Sunday, August 21, 2011
When I was in ninth grade in my podunk little middle school (our high school was 10, 11, 12 back then) I had this sweet CB windbreaker. You might not have been familiar with the CB brand but I was wicked, wicked cool because my windbreaker had CB in big big letters on the back. It was red and navy blue and like I said I looked wicked, wicked cool. I looked so wicked, wicked cool that someone stole (STOLE, I tell ya) that awesome windbreaker out of my podunk little locker.
I cried for days. Days, I tell ya.
And because I am the way I am, I tried to replace that wicked, wicked cool jacket with the SAME exact one. I have a very hard time losing things and if I do, I have this tendency to want to replace them with the very same thing. I've done it with earrings, sheets, running sneakers....well, you get my drift. I don't like change.
So when I finally dusted my tears off and dried myself up I went right back to the store that I had bought that cool jacket at and tried to find another exact wicked cool jacket, with the big CB on the back. Nu-uh. No such luck. Not only was there NOT one there in navy blue (only royal blue), that royal blue jacket also did NOT have the big CB logo on the back. I remember struggling with the decision on whether to buy that second jacket, which was not, definitely NOT as cool, or do I go without a CB jacket, which was also definitely not cool, AT ALL.
I took the replacement.
If only I had the internet back then.
It was definitely NOT as cool. I distinctly remember feeling NOT as cool.
I was remembering this story on my way home from Arnold's Lake last Wednesday. I got to bypass the very fun (depending on your viewpoint) boy's birthday celebration at Splashwater Kingdom and drive right past the crowded cest pool of piss and shit because I had Sydney dog (who wouldn't be able to hang out in the parking lot for 8 hours). So, I drove straight up to Plattsburgh on 87 to pick up this wicked cool thing:
Something (the universe) stole my very favorite wicked cool dog on Mother's Day this year. And as I drove that northern NY thruway, I struggled with the thought that I was trying to exactly replace that wicked cool dog. Now, I'm not stupid, although some people might think that because, well, because I sometimes do stupid shit. But I'm not. And we definitely were NOT going to get another black lab. But there was this black hole that was not getting filled by Sydney dog who a) doesn't wag her tail when you walk into the room, b) doesn't come running when you drive up the driveway, c) doesn't really give a shit about where you are or what you're doing. AND because a) Paul Bunyan's colleague bred her beautiful beautiful chocolate lab with her beautiful beautiful yellow lab and they had 9 beautiful beautiful black lab puppies, 2) and 6 of those black lab puppies were females, 3) and 2 of those puppies had white patches on their chests (just like Liebe), 4) and 1 of those puppies had our name on its butt when it was born, it all seemed so just MEANT TO BE!
So there I was with a little dooper dog on my lap and an angry 12.5 year old bitch in the back of the van as I crossed the ferry into VT wondering if this was the right decision. I mean seriously, no one will ever be my Liebewitz again. What were we thinking?
When I pulled into my weedy weedy yard I let out the dooper to let her sniff around her new home and I went up the hill into the green barn where the mice have congregated to get away from Hunter's malicious murdering sprees and I lifted out Liebe's old kennel. The dooper watched me scrub the nine years worth of cobwebs out and then she climbed in and claimed it as hers.
I was waiting for both the birthday boys and Claire to return and also for my brother and his family to arrive and so I sat on the front porch steps to shuck some corn for dinner. The dooper dog came from inside the house and sat down right next to me. I looked down at her and she looked up at me and I realized at that moment that the hole was filled.
And it felt wicked, wicked cool.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My grandfather Ike used to have an old wooden row boat. It was originally blue. And then we painted it white. And for the longest time it was blue and white. And when it was my turn to bail the sucker, I would squeeze bits and pieces of lead paint from the sponge right into the crystal clear waters of Arnold Lake.
I'm not sure if I've told you the story about when my father rowed me down to the other end of the lake in that said rowboat and took me fishing. I may have been 6. Possibly 7.
He made me bait my own worm.
And then we would sit. for. what. seemed. like. hours.
And if we did catch something, I had to take that slimy sunny off the hook myself.
My father would belch and fart. And I would cry to have him take me back home.
He must have been cognizant of the fact that he was ruining any sort of love of fishing that I might have ever had.
He's not a stupid man.
And I know he really loves fishing.
But I don't really think he ever anticipated me....
coming to some day love the belching and farting thing. That completely backfired on him.
These boys might not remember enjoying the walleye fish fry. They may not remember not having to bait their own minnows. Or not having to take any fish off of any line.
But I am 100% sure...
they'll remember how fast that Mercury 225 hp engine went.