My life is stuff

Once upon a time there were 247 boxes all taped and clearly marked that correlated with a list that disappeared somewhere a long time ago in the land of the grand scheme of things. The boxes sat patiently in a cold warehouse among mice and dust and other strange boxes for approximately two years. The lower class boxes sat less patiently in a hot metal shed with heat and humidity and freezing temperatures through the same number of seasons. I think now there are only 50 boxes left to open and with contents that require sighing or lamenting. Let's see, one box contains a 2 foot blue silk bat with real bat teeth that can hang from the ceiling! (Now there is a conversation starter.) Another box is filled with old faded photos of people I don't even know! There is the small blue suitcase of baby clothes that I was saving for my daughter who does not want or need them. Maybe they will be appropriate if and when my son has a baby. There is nothing more depressing than admitting that most of your memories are only of value to you and your husband. The things that you save will eventually be burned, thrown away, or given away when you finally shuffle off this mortal coil. And your children will be swearing under their breath at the work that will entail.

After two days of such work and late in the afternoon of the second day, my husband asked if I wanted to go for a "sunset paddle." This is really his code for "Do you want to sit with me while I go out and fish." He got the bait bucket and I got the lifejackets and paddles and off we went to the dock to put the canoe in the water.


This was a big mistake on my part in spite of the serene picture above because the air was deathly still and the humidity was high and the heat was still in the air and I was miserable. I also forgot to take water and I was thirsty. There is nothing worse than a crabby woman in a canoe.

We passed the 'Gossiping Gang of Geese' that camp on the sandbar near the mouth of the river.

I turned to the cool side of the sky away from the setting sun and caught a photo that almost made me pretend that the evening was getting cooler and that a breeze was coming up.

But I was wrong. It was a sizzling hot evening and even the surface of the water seemed to be sizzling. This was the surface of the water's true color, no tweaking.

We were glad to see the sun descend behind the peninsula of land as we paddled back to the dock. (Caught only one reasonable sized perch.) It was still hot, but we pretended that this was a cool evening sojourn.