Every so often I have what are best described as brain farts – sounds crude but as you’ll see, accurate. “She Who Must Be Obeyed” and I have been married for almost 46 years, and those with similar numbers know what I’m going to say is true.
First off, aside from the natural laps into forgetfulness, time and repetition have a way of taking trumping thought when it comes to doing, especially what you’re used to doing. So when friends – younger friends (most are) – tell me they have to put going fishing off because of a “honey do” list, my first instinct is to scoff. And without thinking I keep up with my plans, chuckling at those with little or no control over their household. But like the bear chasing you, eventually things catch up.
Trips to the cabin have been sparse this year for one reason or another and shorter in duration. Chores have gotten left behind and unnoticed by me …but not by “She Who Must Be Obeyed.”
This last trip had me raking leaves (blowing, actually) that I should have gotten rid of last fall. But fall is when Seamus and I chase bonasa umbellus up and down the banks of the Jordan and in lots across Antrim and Kalkaska counties. In short, the leaves, which are numerous due to the many maple trees, cover the open spaces around the cabin, making it look rather dismal, especially when the branches are empty.
I should have expected this, because for the last two weeks, there have been dozens of references to “She Who Must Be Obeyed” wanting to work on her flower garden, but the leaves are an impediment. Finally, I got the hint and fishing the Hendrickson hatch would have to wait.
They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but it isn’t that an old dog can’t learn new tricks, he’s just so set in his ways that it never occurs to him to try anything new.
So now I have this ringing in my ears because I was too dumb to wear earmuffs when running the blower, my fingers ache and are tight and I’m tired.
Long story short; the leaves are raked; the flower garden is in and maybe I can sneak an hour or two to fish for brookies before we head home.
Seamus is the victim in all of this, he’s never been cooped up in the cabin for so long without being let run and go exploring, and he lets me know every time our eyes meet.