...it was the best of times.
We have just returned from our annual foray to Grand Lake Colorado--the 2008 expedition topped 'em all!! Were it not for my ripening tomatoes, my spot on the couch 'neath a fancy ol' lamp, my favorite jeans that i couldn't-possibly- wear-one-more-time without washing, were it not for ice cream and old epsiodes of "law & order"--were it not for those little "homey" things you don't miss before you're away from them--were it not for all that, i'd be yearnin' for a dirt nap due to geographical depression. Simply put, we had a blast. This was the view from the "back porch":
Our first evening, gathered around the table, I excitedly told 6 other people who really didn't care that our house on the lake reminded me of Stephen King's BEST story EVER--Bag of Bones. And sure enough....look what was right outside our little veranda/deck thing??!!
That's right, sister. An owl decoy!!!
Do I remember anything about the owl decoys in the book? Nope. Could i find a reference on wikipedia to explain the spine-tingling penny-in-yer-mouth-taste fear that rippled up my twacked spine? Not at all. Could i be mistaken? sure....i'll have to read up on it. But, i knew we were in for a good time! I mean, any house that reminds you of your favorite Stephen King is just a sure bet for entertainment!!
We stayed at ____________. Now, i could tell you where it was, but the thing is...we might be felons. We are not "fishermen"...not even "fisherwomyns", or "fisherpersons". No, no. We are fishkillers. My children tell everyone: We killed a FISH!!! (sigh) Our lake was "catch and release"--which meant any and all of us could fish, without a license, but we couldn't keep our...quarry? I dunno. Upon reflection, maybe there's a reason people have to have a license for all that. Instead of catch-and-release, it was...catch-and.....and....this was kind of how it went...
MAGGIE: AAA-eeeeee!!!! aaaa-EEEEEEE!!!
CHLOE: Get MY picture!!! MOM!! Here...here's my fish picture...
SUSAN: JOHN! WILL YOU COME HERE?????
DANIEL: wow. you caught (read: killed) another one. great. (he was the fish-cleaner...)
But we couldn't. It was a compulsion...a slimy scaled addiction we could not "kick". We could not admit we were powerless in the face of such mad, crazy, fun...poles came apart, worms pooped, lines tangled, dogs snorted lake water and ate weird stuff...and we all screamed with glee at each slip-slapping trout we stealthily landed. Except me. I can't catch poop-for-applesauce in the trout dept. So, I rescued the fish...catch-and-release-and-a-little-fishy-CPR. I would canoe or pontoon (sort of...it's hard to describe what i did...)...float out to the fish we'd nearly killed, and gently run them through the water...I revived 3 in this compassionate, floating, manner.