Hair, Trout, and Love

Gary and I arrived in the Methow Valley Tuesday afternoon in anticipation of fishing Moccasin Lake. (A private lake) We had reservations at the Mt. Gardner Inn. Alison, one of the proprietors checked us in. Right away were pleased with setting and the room. Our initial impressions turned out to be true. It was excellent.

After dropping off some gear at our room we fished a local, public lake the first evening. We both caught a few fish in the 12-14 inch range. It was pleasant. The highlight of the evening was two other anglers who showed up shortly after we did. They took an aluminum boat off the top of a pickup truck. George had clearly done this before. His wife, Nancy, mostly watched. George mentioned that she just had knee surgery. After some doing, George got Nancy situated on a swivel seat in the stern of the boat. George sat in the middle and rowed. They laughed and kidded each other like good natured 20 year olds. They had gray hair. The hair that wasn't gray was white. The banter between them made both Gary and I smile and chuckle several times. At one point Nancy fell off of the seat onto the bottom of the boat. George was very solicitous. Not hurt, Nancy just laughed and laughed. Clearly they were old and had been married a long time but they still acted like 20 year olds.

After about 30 minutes Nancy got a fish on; she was not able to bring it to the net and voiced her disappointment. In another hour she really started whooping. I was a ways down the lake now so I thought she fell out of her seat again but as it turned out she had a 16 inch fish on and she got it to the net. She didn't sound 20 years old any longer; she sounded 12. So did George. They were like a couple of kids thrilled with catching a trout and thrilled with being alive. Nancy would catch another 16 inch fish a short time later.

Back at shore I visited with George. I said how much I appreciated that they were both having such a good time. George said that these were the first fish Nancy had ever caught. I asked if she had just started fishing with him and he said yes. To myself I wondered why she hadn't fished with him so many years ago. I asked how old he was and he said that he was 75 and Nancy was 70. If both Katy and I are alive, when I am 75 she and I will have been married 48 years.

I was right about the gray hair and right about them being old. I wasn't exactly right about something else. I asked how long they had been married and he said that they had only known each other for a year and a half and were just recently married. Even when I catch a lot of fish, sometimes the best part of fishing isn't the fishing. The best part of that evening was seeing young love and young hearts with people that had white hair. Inspiring. Yes, it was inspiring. "The heart that loves is always young."

It is the weekend. Drive your car carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally. Enjoy your weekend.

P

Questions of Control

Don't you wonder sometimes, "how you got to be the way you are"? I sure do. I think I know "how I got to be the way I am" and then I seem to lose track in various degrees. Then I think I know again. Do you wonder sometimes how much control you had over how you got to be the way you are? Do you wonder sometimes if you have any control over the way you are today? Regardless of how you got to be the way you are it seems like a fundamental question common to all people, "How do I get to be the way I want to be?"

There are so many random things in life over which we all have no control. Added to that is that each of us takes our turn making some mistakes and poor choices. Put those things together and it might seem we all have very little control in our lives.

Control of what would be a good question. Control of how things turn out? Control of what happens to me? Control of how other people act? Control of how other people feel? Control of how I am treated? Control of how I treat others? Control of my emotions? Control of my health? Control of my environment? Control of my happiness? That's a lot to try and control; I can't do it all and really shouldn't try to.

Is "control" the right word? Maybe "manage" is a better word. Or possibly "effect" is a better word.

How did you get to be the way you are? How do you get to be the way you want to be? Those are good questions.

It is the weekend. Please be good. Drive your car carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally. Enjoy your weekend.

P

Cowboy Church and Indian Church

The fly and a small amount of line are visible in the water near the boat. The line comes up off the water, it straightens out behind me. The first haul helps load the rod for the forward cast, the second haul awakens the road. Aroused by the third haul the rod calls for more line; coils disappear from the floor of the boat. The line shoots forward to the full limit of my ability and settles on the still surface. The weighted fly and clear line begin to sink in search of willing Salmon.

A count of ten is followed by a long series of quick strips until the fly is near the boat again; the process is repeated. I love the smooth rhythm of casting. The sound of the line blends with the warnings of the gulls to not get much closer. Moving around the circle my next cast is made 45 degrees to the right.

On the way to this saltwater beach I pass the Indian Shaker Church; I have driven by many times. What time does Indian Shaker Church start? Do they take up a collection? What kind of prayers do they say? Do they have a choir? Is it an active, rousing service? Possibly quiet and contemplative? Would I be welcome there? What do they call their God? Do they love Jesus? Does Jesus love them?





During the summers sometimes I pass the Cowboy Church on my way to other fishing destinations.

Who goes to Cowboy Church? What do they do there? Is it impolite to take off your hat at Cowboy Church? Could I go to Cowboy Church? Would they welcome me? Do they sing country songs at Cowboy Church? What do they believe? Who started Cowboy Church? Does it start at 8:00 or does it cost $8.00 to get in? Or both? Do they love Jesus? Does Jesus love them?







Does Jesus love one church better than another? Does your Jesus or the God love only you and people like you? Would your Jesus love me? I would like your Jesus or your God a lot if I knew he or she loves people who aren't like you and who aren't like me.

The sun is warm, the wind is down; it is a beautiful, satisfying day. Undistracted by having to net fish, or play fish, my mind wanders.

It is the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally. Enjoy your weekend.

P

Proud to be an American: Part V

Three blogs just ended up being more than I could keep up with. Spring and summer saw me putting a good deal of time into my fishing blog; ergo "A Few Words" took a rest. I am going to try and write A Few Words each Friday again now.


I am remembering. Yes, I am remembering, as I know we all are.

On September 11, 2001 I remember Mr. Dykgraaf, who was also someone who got to school early, coming over to my room about 6:20 and saying, "Turn on your television, something has happened..."

The horror of it all was more than any of us could really comprehend. I remember that. I remember thinking, and saying to my classes, how we would all remember where we were the day that the attack happened and that ALL of our lives would change forever in ways we could not anticipate.

I still can't process it all and can't begin to imagine what it is like to be a relative of a victim.

The night of the 11th I slept only a few hours; I woke up thinking I needed to go to New York to help pick up rubble. I had no place there. None at all.

From September 12, until the morning of September 21, my students and I planned a "Proud to Be An American Assembly". I know many of the staff were skeptical, very skeptical; they openly said it.

We had community members speak, we had student speakers, we had some "angels" sing a chant, and we lit candles and formed a star that filled most of the gym floor. We asked people to spread light in the face of darkness. It sounds so simple to say now and yet there were virtually no dry eyes in the gym.

We decided to form the American Flag on the football field after the assembly. Every student and staff member participated. We divided 60 yards of the field into over 300 grids. Each classroom was assigned to some grids and asked to wear red, white, or blue. We were not able to practice so we had no idea if it would work. Incredibly, so incredibly, it worked.

From September 12, through September 20, there were kids in the room working on the program from 6:30 AM until 5:30 PM every day. Sometimes earlier and sometimes later. It was such an impressive effort. So much heart. So much commitment. So much risk. So very much risk...

Our country is not perfect. I have come back to Winston Churchill's words so many times, "Democracy is the worst form of government--except for all the others that have been tried from time to time..."

I most certainly want to honor the victims of the terrorist attack and I want to honor and respect their survivors.

Ten years later I want to thank all the amazing kids who made our Proud to Be An American Assembly work on September 21, 2001. You went to every classroom in the school and sold participation. I am still in awe. I knew you could do it but in a certain way I don't know how you did it. How on earth did you do it? I am still in awe.

My most poignant memory is of Mr. Daverso coming in the classroom after the assembly. There were 63 kids in the room Major Daverso had been an Army Air Cavalry officer in Vietnam. Many people had come in to the room to say thanks during third period; Mr. Daverso was the last one. He stepped in the door and said tentatively and uncomfortably, "Mr. P., I want to thank you and your students for what you did. I was one of your biggest detractors. I said it wouldn't work and no one would take it seriously...

I did a tour of duty in Vietman. A tour or two...Yes I did. Mr. P., you know me, I am a cynical man."

I answered uncomfortably, "Yes you are."

He fidgeted and stepped back and forth from foot to foot and said, "If just one time someone had done something like this for me when I came back from Vietnam I wouldn't be the way I am today."

I answered, "Major Daverso, I am a civilian. If I give you a salute will you accept it sir?"

He answered, "Yes."

We exchanged salutes and he left the room.

That exchange in front of 63 kids was in so many ways not really my doing. It was the result of a herculean effort by my students.

I remember the 9/11 attacks and always will. I remember and am still very aware of terror. I remember the response of my school. I remember the risk and the trust that kids showed. I remember not sleeping for two weeks. I remember brainstorming, planning, discussing, talking, worrying, and hoping. I remember being so damn proud to be an American!

Ten years later. It is a time to remember and show honor and respect to the victims and their survivors. Through it all I am still proud to be an American.

It is the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally. Enjoy your weekend.

P