Life of Leisure

Life of Leisure

This morning while driving the first of my two granddaughters to school (which I do strictly of my own volition).  We engaged in conversation as we always do, except that this time it took a very different direction.  Our typical conversation is about the weather, upcoming events at her school or in the family.  This morning she started off by saying that she really didn’t feel like going to school.  My response was that there are many things, I would rather not do.  Some of those “things” have some flexibility where I can decide to do or not to do, and some that I have a commitment to and must do.

Of the two granddaughters that I drive to school, one is 10 years old and the other is 6.  The granddaughter that sparked the conversation and this Blog post is the 10-year-old.  Her response to me was (innocently), “you are so lucky that you can just go home and do nothing or only what you want to do.”  Before I continue, I want to make sure that we all have the same definition of Leisure.

Leisure

Noun

1. freedom from the demands of work or duty: She looked forward to retirement and a life of leisure.
2. time free from the demands of work or duty, when one can rest, enjoy hobbies or sports, etc.:
3. Most evenings he had the leisure in which to follow his interests.
4. unhurried ease: a work written with leisure and grace.

I retired early with a comfortable pension to avoid unnecessary work stress, and hopefully maintain a life of leisure and in great health (so far so good on only one of those two goals, health).  The leisure part I have yet to realize.

It was so much easier to schedule a day or even half day away from work to play golf or go fishing, than it is to take time away from my granddaughters and grandson.  I am not complaining and the difficulty in getting away is my sense of responsibility to them (the children) not to their parents.

I presently take my two granddaughters to school in two different but adjoining cities (thankfully different start times to accommodate the travel time).  I also pick them up at end of school day.

The last time that I took a vacation out of State by myself the grandkids cried and missed me so much that I couldn’t really enjoy my time away.  I felt a deep guilt as if I had abandoned them.  Fortunately, this year’s vacation is all about them and will include a stop to visit the happiest place in the world (Disney).

I explained to my 10-year-old granddaughter that I officially started working at age 12 (I was raised on the farm) following the end of the school year.  Keep in mind that the first six or so years where Summer jobs.  Nonetheless I logged a total of 50 years in the work force.  My explanation was meant to justify what she perceived as being my life of leisure.  The best is yet to come………

Appreciation Time

Appreciation Time

I regularly write about appreciating your life and everything in it, however this post is about how we take the little things in life for granted.  Consider that life is not about one giant plus or negative experience.  The spectrum of life is that we are born and we die, in-between those two points is what makes up life.  Millions of little events, and experiences take place from the day you are born until the day you die, and that my friends is what life is.  At least life while you are on this earth.  I know that without going into minute detail it comes across as an over simplification.  I will be the first to admit, that to many people religion is a large part, at every stage of our lives.  However, there are those that would argue that point.

As usual this is one humble individual’s point of view.  If I can just serve as the spark that gets you to thinking, I will have served my purpose with regard to this post.  I try to always be aware of my surrounding, and looking for the opportunity to trigger my mind, and recollection about my and my family’s life and experience.

This morning I got to thinking about my maternal grandmother, probably because of the difference in weather, between our winter and her tropical conditions where she lived.  Our vacations to visit her would be comparable to visiting a grandmother in Hawaii.  My grandmother lived on an island in Veracruz, Mexico where everything from the perfect white sand beaches, and warm Gulf of Mexico waters truly made it a paradise.  I never actually lived there except for short two and three week vacation stays once or twice a year.  In order to appreciate a paradise like existence your have to actually move away from there and experience life elsewhere.

After we moved to the U.S.A. (legally as permanent residents) I found that the Dream (promise land in the United States) fell short of the paradise I was familiar with.  I am not putting down life in the best country in the world, but as a child my memory of carefree living on the beach (even if only while on vacation). Work for me, doubled as play, fishing either from shore or off of a boat was a way of having fun while bringing food to the table.  I could fish for bass, crab, shrimp, or harvest oysters from the nearby oyster beds.  My family on my mother’s side were commercial fisherman.  I do realize that as an adult I wouldn’t want to earn a living exposed to the elements, but I can’t label my memories as anything less than paradise.

 

As usual I digress, I wanted to talk about the small things that require appreciation.  I remembered how when my grandmother would make a pot of coffee, she would start the water boiling and add the measures of coffee directly to the boiling water.  At some point she would add the sugar (to desired sweetness) followed by the milk (cream).  When pouring a cup of coffee from the pot you had to use a strainer to separate the coffee grounds.  Imagine the effort involved to enjoy a cup of coffee.  Today you have all the conveniences of modern coffee makers, but we never even give a second thought at how far the progress has come. One of my brothers owned a classic late 1930’s truck in the late 1950’s.  That truck required turning a crank at the front end to get it started.  Imagine having to do that in our freezing temperatures this winter.  I drive a minivan that can open and close doors with the use of a remote control entry/ignition key.  The same key can turn on the engine remotely and warm the van up before I ever get into it.

This are just obvious examples of how we have forgotten about how improved our lives have become.  Look at your surroundings and imagine our ancestors (don’t have to go too far, think grandparents).  The next time you wake up in the middle of the night in a 10 degree outdoor temperature with a slight wind, and imagine having to go to the outhouse (two-hole one if you are well off) at the end of your property.  The outhouse was never placed near the house.  While you are at it, don’t forget to take a magazine or newspaper (they didn’t have two-ply soft toilet tissue).  There are so many other things that we can think about and be thankful for: Wood or coal burning stove for cooking and heat vs. central heating and air conditioning, and electric stoves, Mail and telephone service vs. cell phones and email and the list goes on and on.  Think about all those things and then join me in being grateful for the life we enjoy.  Before anyone says it, I know that some people are still living in similar conditions somewhere (I also pray for them).  The best is yet to come….

Frightened To Death 2

Stormy Sea

This post is an update to: Frightened to Death, posted October 7, 2013, http://www.being50.com/2013/10/frightened-to-death.html This post is based on my family's experience as it was related to me by my grandmother.

The commercial fishing experience for the men was not typical of the modern day work schedule.  As limited as the use of science was back then, much of the commercial fishing effort was driven by factors that affected the success of the fishing effort.  Some example of the factors might be, the ocean currents (which affected high and low tides), even the time of the month, season of the year, and the moon’s cycle.  Previous successes might also play a role, as well as, commitment to the customers that expected a fresh catch.

At least one day and sometimes as much as two days prior to heading out to sea, there was increased activity amongst the crew.  Gathering the supplies needed for the journey, from rain gear to food/water supplies, and fuel (petroleum, matches, and wicks for the lanterns).  Of course equally important the lines and nets for the task at hand. The journey to the fishing destination was at least one whole day away and sometimes longer depending on the weather, and currents.  I know that regularly they would tow a vessel behind them to use for extra carrying capacity.  On the trip that would be my grandfather’s last, the weather was less than ideal.

As they arrived to their destination, there were a couple of islands nearby that usually served for a base.  In this particular trip one of the islands had a bad reputation of being hunted by evil spirits, and was considered off limits.  There were some ideal areas for fishing near the island, and since the goal was to catch fish, the crew got as close as they dared.  On this particular trip the weather had been bothersome but not the worst they had ever seen.  The wind was constant and so was the rainfall, combined with the rough seas, it made for an ominous experience.

 

Late on the afternoon of the day that they would be returning to base and preparing for the next day’s trip home, the storm seem to intensify, and the dark storm clouds seemed to roll in out of nowhere.  The late afternoon suddenly became as dark as a moonless night.  As the crew worked feverishly to bring in the lines (nets) for the last time and stow them away, someone notice a large ball of fire revolving above the island’s thick jungle vegetation.  The palm trees weren’t burning, from the large orange/red fire ball that reflected on the water between the fishing vessels and the island.

The story was told that when my grandfather saw the “fireball” apparition he looked in its direction and while shielding his eyes with one hand from the brightness he made a fist with the other hand and called them, “espiritos culeros.”  Loosely translated it means, “A— - hole Spirits.”  My grandfather was so clean cut that he didn’t curse and that was the worst he could come up with.  But that was plenty to anger the spirits according to witnesses from the crew.

Almost immediately, the ball of fire rolled on the water towards them and settled itself next to the fishing vessel that my grandfather was on.  The witnesses said that they could see the brightness but were surprised that there was no heat emanating from the flames.  As the crew knelt in prayer, the ball of fire transformed itself into a large skiff with two Grim Reapers rowing on either side of a coffin surrounded by four large candles at each of the 4 corners of the coffin.

My grandfather went into shock almost immediately and a high fever set in that would stay with him until his death a little more than a week later.  By the time the crew arrived home, more than a day had elapsed, and my grandfather might have had a chance for recovery but the high fever took its toll and it didn’t take long for the damage to seal his fate.  My grandmother was so dependent on his leadership that she didn’t know what to do, and the best they could do on the island was to bring the local “Curandero” (A curandero is a person who practices the use of curanderismo. He/she is usually a spiritual guide/leader within a community. This person is usually the person sought when someone is sick or experiencing unusual circumstances).

They tried everything they could to cure him and determined that he was scared to death by what he had seen, and that it was something not in his belief system.  He spent the last week of his life in a coma and didn’t get to say goodbye to the person he loved most in this world.  The part my grandmother didn’t tell me was that his spirit lingered in her house still trying to protect her, until she was told by the curandero how to send his spirit to rest.  I was told how that was done, but that shall remain the family’s secret with me.  The best is yet to come….

Frightened to Death

Dia de Los Muertos (Mexican Holiday)

 

• Day of the Dead (Spanish: Día de Muertos) is a Mexican holiday celebrated throughout Mexico and around the world in other cultures. The holiday focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died. It is particularly celebrated in Mexico, where it is a national holiday, and all banks are closed. The celebration takes place on November 1 and 2, in connection with the Catholic holidays of All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day. Traditions connected with the holiday include building private altars honoring the deceased using sugar skulls, marigolds, and the favorite foods and beverages of the departed and visiting graves with these as gifts. They also leave possessions of the deceased.

I have selected this time as appropriate to tell our family story about how my maternal grandfather died (due to the proximity of the Mexican Holiday “Dia De Muertos.”). I have repeatedly said that I don’t believe in the supernatural nor do I disbelieve.  I have had enough questionable encounters to be cautious when alone in the dark or in an abandoned property or similar place.  Not afraid just careful, and respectful.  For the most part I heard this story told directly by my maternal grandmother, however, some very important facts were purposely left out in the version of the story she told. My mother’s older brother told me the portion of the story that my grandmother left out.

My grandmother and grandfather were married when she was 14 years old, they went on to have two sets of twins, and a total of 12 children all together.  Except for the two sets of twins considering that it was the early part of the century (early 1900) ten births in a marriage were not all that unusual.  Large families in the early 1900 hundreds were the rule not the exception.  My grandparents lived in a small fishing community (almost without exception everyone on the island was dependent on the fishing industry for their livelihood.  My maternal and paternal grandfathers were amongst the first entrepreneurs in the family that I know of.  My whole family has had a lengthy and successful association with entrepreneurship, I’ve never had any doubt as to where we got it from.

My maternal grandfather accumulated a number of commercial vessels, and hired men to go out to sea and bring their catch to market on his behalf.  He was relatively successful and various families depended on his efforts for their very own survival.  My grandfather was a strong, healthy, and clean living kind of man who loved his family above all else.  I’d like to think that like me my grandfather had no commitment one way or the other to the tales of the supernatural.  Almost without exception everyone that worked for him had a healthy respect for the supernatural tales that were common amongst the fisherman.

When you deal with Mother Nature (as fisherman did and still do) especially in a time when science in everyday life was all but non-existent.  Folklore takes the place of science when things are hard to explain or make sense of.  As an example; weather forecasting, was dealt with by the amount of soreness in the body’s joints, or simply by looking for dark clouds in the horizon, another method closer to scientific was to observe the behavior of the animals (birds migrating or the fur coat on goats or donkeys).

The more experienced fisherman such as my grandfather almost always had a great experience because of the many years of doing the same thing and knowing where to set up for the catch.  They always prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.  Taking more supplies than they needed was one way to be prepared.  Plenty of food and drinking water, fuel for the fleet, extra mechanical parts for the infrequent required repairs.  Materials and tools to repair the fishing nets.  I understand that my grandfather never left anything to chance.  The men that worked with my grandfather always felt safe on his crew even with the unpredictability of the weather.

On the one occasion that would be the cause of my grandfather’s demise, they had set up their nets for the trip near an island that was supposedly inhabited by bad spirits (haunted); not believing but still being cautious all fishermen knew not to set foot on the island but keep a safe distance.  My grandfather had never seen anything to cause him concern, but was respectfully maintaining the vessel at the required distance from shore.

The length of this post requires that I submitted it in at least two parts.  Please stay tuned for part two coming very soon; Frightened to Death 2.  The best is yet to come….

Bucket List Item #4

Bucket List Item #4

#4 I will go fishing on opening week 2013.  (I haven't fished since I was very young and living with my parents on the farm).

 This post is an update to: Making A Bucket List (posted Monday, February 11, 2013).  I was standing in line at my local bank branch when I exchanged greetings with a friendly man standing in front of me in line.  He was about as nice a man as I have ever met, he immediately invited me to drop by his house on the lake for fish opening season 2013.  I explained that I had not fished since I was a teenager living on the farm.  He offered to provide the equipment and even to bait my line for me.  All I had to do was buy my State required fishing license, and show up.  Well I did show up and spent a half day hanging out fishing from his boat dock (I could tell you about the one that got away but you would expect it).  

If there is any other novices reading this post the following are instructions that apply in the State of Washington.  If you reside in a different state the rules (laws) my be different but i'm sure similar.

· According to the WDFW, at least 300,000 anglers typically turn out for the first day of the lowland lakes season, which remains open into the fall. Although many state waters are open year-round, the April opening marks the start of the state’s most popular fishery.  To participate, anglers must have a current Washington freshwater fishing license valid through March 31, 2014. Licenses can be purchased online at fishhunt.dfw.wa.gov, or at hundreds of license dealers across the state. For details on license vendor locations, visit wdfw.wa.gov/licensing/vendors/.

 

· Freshwater fishing licenses cost $29.50 for resident adults 16 to 69 years old. Seniors 70 and older can buy an annual fishing license for $7.50. Children 14 years of age and younger do not need a fishing license.  April really marks the start of the new year for fishing, hunting, and a wide range of outdoor activities                      

I never intended to re-ignite my long ago forgotten interest/skills in fishing, while it was fun, I may or may not return to it next year.  This item was just a safe item that I wanted to do and it didn't take a big stretch of imagination or money to make it happen. After all I am very familiar with the well-known saying:

"Give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day, teach him to fish and he will drink beer for a lifetime."  The best is yet to come….

Why I stopped fishing....

Why I stopped fishing...

My fishing experience was very special, for safety reasons it always included family outings.  There’s no way I would be allowed near the river or lake by myself at that age (we are talking nine or ten years old).  My mother was very protective, and possible overly cautious.  I can honestly say that I inherited that from her.  When the family moved to the Northwest from Texas, is when we became (especially me) one with nature (everything and anything outdoors).  I totally identify with the large number of Dallas Cowboy fans, even if my NFL team allegiance belongs elsewhere.  When I lived in Texas, I was so young but already indoctrinated into believing that no other State mattered.  Some of the more popular television programs helped to heighten the hype.  One such program was “Tales of the Texas Rangers,” (1955-59).  There again television programing of the 1950’s and 60’s will be material for another blog posting.

I guess the relevance is that in Texas I was a city boy, and when we arrived in Washington State I became a country boy.  The relocation introduced me to my 21 year old step brother that I was meeting for the first time.  I swear if you looked up outdoors in the dictionary, his picture would be there.  He was a hard working foreman at a large farm (approximately 7,000 acres).  I was so impressed with his work ethic, and especially his well-rounded skills.  His truck had a gun rack and he regularly would go pheasant hunting on his way home from work (during open season of course).  He taught me how to fish, how to ride horse, drive tractor, he even introduced me to deer hunting.  I don’t think I’ve ever told him but I owe him a big debt of gratitude for helping me build the foundation that would become the life platform on which I still stand.  That is another great subject for future posting.

Meanwhile back at the farm; before I got caught up in the world of work (due to age limitations) fishing was a regular part of my day.  We had ponds on the property that were stocked with fish, and whenever possible we would fish off the side of the river that bordered our property.  I must remind you that we didn’t have Nintendo, Xbox, or any other Game Systems.  We actually had to use our bodies and minds to keep ourselves entertained.  It wasn’t unusual for me to be riding a horse from one pasture to another and make believe that I was being chased by outlaws, or god forbid a band of wild Native Americans (politically correct).  Now back to fishing and the reason I quit.

It was a typically beautiful hot summer day with not a cloud in the sky (easy 87 degrees).  The river was as usual running beautifully fast and smooth taking the mountain snow melt right past our property.  The river water level was low typical of the time of year, and there were many boulders that were sticking out above the water level.  Being the adventures type that I’ve always been I took all my fishing gear (tackle box, fishing pole, fish net, some bait, a couple of candy bars, and a soda), and jumped from boulder to boulder until I was half way into the river some 20 feet from shore.  My arms were actually filled to overload.  Approximately three and a half hours later, after catching my limit for the day, I decide to get back to shore. 

By now the river level was a little higher and some of the smaller stepping stones were no longer above water, so what had been a fairly easy skip and jump out to the fishing spot was now a larger jump, and jump situation.  You see, when the gap is that far apart, you have to keep your momentum going, to complete the jump.  To make a long story short the last boulder that I jumped on to had a curled snake laying on it enjoying the warmth from the boulder.  In retrospect, it was probably all of 18 inched long, but at the time it may as well have been a python, or rattle snake.  By the time I saw the snake I couldn’t do anything but land on it.  The snake wrapped itself around my ankle, and that night I couldn’t sleep from the experience.  I never went fishing again, unless it was from a boat, and only into my twenties.

That is about as big and bad as my fishing story gets.  What’s your best fishing story?  Stay tuned the best is yet to come…..