I will try to post one of my mothers articles each day. This will give you a glimpse of her Weird World!



SYRACUSE POST-STANDARD, July 24, 1976

My Weird World
By Audrey (KentuckyPine)



SOME PEOPLE SAY fishing is the most relaxing sport in the
world. What a crock! They've never been fishing with the beasties.
If you call that relaxing, Til take a couple of weeks directing
traffic in New York City.

It's been quite some time since I've been fishing with the
kids, and so they kept badgering me to "Please come Ma, you'll
have a good time,"

I should have known better. Why is it I can't remember until
too late the reason I decide not to do certain things? It's only
after I get myself into a mess I realize why I said I'd never "do
that again."

In order to go fishing, one must first load up the car with all
the necessary paraphernalia. That can be somewhat time consuming
if you count seven fishing poles, six tackle boxes, five
blankets, four towels, three packages of hotdogs, two salads and
one bag of charcoal And let's not forget the bait, worms, minnows,
bread and small pieces of cheese, and of course, the
crabs.

After the loading up, comes the ride to "the perfect spot."
Try riding for two hours with a fishing pole stuck in your left
ear and a can of worms that's fallen over on your feet. But, you
must remember, we're relaxing.

ONCE THE SPOT IS REACHED, it's time to unload, which,
by some miracle, seems to take only about half as long as it
does to load. The charcoal is lit in anticipation of the impending
lunch (which I consider to be the only good part of this ordeal).

Now, will somebody explain to my why I cannot use the bread
or cheese for my hook? The monsters insist the only way to
catch a fish is with live bait. What do I care, I don't want to
catch the darned slimy things anyway.

Anyway, the first time, one of the beasties-will bait my hook
for me, not that I'm squeamish, I just want to test them to see if
they know what they're doing. I stand there like an idiot with
the pole in the stinking water and the next thing you know,
something starts tugging on the other end.

My first instinct is to drop the pole and run away but the kids
are there before I can move. There they are shouting at the top
of their lungs; "You got a bite, give him more line, reel him in.
. ." and on and on until I'm ready to scream.

NEXT THING YOU KNOW, the fish is out of the water, dangling
from the end of my pole. "So what am I supposed to do
now?" I ask. They all start laughing until tears come to their
eyes. I don't see anything funny about the situation at all. When
the guffaws finally subside, one of the beasties says, "Now you
gotta take him off the hook."

That does it. There's no way I'm touching that thing and they
know it. Still they coax and prompt and nag.

Enough is enough. With every ounce of dignity I can gather, I
look them right in the eye and say: "You want him off, you take
him off, because I'm taking off." With that I head for the car,
open the ice chest, pour a cold one, turn on the radio and lock
them all out of my mind.

Four hours later, we head home, thank heavens. This time,
Tm going to remember everything — and when they ask me to
go next year I'll have sense enough to stay home. After all, the
beer gets just as cold in the refrigerator and the color television
is much better than the radio. That, my fine fishing friends, is
what I call relaxing.