Survival In All Things

The Ice Storm of 2008 (because I hope there will not be any others in 2008) has been and gone. Left is the detritus of the storm's wallop. Broken tree limbs and the sawdust from the chainsaws used to cut them down. We survived, as everyone else did, and learned a little in the process.

The power went out at 1:15 on Friday morning. The oldest son woke up almost immediately, his body sensing the complete absence of light from his room. On top of it, he must have heard the shearing of the wind, the pounding of the rain, and the explosion of tree trunks and limbs as they gave way to the weight of ice. For a while, it sounded like World War I out there. And we were at Verdun.

By morning, we had descended below 60 degrees in the kitchen, and though the children were growing accustomed to the lack of television and light (and had not yet realized the implications of an ever chilling house), my wife was still trying to get to work. But her way out of the neighborhood to get to any major road was blocked by downed trees. Eventually, her boss texted her to stay home.

Late in the morning, we went to Nashua to our gym -- a workout and, more importantly, a hot shower. Then a hot meal. Then back home. The kitchen was 56 degrees.

Stay tuned for Part II.

Observations While Rigging-Up for the Season

Jim Teeny sink-tip floating fly line is soft as butter and smooth as silk. Supple, in a manly way.

Teeny sink-tip floating fly line cost me $52 for about 82 yards. Not so bad. Not like it’s a new spool of Sharkskin or anything, but still, when that sucker unspools on you as you’re trying to wind it onto your empty reel, it’s a major scare. I’ve had 9 foot leader unspool on me, ending up in a bird’s nest of fat-to-fine monofilament. But leader seems like a trifle, just a few bucks that can be tossed in the trash if the tangles are too much. Fifty-two dollars worth of fly line on the kitchen floor in a glowing green and impossible-to-see black rat’s nest, while dogs are lurking nearby? And kids are coming and going? That’s flat-out heart-attack-inducing. I have never worked harder or faster to untangle a tangle than I did with that Teeny line yesterday afternoon.

Teeny fly line lacks a built-in loop. So I tied my first nail knot to connect some 7 ½ foot leader to the black, sinking tip. Any trout worth his or her ancestry is going to spot that big, ugly nail knot at fifty feet in tea-stained water. I am doomed. But I positively cannot wait to try that line out.

How about a new spool of Scientific Anglers willow green weight-forward five weight GPX floating line? Yes, please. So that was the other line I spooled up on my new L.L. Bean Quest II reel. Bean calls it a large arbor, but it’s more mid-arbor to me. Not that it matters. I now have one reel, two spools, and I am ready for some fish-fighting action. Put the spare, Tenny line spool in the back pocket of my vest, and have my sights set on being a trout-snaring machine this season.

Beulah

Here's an excerpt from Beulah:

The gaping engine compartments of the trucks on display in the jam-packed car lots of North Glenbury were making her head swim. Big fat trucks with big fat mouths and big fat tires driven by big fat liars who tell big fat lies to keep their big fat egos living free and easy in a twisted landscape constructed of lies built on top of lies.

“What’re ya thinking about?” Gary finally asked, switching off whatever crap music he’d been listening to.

“Nothing,” she lied. She closed her eyes tight, then spat out, “Everything. Just about everything. There’s so much now.”

21st Century is Jetsam

Facebook, iTunes, the Zune, HDTV, blogging, social networks, the relief of technology. It is all as unrelentingly artificial and empty as a styrofoam cup caught in roadside litter.

Nothing has yet improved our lives. And I am left taking a dim view of progress in all its form.

Feeling lonely, Universe. What have you got to say to that?

Bueno Nuevo Anno, Yo

In case any of my egalitarian, Esperanto friends come around to check out my blog, I want them to feel welcome. So I have ushered int he new year with a blg entry titled in my own unique style of Esperanto, the language spoken in 97% of the world.

What is Esperanto, really? Well, to find out the truth, you could look here. But more precisely, Esperanto is the language that happens when you can't speak your own or any other language all that well. Some people in the U.S. call that language Spanglish, others call it slang, and still others call it the tripe spewed forth by undereducated, slack-jawed mouth-breathers who fell asleep some time in the third grade and awoke in full adulthood to find themselves running the country.

Didn't see that coming, did you?

Me neither. But like all good writing serendipity, it just sorta happened.

So happy new year to you, anonymous reader. I hope this next passage around the sun finds you alive and cancer-free.