Whoever claimed that fishing is a relaxing pastime has never been fishing with our family.
My Beloved got to do that activity a lot as a child- with the added luxury of his father owning a small runabout to run about in- so he’s a big supporter of the sport.
On the other hand, the closest I ever came to dropping a line was ‘crawbobbing’ in the creek behind our campus, and only did that once or twice throughout high school. Oh and unless you count the plastic fish with magnets-for-mouths that the kids used to cast about in the bath, they’ve never had a crack at it either.
So it was with much excitement and a little trepidation that we ventured forth the first time with our entire entourage in tow (consisting of 2 adults + 3 kids, yet strangely, enough food to sustain the SS Minnow on its three seasons lost at sea…you get that when you let kids pack the picnic).
Ironically, in spite of the fact that my Beloved had grown up with a boat in the family while I originally sat the test to impress him, we discovered that he had inadvertently let his license lapse so it was up to me to chart our course across the lake for a local fishing spot rumoured to be brimming with biters. Or so we’d heard.
Yet since it was his area of expertise, and I was worried about impaling myself on the hook given my history of hand-eye coordination, my Beloved was in charge of preparing the lines. Never mind his bait of choice was prawns and he happens to suffer an allergy to shellfish, he stoically sat and speared the soft flesh while the rest of us got our sea legs (or sea butts, to be more precise- the boat was way too small to stand up in).
We’d barely dropped anchor when the first cries of “I’m hungry” started across the stern, and barely had my Beloved got one rod ready before the chorus changed to “I’m bored”. But I was enjoying the sunshine and saltwater lapping at the sides and tried to engage our offspring in some bird-watching and sea-life spotting. That lasted about as long as it took for my Beloved to bait the next hook.
Seems the gentle bobbing of the boat was relaxing enough for our daughter at least, and she crawled under the wheel for a small snooze while the grownups tried to encourage the remaining two children to drop a line and please try not to scare the fish away. Easier said than done, especially with sons.
On the upside, we had a lot less weight to carry back across the lake as the boys proceeded to empty the esky of all edible contents, and made a small contribution to the waterline (not quite so easy for we females to achieve given the space and the circumstances). Our youngest even managed to reel in a bream and a whiting (both of kiss-&-release size) before deciding he’d had enough of this fishing stuff and was again calling for anchors aweigh. Ignoring his best efforts to frighten away anything living in the lake, we pressed on for a little while longer (if only to get our money’s worth out of the bait).
Unfortunately, in the process of catching and casting, my Beloved and I got a little too close for comfort and I ended up with a hook in my finger anyway. What’s worse, he also suffered a mild reaction to having his hands in a bucket of prawns (but then slept very well that night thanks to the combined effects of the sun, the sea, the stress, and the antihistamines).
Having dozed through almost the entire excursion, our daughter crawled out from her hidey hole just as we were making the return journey, and in the confusion that followed, our son lost his hat, which made like the waves behind us and was merrily bidding farewell until I caved in to his cries and turned the boat around, went back, and scooped the soggy cap out.
During the clean-up once safely back on home soil (which also did not appeal to the children, for some reason), my Beloved and I reflected on the whole experience:
All I managed to catch was a hat.
And all he managed to catch was me.
As for our daughter, she just managed to catch a few Zs.
But you know what, we just can’t wait for the next time we can all go fishin’!*
Jx
©2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Food for Thought
I had a most interesting and entertaining burp the other day.
Long after I had consumed my modest little banana sandwich for lunch, but mere moments after a swig of icy cold Coke™, I was blessed with the belches (soda sadly always has that effect on me). For a change, instead of having gas with some unpleasant palate there was quite the unusual and dare I say tasty combination of flavours of aforementioned banana with the undertones of that fizzy caffeine taste we know so well.
It’s not a partnership one would normally contemplate, and correct me if I’m wrong, but no one has come up with this one before. Which is kinda odd considering the amount of edible offerings there are in the world.
Humankind sure puts a lot of thought and effort into eating doesn’t it?
Think about all the restaurants, books, blogs, magazines, and TV shows on the topic. I mean to say: last night Australia set a new record in ratings for the final of Masterchef – an estimated 4 million+ Aussies watched (that’s about one-fifth of the population!). For some it’s almost a religious experience; how many times have we heard about the face of Christ or the Virgin Mary appearing on a toast, or tortilla, or taco somewhere (and subsequently seen selling on eBay)?! I for one am certain at least one of the corn chips in my nachos platter had more than a passing resemblance to a higher power (pity I didn’t make the connection before I chowed down, or my financial prayers might also have been answered, but there you go).
It’s true, food is one of the basic needs of life, and aside from that little necessity for our daily bread, it’s kinda hard to escape on a day-to-day basis. Every 2nd ad on TV is selling some kind of food, you can’t drive anywhere without seeing eating establishments or their signs promising faster tastier treats (now with even better value meal deals!), or feel the urge to detour via a drive-thru. It’s the universal language of love and loss (comfort food anyone?); and way, way before we were being asked if we’d like fries with that, mankind was preoccupied with the art of eating.
The French emperor Napoleon 1 recognised that “An army marches on its stomach.” (And not just because his own was so close to the ground, either.)
Confucius say “the way you cut your meat reflects the way you live” (what does it mean if you pick up the whole steak and just chew- which I have seen someone do- I wonder?)
Even Voltaire back in his day declared that “Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.” Hey, I’ll drink to that.
And who hasn’t heard the old chestnut 'the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach' (but did you know who said it first? Someone by the name of Fanny, apparently, which is also a proven method for attracting a male, if you know what I’m saying…)
Nearly all the top rating television shows are food based, or feature at least one scene per episode where the characters are gathered around the table... there’s always some gastronomically-inspired movie on the menu… you got celebrity chefs right up there with sports stars spruiking this, that, and the other… so is it any wonder that cookbooks on average outsell sex-books by about 3 to 1? (Which always reminds me of the wit who wrote how he replaced sex with food to the point where he can’t even get into his own pants anymore.)
Fair dinkum.
Now, just think that all this started because of an involuntary bodily reaction to my choice of fuel for the day.
And just like that mysterious yet contagious yawn factor, all this talk about food seems to have somehow got the grehlin going in my gut and I’m now feeling decidedly peckish. Best go see what other culinary combinations I can come up with before the Borborygmus brings the house down.
We’re out of bananas as it happens, but methinks there’s a little more Coke in the fridge.
Oh, and just quietly, if a new flavour of Coca Cola turns up on a refrigerator shelf near you, just remember, you heard it here first.
Jx
©2010
Long after I had consumed my modest little banana sandwich for lunch, but mere moments after a swig of icy cold Coke™, I was blessed with the belches (soda sadly always has that effect on me). For a change, instead of having gas with some unpleasant palate there was quite the unusual and dare I say tasty combination of flavours of aforementioned banana with the undertones of that fizzy caffeine taste we know so well.
It’s not a partnership one would normally contemplate, and correct me if I’m wrong, but no one has come up with this one before. Which is kinda odd considering the amount of edible offerings there are in the world.
Humankind sure puts a lot of thought and effort into eating doesn’t it?
Think about all the restaurants, books, blogs, magazines, and TV shows on the topic. I mean to say: last night Australia set a new record in ratings for the final of Masterchef – an estimated 4 million+ Aussies watched (that’s about one-fifth of the population!). For some it’s almost a religious experience; how many times have we heard about the face of Christ or the Virgin Mary appearing on a toast, or tortilla, or taco somewhere (and subsequently seen selling on eBay)?! I for one am certain at least one of the corn chips in my nachos platter had more than a passing resemblance to a higher power (pity I didn’t make the connection before I chowed down, or my financial prayers might also have been answered, but there you go).
It’s true, food is one of the basic needs of life, and aside from that little necessity for our daily bread, it’s kinda hard to escape on a day-to-day basis. Every 2nd ad on TV is selling some kind of food, you can’t drive anywhere without seeing eating establishments or their signs promising faster tastier treats (now with even better value meal deals!), or feel the urge to detour via a drive-thru. It’s the universal language of love and loss (comfort food anyone?); and way, way before we were being asked if we’d like fries with that, mankind was preoccupied with the art of eating.
The French emperor Napoleon 1 recognised that “An army marches on its stomach.” (And not just because his own was so close to the ground, either.)
Confucius say “the way you cut your meat reflects the way you live” (what does it mean if you pick up the whole steak and just chew- which I have seen someone do- I wonder?)
Even Voltaire back in his day declared that “Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.” Hey, I’ll drink to that.
And who hasn’t heard the old chestnut 'the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach' (but did you know who said it first? Someone by the name of Fanny, apparently, which is also a proven method for attracting a male, if you know what I’m saying…)
Nearly all the top rating television shows are food based, or feature at least one scene per episode where the characters are gathered around the table... there’s always some gastronomically-inspired movie on the menu… you got celebrity chefs right up there with sports stars spruiking this, that, and the other… so is it any wonder that cookbooks on average outsell sex-books by about 3 to 1? (Which always reminds me of the wit who wrote how he replaced sex with food to the point where he can’t even get into his own pants anymore.)
Fair dinkum.
Now, just think that all this started because of an involuntary bodily reaction to my choice of fuel for the day.
And just like that mysterious yet contagious yawn factor, all this talk about food seems to have somehow got the grehlin going in my gut and I’m now feeling decidedly peckish. Best go see what other culinary combinations I can come up with before the Borborygmus brings the house down.
We’re out of bananas as it happens, but methinks there’s a little more Coke in the fridge.
Oh, and just quietly, if a new flavour of Coca Cola turns up on a refrigerator shelf near you, just remember, you heard it here first.
Jx
©2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Naked Truth
I don’t know about others, but if there ever was 4 little words that worried me it’s: “Have you lost weight?”
Oh sure, they’re usually meant as a compliment, but it always gives me pause to ponder “How big did I look before?”
Just quietly, I haven’t lost any weight for a long time now. Quite the opposite in fact. And I lay the blame squarely at the foot of the pharmaceutical companies with their so-called “minor” side effects. They obviously haven’t had to squeeze said minor effects into last season’s jeans (and thank God summer is still a way off- my swimsuit, and the world at large, is safe for now).
Now I know I’m not alone, the vast majority of women aren’t happy with the skin they’re in. Something like a whopping 95% of us would change something of our current body shape. And a large lot of ladies are so self-conscious they won’t even let their partner into the bathroom while they’re going about their business in there- let alone do anything amorous with the lights on (hell, who looks good under fluorescent lighting anyway?)!
One only has to consider the continual stream of advertising aimed at weight loss or exclusively female fitness centres, let alone the current fad of detox diets, to realize just how many insecure girls there are in the world. And how many companies are “trying to help” them with that.
I recently stumbled onto the show “How To Look Good Naked” whilst channel-surfing the hundred or so channels that pay TV promises (there was nothing decent on Crime & Investigation at the time). Some androgynous little fashionista by the name of Gok Wan pops up on ‘LifeStyle YOU’ and then proceeds to ambush some unsuspecting sheila with a nude photo shoot and a stroll down the catwalk (in their undies, thankfully). To be fair, he first takes her on a journey of self-discovery for the better part of the one hour timeslot, and peeks inside her closet and into her life before taking her shopping for the right style for her shape. From what I gather, the network foots the bill.
Now on one hand I wish that could happen to me. I know I wear the wrong clothes for my sort of silhouette, but damned if I have the money or the knowhow to replace my entire wardrobe on a whim! Besides, I like black. It’s the universal slimming colour, am I right?
Apparently not. According to this Gok fellow black is bad. So are tunics, maxi maxi dresses, and distressed denim (wish he’d told me that before I bought that last pair of pants).
And I know for a fact that if Gok, or Trinny or Susanna, or any of those fashion gurus were to turn up on my doorstep, I would hide behind the curtain and pretend I wasn’t home. Seriously, no one needs to see that kind of thing on prime time television or on cable. Especially if one is paying for the privilege (that would certainly qualify more for the crime rather than style channels, in my opinion)!
So I’ll stumble along with counting carbs and cholesterol, fixating on fats, and trying to swap in some preferred proteins instead; all the while hoping to get off the medication that has made my girth worse since the car accident.
See, though I know I don’t look too good naked at this particular point in time…I also know I’m not the only one.
And next time someone says “Have you lost weight?” I’ll smile and say, “Why yes I have!” and hope there’s still enough of a butt not to reveal the fingers crossed behind my behind.
Jx
©2010
Oh sure, they’re usually meant as a compliment, but it always gives me pause to ponder “How big did I look before?”
Just quietly, I haven’t lost any weight for a long time now. Quite the opposite in fact. And I lay the blame squarely at the foot of the pharmaceutical companies with their so-called “minor” side effects. They obviously haven’t had to squeeze said minor effects into last season’s jeans (and thank God summer is still a way off- my swimsuit, and the world at large, is safe for now).
Now I know I’m not alone, the vast majority of women aren’t happy with the skin they’re in. Something like a whopping 95% of us would change something of our current body shape. And a large lot of ladies are so self-conscious they won’t even let their partner into the bathroom while they’re going about their business in there- let alone do anything amorous with the lights on (hell, who looks good under fluorescent lighting anyway?)!
One only has to consider the continual stream of advertising aimed at weight loss or exclusively female fitness centres, let alone the current fad of detox diets, to realize just how many insecure girls there are in the world. And how many companies are “trying to help” them with that.
I recently stumbled onto the show “How To Look Good Naked” whilst channel-surfing the hundred or so channels that pay TV promises (there was nothing decent on Crime & Investigation at the time). Some androgynous little fashionista by the name of Gok Wan pops up on ‘LifeStyle YOU’ and then proceeds to ambush some unsuspecting sheila with a nude photo shoot and a stroll down the catwalk (in their undies, thankfully). To be fair, he first takes her on a journey of self-discovery for the better part of the one hour timeslot, and peeks inside her closet and into her life before taking her shopping for the right style for her shape. From what I gather, the network foots the bill.
Now on one hand I wish that could happen to me. I know I wear the wrong clothes for my sort of silhouette, but damned if I have the money or the knowhow to replace my entire wardrobe on a whim! Besides, I like black. It’s the universal slimming colour, am I right?
Apparently not. According to this Gok fellow black is bad. So are tunics, maxi maxi dresses, and distressed denim (wish he’d told me that before I bought that last pair of pants).
And I know for a fact that if Gok, or Trinny or Susanna, or any of those fashion gurus were to turn up on my doorstep, I would hide behind the curtain and pretend I wasn’t home. Seriously, no one needs to see that kind of thing on prime time television or on cable. Especially if one is paying for the privilege (that would certainly qualify more for the crime rather than style channels, in my opinion)!
So I’ll stumble along with counting carbs and cholesterol, fixating on fats, and trying to swap in some preferred proteins instead; all the while hoping to get off the medication that has made my girth worse since the car accident.
See, though I know I don’t look too good naked at this particular point in time…I also know I’m not the only one.
And next time someone says “Have you lost weight?” I’ll smile and say, “Why yes I have!” and hope there’s still enough of a butt not to reveal the fingers crossed behind my behind.
Jx
©2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)