Mother Is Called, Fish Have Been Slain, End Of Vacation

First off, obligatory but very well meant, happy Mother's Day to all mothers! My mom is a great lady, retired now and active, keeps my dad and her grandchildren more or less in line. She has had a pretty amazing life, including being in Germany through World War II, came to the United States in the 50's, naturalized in the late 70's, leads her hydrorobics class (by virtue of having been there for several years) in her snowbird community. She's a wonderful chica, and I'm damn proud to know her. So to her and all, I hope you've been spoiled today, y'all earned it!


As to my computer virus, an exploration of the problem seems to have revealed no problem, so Imma play it by ear. My dad got pasted by it, though. My question is, given all the ridiculous sites I visit, blackhelicopters.un.paranoia.com, enormouscommie.org, ufosisreal.net, and I seem to ride it out. My dad opens a lolcat and gets creamed. The question being, whatdafudge? 


At the end of my vacation. Sweetie is grilling chicken, and I am trying to scrape together a couple uniforms for work.  Gotten a lot of work done this week, not nearly the ambitious schedule I had, but we can see flooring in many places we could not before, which has now been covered in kitteh fur anyhow, but ok. I'm beat down, feeling my indeterminate age, which is definitely no longer 21.


 The half-empty (my wife says "three-quarters" followed by "holy dammit" and made some other points ranging from nonsensical and illogical to "really?") bottle of Jameson's, the fact that my skin appears to have been in a tragic accident at a sandpaper-and-lemon-juice factory, and the smell of lakewater on more or less everything I took attest to the fact that I had a good fishing opener, not so much fishwise (fishwise? Ummm...) but damned relaxing. Although, I did alright, especially on bass, which happily (for them) are not in season yet and so as a result are very well fed and probably skittish and not being grilled.


The lake at just after sunrise. So amazing peaceful and beautiful.

I was on a mission to replace a supper. On the way up to the lake with my buddy who owns the cabin, we had his dog, and the dog rides in the cab. It was odds-on which of us, the dog or me, sat in the front seat, but as I am a slightly better conversationalist, I won. We stopped for gas and there was a Subway in the service station, so I grabbed a double-tuna sammich, but due to the diabeetus, I could not eat it yet, and set it down. We then had to stop at a Wally-world (I know, I hate them too, but we didn't 'zackly have a choice at that point) so that my friend could get a fishing license. Now it was time to eat for me, so I eagerly headed for the truck, only to find my sammich missing. And the cab smelling like tuna. And a wrapper in the backseat. And then a big, tonguey, dog head flopped up on the center console, panting tuna (for the next two hours. Ugghhh.)

I need a cabin. And retirement. And a boat and...

I was annoyed with the dog, but it was my own damn fault so I couldn't be too torqued off. But my worry was that it was a double-tuna, meaning a pile of salad dressing in it, and I didn't want the dog to be sick, poor thing. But the dog, satisfied with his supper as only dogs can be, didn't miss a beat and spent the rest of the weekend running around like a maniac. Sammich-stealing punk.

In northern MN, fishing opener (and deer opener, duck opener, and such) are the real holidays, and the local radio station was doing fishing news, predictions, conditions, interspersed with a fishing soundtrack.

Seriously, with no snark, I LOVE OPENER!

I'm not a great fisherman, but I'm eager and equipped, and as the saying goes, even a blind squirrel and such... I did alright in the morning, naturally with only one witness who gave me a thumbs up as he passed, so believe me if you will. A mix of stuff all hitting the same wonderful plug - which later disappeared, in the mouth what I can only believe (cause it would be cool) to be a record walleye. I mean, it wasn't, but hey, gimme something here. We spent the remainder of the day, after the necessities of opening a cabin, out on a pontoon, churning up the water with a.)every damn lure invented and b.)a stream of invective as said lures failed to feed us. We survived on pork spare ribs in the smoker, with yukon gold potatoes (also smoked, never tried it before - they were glorious), Jameson's, and cigars; Royales for my buddy, Swisher Sweet Grape for me, but I'm a cheap date. As it got dark and quiet, we were on the porch, bullshitting, seeing satellites, the occasional shooting star, listening to old-time radio programs, Johnny Dollar - Insurance Investigator, the Bickersons, and stuff.

After a little largely luckless turn off the dock this morning (meaning Sweetie is grilling chicken and not impressed by her paleo), we came home. 

Lousy picture, but perfect name - the Cease Funeral Home.

I did not need their services, but after getting home, showering, ticking, I had to crash for a bit, well, 3 hours, but felt great!

Could not have been a better vacation. I'm incapable of being fully relaxed, like, ever, but right now I am damn close.