mine.
And yes, we use it. Please walk a little further next time…unless you are handicapped.
Thanks, jim jewell, 306 Crestview.
i ditched the idea of doing errands and drove to the Bonita Golf Club and had a brunch of their wonderful chorizo and eggs with black beans and corn tortillas, with a couple of IPAs of course.
When i returned, the Tonka toy was still there. But when i woke from my NORP — yes, i still take a Naval Officer Rest Period in the middle of the day — the offending monster had moved, parking down the road a bit. i guess he wasn’t handicapped.
i smiled but was disappointed i didn’t meet the stormtrooper who owned it.
That’s okay. The “Grand Whiner of the Order of the Curmudgeons” (thank you, Marty Linville) felt better.
