I admit it, I can't catch a fish to save my life. Not that I haven't tried - it's just that I never could quite get the hang of it. There must be some sort of finesse and talent to be able to do it that I just don't possess. My brothers both know how to fish, my dad fished, even my mom was known to throw in a hook or two. Then there was me.
I remember as a youngster, my dad would patiently put the worm on a hook for me because I wasn't about to touch one of those squirmy things. I didn't mind digging in the dirt for them and putting them in a cup, but after that, they were on their own. He'd stand there proudly, handing over the the rod, only to watch me drop the line into the water and lose the worm and the hook within seconds of it breaking the surface. We'd spend hours out on the boat on the weekends my father had us and my brothers and he would catch fish left and right. Nope, not me. On those rare occasions that I didn't lose the hook at the get go, I'd catch a big patch of seaweed or some piece of trash that made its way into the lake. Otherwise, I'd just stick my nose in a book and relish the sun baking down on my neck.
Back on the homefront, during the summers, my younger brother and I would take our fishing poles and head over to Axehead Lake near our home. Since I still wouldn't touch worms, we used Velveeta cheese as bait and believe it or not, once in a while, Kenny would come up with a fish. Talk about dumb luck. I'd be standing inches from him and catch nada, zilch, zippo, nothing. But it didn't really matter because we'd just throw them back and enjoy the peacefulness of the scenery anyway.
As I got older and had a son (whose pet name ironically was "fish"), I wanted him to experience the tranquility of spending time by the water immersed in the calmness and peacefulness of the sport. Even though I still had never caught a fish, I was determined to not let that stand in the way of trying to teach my son. I finally got over my affinity to not touch worms (its' amazing what we'll do for our kids) and decided that by a quiet river in Wisconsin we'd set out on our virgin fishing voyage on the banks of a small river.
I meticulously baited the hook as I had watched those far more experienced than I do countless times. Danny watched but really wasn't interested in having any part of that. He didn't mind playing in the dirt looking for worms, it's just that he wasn't too keen on spearing them with a hook. Hmmm, guess that nut didn't fall far from the tree. Finally with hook baited and lure tied to the line, my son wisely standing behind a tree to watch - a very large oak tree, I drew the rod back and went to cast the line into the water. All seemed to be going picture perfectly until, for some reason, the line kicked back at me and the hook managed to imbed itself right into my armpit. Dang that hurt. Somewhere down the bank, my yelp was heard and help was on its way.
Between fits of laughter and feigned concern, Oliver and Danny came to my rescue and pulled the blasted little thing out of my armpit, leaving not one, but two holes in its place. Neither of them ever teased me again about keeping a roll of toilet paper in the glove compartment of the car. It sure came in handy that day. Needless to say, fishing lesson number one was over for the day. As a matter of fact, we never did try that again and Danny never did show any interest in learning as he was growing up. Sigh. Oh well, at least I tried. Guess I took that whole "be ye fishers of men" part of the Bible a little too literally.
So here I am living near the Tennessee river, surrounded by fishing people of all sorts. Menfolk, womenfolk, little tot-like folk. They talk lures in a language that I am yet to understand and about fish that I have no idea what they look like. I still love the water and everything else that goes with fishing - except the fishing part. For some reason I just can't bring myself to take it up again. Perhaps one day, but for now I have a small scar in my armpit that reminds me of my limitations and skill when it comes to doing it.
Bless the hearts of the fisher-people everywhere who do it for sport and for a living. Your secret spots are safe from me and if you do by some chance see me coming up on you - fear not, I won'd be casting any lines or going after your fish. I'm 54 years old and the biggest thing I've ever caught fishing was myself - and that's not one of those stories that I want to brag about how big it was, because after all, it would be my own butt I'd be talking about.
It's almost that time of year where I'll be grabbing a book and heading down by the river - to read, to daydream, to watch, to learn, and to stay far away from hooks that can bite me. In the meantime, if you hear me say "go fish", you can bet that it'll be because I'm playing a childhood card game or cheering my son on at a ballgame. Happy spring everyone.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Unexpected Tears
Yesterday Oliver had an appointment at the VA in Memphis and I had been seeing some ads on tv about places buying gold. I decided it would be a good time to gather up all the loose stuff like single earrings, bracelets no longer worn, etc. and see if I could get a few bucks. I took my little baggie full of treasures and off we went. I dropped Oliver at the VA and headed to the east side of Memphis, not too far from where we used to live.
At the intersection where the one that I remember advertised was supposed to be, there was a Whole Food Market, so I decided to stop in there first and figured I'd ask where this place was so that I wasn't rubber-necking through a very busy intersection (6 lanes, both ways). Funny thing is that nobody in there knew where I was talking about. Finally one middle-aged woman said there was a little strip mall around the corner and maybe it was there. I thanked her, paid for my red-pepper infused olive oil, and left. I went around the corner and found the little strip mall that she was talking about and sure enough, there in the window was a sign that said "We Buy Gold." I got out of the car, locked the door and for some reason froze in my tracks. Something didn't "feel" right. Couldn't explain it but I knew that I wasn't supposed to go in that store. I looked around the area and sure enough, kitty corner from where I was standing, was the place that I had actually seen the ads for - with the blue awning. I got back in my car and as I was pulling out of the parking spot, I noticed that two doors down was a "Psychic Tea Room." Perhaps that explained my hesitation to be where I was. Felt like I was on foreign soil for sure (and I didn't go in any of the stores so I don't know who worked there or what nationality or anything - it was a feeling and not something I saw).
Anyway, it took a while because of the traffic but I managed to get across all the lanes and to the store. No hesitation once I got there either. I walked in, pulled out my little baggie and one of the older gentleman went in back to get Gary - the owner. It was a beautiful, nice, clean, little jewelry store. I stood there as Gary took out his little jeweler's loop and inspected each piece. All but my watch and one bracelet made the cut. Turns out they were just gold-plated. He took the rest and put them on the scale, grabbed a calculator and showed me "the price" that he could pay. I nodded and he brought out the checkbook.
It was not a grand amount by any means, but enough to pay the electric bill this month, which helps. I'm not sure what exactly set off the tear factory. Was it when he wrote "scrap gold" in the memo, or was it realizing that I never again would open my jewelry box and see my mother's or my grandmother's wedding rings, or was it because somehow I felt like I was selling their memories to pay the electric bill? It wasn't because I was honoring their long marriages - both had been divorced in an era when divorce was not the way to go and taken off those rings long before they died. Was it because we've worked hard all our lives and we've had to resort to things like this? Was it because I never would have considered this if Oliver hadn't lost his job 7 months ago and hasn't been able to find anything? Was it because we live in a world where people don't respect the older generation or their experiences anymore? Was it a fear of what the future will entail or was it a past coming back to me? We had lived as very young parents 30 years ago just a few miles from where I was now standing.
I truly am not sure why, but the tears just started flowing, but flow they did. Poor Gary, bless his heart, stood there so sympathetically. His first response was that he was paying me a very good price. Oh, that's the one thing I KNOW it was not about. He said I could change my mind and went to hand me the items back. I just shook my head and said "no, that's not it." I told him I didn't know why I was crying and that I certainly didn't expect to have emotions over selling some "scrap gold". They started out handing me tissues and finally went to paper towels. Gary gave me his card and told me to call him if I changed my mind. I told him that I wouldn't and that I'd be fine. I kinda gave an abbreviated version of what I was feeling. One of the older gentlemen was with another customer but the other one came over and tried to comfort me too. I apologized for blubbering and they were both so very sweet. Gary even said that he would add us to his prayer list. That did make me smile and suddenly I just knew I was in the right store.
Despite crying, I still had a sense of peace and knew I had done the right thing. Finally I gained my composure and left the store. On the way out there was a frail older lady that couldn't quite make the step up into the store. I held the door open and helped her up, telling her how gorgeous her outfit looked as I managed to give her a great big smile. Gary and the other gentleman seemed surprised that I was able to do that, given that I was such a crying mess two seconds earlier - guess all those years in customer service kicked in after all. Some things you just don't forget, no matter how awful you might be feeling at the moment.
I have no regrets about selling the jewelry - none at all. That's why I just don't understand the tears. It's one thing to cry when you know why you're crying. It's a whole other ballgame when you don't have a clue. When I think about it, I actually have to laugh. It certainly couldn't have been about the odd earrings whose mate had disappeared long ago. I don't think it was about the rings. My mom and my grandmother were single mothers back in the day when it was even harder to be so. Times were tough for them both and I know without a doubt that if the opportunity would have arisen back then, they both would have sold off those rings long ago. Actually I can almost see them looking at each other surprised that the wedding rings were real gold.
I even remember my mother calming me down once when I was a young teen. I had misplaced a locket that she had given me that had been a gift from my dad to her. I was quite upset and afraid to tell her about it. Turns out she already knew why I was upset because she had found it. She told me about how she had lost the original one long before I was born and how she and my aunt scoured the city of Chicago until they could find a replacement. My dad was none the wiser. She told me at that time to never get so attached or upset over things and I thought I had taken her advice to heart. Perhaps it's because I've lost so many people in my life and that I've always just had their things to remember them by, but I guess for whatever reason, I tend to want to surround myself with things that mattered to other people. Or I'm afraid that if I get rid of the items, it's like I'm being disloyal or dishonoring to their memory. Oh, I've watched enough of those shows on TLC and HGTV to know that the memory is in the heart and not attached to the item, but for some reason it creeps up when I least expect it.
I'm on a mission this year to get rid of a lot of the clutter and old things in my life. I have way too much "stuff" in my life that I never would have bought myself to begin with, gifts that I have gotten from others, not to mention all the stuff that I look at and go "what was I thinking?" Of course, necessity is the mother of all invention and the time is ripe. No better time than when you could use the money.
I'm sure I'll be shedding some more unexpected tears over the next couple of months as I get rid of more and more of the unnecessary things in my life. There is a certain sense of joy that comes about as you watch someone walk off with something that makes them happy, especially if it's something you have loved and you know it's going to a good home. There's always a snicker, or two, when you see an item that you got as a gift (especially if it's something that you hated) leave your sight lines never to be seen again. Ah, sweet relief. There is also a sense of freedom to know that you will no longer be tied down to items that have had a hold over you - even when you don't know they have.
So, if you stop by our yard sales and see something you like, please take it off our hands and give it a lovely new home. By the same token, if you see something that you gave us, please don't take it personally... we're not selling you, our friendship, our family relationship, or our memories together... we're just simplifying our lives. Hey, if I can make it through selling off two generations of wedding rings to be made into a new piece to bring joy to someone else's face, then all things are eligible for the same fate... I'll just be sure to have tissue and a roll of paper towels nearby because you never know when those unexpected tears will start to flow.
At the intersection where the one that I remember advertised was supposed to be, there was a Whole Food Market, so I decided to stop in there first and figured I'd ask where this place was so that I wasn't rubber-necking through a very busy intersection (6 lanes, both ways). Funny thing is that nobody in there knew where I was talking about. Finally one middle-aged woman said there was a little strip mall around the corner and maybe it was there. I thanked her, paid for my red-pepper infused olive oil, and left. I went around the corner and found the little strip mall that she was talking about and sure enough, there in the window was a sign that said "We Buy Gold." I got out of the car, locked the door and for some reason froze in my tracks. Something didn't "feel" right. Couldn't explain it but I knew that I wasn't supposed to go in that store. I looked around the area and sure enough, kitty corner from where I was standing, was the place that I had actually seen the ads for - with the blue awning. I got back in my car and as I was pulling out of the parking spot, I noticed that two doors down was a "Psychic Tea Room." Perhaps that explained my hesitation to be where I was. Felt like I was on foreign soil for sure (and I didn't go in any of the stores so I don't know who worked there or what nationality or anything - it was a feeling and not something I saw).
Anyway, it took a while because of the traffic but I managed to get across all the lanes and to the store. No hesitation once I got there either. I walked in, pulled out my little baggie and one of the older gentleman went in back to get Gary - the owner. It was a beautiful, nice, clean, little jewelry store. I stood there as Gary took out his little jeweler's loop and inspected each piece. All but my watch and one bracelet made the cut. Turns out they were just gold-plated. He took the rest and put them on the scale, grabbed a calculator and showed me "the price" that he could pay. I nodded and he brought out the checkbook.
It was not a grand amount by any means, but enough to pay the electric bill this month, which helps. I'm not sure what exactly set off the tear factory. Was it when he wrote "scrap gold" in the memo, or was it realizing that I never again would open my jewelry box and see my mother's or my grandmother's wedding rings, or was it because somehow I felt like I was selling their memories to pay the electric bill? It wasn't because I was honoring their long marriages - both had been divorced in an era when divorce was not the way to go and taken off those rings long before they died. Was it because we've worked hard all our lives and we've had to resort to things like this? Was it because I never would have considered this if Oliver hadn't lost his job 7 months ago and hasn't been able to find anything? Was it because we live in a world where people don't respect the older generation or their experiences anymore? Was it a fear of what the future will entail or was it a past coming back to me? We had lived as very young parents 30 years ago just a few miles from where I was now standing.
I truly am not sure why, but the tears just started flowing, but flow they did. Poor Gary, bless his heart, stood there so sympathetically. His first response was that he was paying me a very good price. Oh, that's the one thing I KNOW it was not about. He said I could change my mind and went to hand me the items back. I just shook my head and said "no, that's not it." I told him I didn't know why I was crying and that I certainly didn't expect to have emotions over selling some "scrap gold". They started out handing me tissues and finally went to paper towels. Gary gave me his card and told me to call him if I changed my mind. I told him that I wouldn't and that I'd be fine. I kinda gave an abbreviated version of what I was feeling. One of the older gentlemen was with another customer but the other one came over and tried to comfort me too. I apologized for blubbering and they were both so very sweet. Gary even said that he would add us to his prayer list. That did make me smile and suddenly I just knew I was in the right store.
Despite crying, I still had a sense of peace and knew I had done the right thing. Finally I gained my composure and left the store. On the way out there was a frail older lady that couldn't quite make the step up into the store. I held the door open and helped her up, telling her how gorgeous her outfit looked as I managed to give her a great big smile. Gary and the other gentleman seemed surprised that I was able to do that, given that I was such a crying mess two seconds earlier - guess all those years in customer service kicked in after all. Some things you just don't forget, no matter how awful you might be feeling at the moment.
I have no regrets about selling the jewelry - none at all. That's why I just don't understand the tears. It's one thing to cry when you know why you're crying. It's a whole other ballgame when you don't have a clue. When I think about it, I actually have to laugh. It certainly couldn't have been about the odd earrings whose mate had disappeared long ago. I don't think it was about the rings. My mom and my grandmother were single mothers back in the day when it was even harder to be so. Times were tough for them both and I know without a doubt that if the opportunity would have arisen back then, they both would have sold off those rings long ago. Actually I can almost see them looking at each other surprised that the wedding rings were real gold.
I even remember my mother calming me down once when I was a young teen. I had misplaced a locket that she had given me that had been a gift from my dad to her. I was quite upset and afraid to tell her about it. Turns out she already knew why I was upset because she had found it. She told me about how she had lost the original one long before I was born and how she and my aunt scoured the city of Chicago until they could find a replacement. My dad was none the wiser. She told me at that time to never get so attached or upset over things and I thought I had taken her advice to heart. Perhaps it's because I've lost so many people in my life and that I've always just had their things to remember them by, but I guess for whatever reason, I tend to want to surround myself with things that mattered to other people. Or I'm afraid that if I get rid of the items, it's like I'm being disloyal or dishonoring to their memory. Oh, I've watched enough of those shows on TLC and HGTV to know that the memory is in the heart and not attached to the item, but for some reason it creeps up when I least expect it.
I'm on a mission this year to get rid of a lot of the clutter and old things in my life. I have way too much "stuff" in my life that I never would have bought myself to begin with, gifts that I have gotten from others, not to mention all the stuff that I look at and go "what was I thinking?" Of course, necessity is the mother of all invention and the time is ripe. No better time than when you could use the money.
I'm sure I'll be shedding some more unexpected tears over the next couple of months as I get rid of more and more of the unnecessary things in my life. There is a certain sense of joy that comes about as you watch someone walk off with something that makes them happy, especially if it's something you have loved and you know it's going to a good home. There's always a snicker, or two, when you see an item that you got as a gift (especially if it's something that you hated) leave your sight lines never to be seen again. Ah, sweet relief. There is also a sense of freedom to know that you will no longer be tied down to items that have had a hold over you - even when you don't know they have.
So, if you stop by our yard sales and see something you like, please take it off our hands and give it a lovely new home. By the same token, if you see something that you gave us, please don't take it personally... we're not selling you, our friendship, our family relationship, or our memories together... we're just simplifying our lives. Hey, if I can make it through selling off two generations of wedding rings to be made into a new piece to bring joy to someone else's face, then all things are eligible for the same fate... I'll just be sure to have tissue and a roll of paper towels nearby because you never know when those unexpected tears will start to flow.
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