Let’s just hope that at least one food fad doesn’t leave the South. The Kool-Aid Soaked Pickle.
Take one pickle, soak it in Kool-Aid and put it in gallon jars on the counters of the local food market. And apparently folks buy them. Then they eat them. It boggles the mind. At least my mind.
While I would generally agree with Tom Chandler‘s comment in his The Trout Underground blog that “fly fishing is how some of us convert our spare time into sanity,” it’s the process of transitioning from a spincast fisher to fly fisher that may push me a bit closer to insanity for a short period of time. Thank goodness the fly fishing class that Christopher and I attended last Saturday went a long way toward easing this insanity.
Don’t get me wrong. I plan to enjoy fly fishing. It will be fun.
This class, put on by the Diablo Valley Fly Fishermen was a great way to get a leg up on learning about the sport. It also taught me that learning to cast well doesn’t require a stream or a river or a lake, but fly fishing a stream or a river or a lake does require casting well. For now, though may casting did improve last Saturday with a greater understanding of the basics, is decidedly not graceful. My general knowledge received a huge boost as did the inventory of knots I know how to tie. However, any boost to confidence was quickly tempered by the revelation that I have so much more to learn to become a proficient fly fisher. And there’s that casting thing again.
But I didn’t enter fly fishing to become a master. Realistically, I expect that for the next few years, maybe ten or twenty, the catching and landing of a fish on my fly rod is likely to be better described as a happy accident.
So, for those of age and/or amateur radio operators…old technology made new again? From C|Net News.com:
Researchers at Big Blue have come up with a way to create vacuum spaces between copper wires in semiconductors, an insulating technique that will allow these chips to increase in speed and performance and reduce power consumption. Early indications show that chip performance can be increased by up to 35 percent, power consumption can be cut by 15 percent, or some combination of increased performance and power savings can be achieved. [Read more…]
According to Mark Twain, in his essay “On the Decay of the Art of Lying:”
“Among other common lies, we have the silent lie — the deception which one conveys by simply keeping still and concealing the truth. Many obstinate truth-mongers indulge in this dissipation, imagining that if they speak no lie, they lie not at all.”
But what of the mistruths we take upon ourselves in interpersonal relationships, accepting a person’s omission as proof of our thoughts — subconscious, preconceived or otherwise?
A speaker intentionally lies by omission. “To lie” is an active verb that implies this intent. However, most dictionaries also offer a broader secondary definition similar to “to create a false or misleading impression,” which includes lies of omission.
But how often do we accept our own internal “proof by omission” when another doesn’t directly provide the information we expect or hope for? In accepting this omission as proof, could it be that we are lying to ourself? There is no denying that an omission of information may be intentional. Sadly, to regularly accept that such omissions are deliberate may have more to do with one’s predetermined and perhaps incorrect opinion, negating the idea that a truth can exist without being uttered.
With great heartache and tears, our 11-year-old tortoise shell/calico cat, Sierra, shuffled out of this world at about 4:20 p.m. Supposedly more “my cat” — as much as any cat can be ascribed an owner — I think she was a somewhat unusual and endearing cat. Most of the cats I have had occasion to know followed the typical cat behavioral code that calls for independence verging on aloofness.
Sierra was different. She was motherly, even though she was never a mother herself. If you weren’t feeling well, she’d cuddle up with you, seemingly trying to cheer you up with her “atomic purr.” When I was first divorced and the boys weren’t with me, she was my tolerant and understanding companion. She’d put with the various dogs that came and went over time, and even after being playfully pounced on, Sierra would lay in the sun and lick their ears. (Nevada, our miniature schnauzer, attempted to “show her his tonsils”…picture that in your mind and you probably will understand.) Ironically, in her peaceful passing in my arms I felt some redemption from an awful memory of another pet’s passing. I will miss Sierra. I hope that I gave her reason to miss me.
Sean will play in the All-Star Game on July 14th, 7:30 p.m. at the Napa Memorial Stadium…somewhere in the 1300-1500 block of Menlo Avenue, Napa.
And the Solano College schedule is out:
Sept. 1 / 1:00 pm: San Francisco @ Solano
Sept. 8 / 1:00 pm: Solano @ LMC (Pittsburg)
Sept. 22 / 6:00 pm: Solano @ Monterey
Sept. 29 / 1:00 pm: San Mateo @ Solano
Oct. 6 / 1:00 pm: Solano @ DeAnza (Cupertino)
Oct. 13 / 1:00 pm: Redwoods @ Solano
Oct. 20 / 1:00 pm: Yuba @ Solano
Oct. 27 / 1:00 pm: Solano @ Marin (Kentfield)
Nov. 3 / 1:00 pm: Contra Costa @ Solano
Nov. 10 / 1:00 pm: Solano @ Mendocino (Ukiah)
With a recent turn of events, I’ve come to believe that it’s a lucky few of us who realize how good we have it and even fewer who truly know what we want. I would humbly submit that most people don’t know what we really want until we find out what we don’t want, or find ourselves in a situation that we truly don’t like. There seems to be a design behind the curveballs that life throws at us. In an odd way, we should be thankful for the problems we have now. They are there for a reason and are sometimes may be the best teacher.
Had I known that that the Presidents’ Day weekend would only offer an extra day for things to go haywire, I would made no plans at all. It began Friday. The plan was to head to the cabin for some respite and fishing, as well as skiing for my nephew.
First, my son, who had requested time off, was scheduled to work Sunday. But we could work around that and come home Sunday. Then, my sister calls to tell me that her younger son is too sick to join us. But that’s okay because her husband and older son can still make it. Friday morning, in no rush, Christopher and I hit the road about 11:00 a.m. We stopped for lunch, a visit to the Mother Lode Fly Fishing Shop and a supply of edibles.
About five minutes after five o’clock, we sauntered up to the cabin door to find a note from the friendly water department. Though faded from exposure to the elements, I quickly discerned that due to a leak at the “water source at the house” that the water had been turned off at the meter in January. Without the proper tool, we couldn’t turn the water on to determine how bad the leak was. Phone calls were made. Frustration mounted. Of course, municipal offices are closed by this time. Being a holiday weekend, it’s unlikely that any plumber will answer the phone this late in the day. In the end, we began the drive home about 40 minutes after we arrived in Twain Harte.
Saturday I awoke determined to follow through with one plan for the weekend — fishing. I threw the gear into the car, picked up Christopher and headed towards our one real trout creek, Putah Creek. We hit the creek and tried to make sense of this unfamiliar water. I don’t mind riffles and white water that prevents one from seeing below the surface — and call me spoiled — but I like my trout water to be clear. Crystal clear. Putah Creek is not. Sure, it was a great day, weather-wise, to be out, but four hours on the creek and nary a fish. And none sighted on the lines of the other dozen anglers milling about.
The score so far this year: Trout 1 – Pat 0. Frustrating.
Found this link in my looking around the Web for info: Ahwahnee Meadow Web Cam. Fun just to see what it looks like once and a while.
In the end, Christmas 2006 seemed to be destined to teach us to appreciate when our little Christmas season goes smoothly…something that I, apparently, have taken for granted for all too many years. It all started with a hectic schedule two weeks before the holiday, as Karen and Adam traveled hundreds of miles – yes, literally hundreds of miles – to various GGBC rehearsals and performances. That, in itself, did start this little snowball from, um, heck. It was the constant exposure to the Petri dish of germs that is called BART. The week before Christmas, both Adam and Karen came down with some sort of cold. Maybe it should be referred to as “The Cold that Stole Christmas.” While Adam recovered relatively rapidly, Karen descended into congestion, a sore throat and various aches and pains. We held on to the hope that she’d recover and only a few of us might head to Christmas Eve dinner. Unfortunately, Karen’s father, our gracious cook and host for Christmas Eve dinner, was admitted to the hospital, where the doctors wanted him to enjoy a turkey dinner and stay through the day after Christmas.
So, rolling with these curveballs (yes, mixing metaphors), Sean and I decided we could head to Christmas mass at 9:00 p.m. instead of trying to stay awake for midnight mass. All was good as mass started with “Joy to the World,” then the opening prayer by the pastor, who introduced his co-celebrant, who then said an opening prayer…in Vietnamese! Sean and I look at each other. But I was there, and by gum, wasn’t going to leave. Thankfully, about half of mass was in English. And it was entertaining as we were visited by “The Christmas Cat,” a feline named Gilbert by the St. Dominic’s School kids, who walked up a side isle, behind the altar, then in front of the alter to sniff at the manger scene.
I guess out travails can’t compare to that of Mary and Joseph. Merry Christmas to all!
fishing for words 