"Three Dog Night..."

Holy cow!

It feels as though I've been away from this blog for a month.

As you know, I went (Minnesotan) up Nort to da lake for acupula nights. Yah...

Star-shot up the Hwy 169 vortex and whoosh. Landed on the deck of a pontoon boat. With a Zebco rod and reel in hand, no less -- same kind I fished with as a kid -- and a northern tugging on the other end.

I coulda kissed that ugly mug -- seeing it clearly marked the beginning of relaxation for me -- like a friend I haven't seen in some time. No.

Instead, I thought that enough recreation for the evening as I had arrived at the lake later than planned and wanted to settle in for the night.

The three dogs, official dogs of the outpost, greeted me at the dock. Two golden retrievers and what looked like a dead cat, but was a poodle, I think, sporting a wet, unclipped coat. He goes by the name, Rudy.

Oh, how they thrilled at the sight of me...

Now that I'm back, I've been working on learning Apple's applications and getting the new site under way.

I'm attempting to incorporate your requests for information on various aspects of writing and the biz of writing.

Again, thank you for pointing me in the right direction and don't hesitate to add more requests or suggestions, please.

--Peter

Comments

[Robert]

Welcome home...

(stupidity deleted)

Sorry, I had written a blather of bad metaphors about bait and hooks and lines and peering beneath the surface and...well...it was just silly.

I'll just note that your mention of the Zebco reel brought back memories of my childhood. Smile.

[Peter Stone]

Robert,

If your metaphors compared fishing and marketing, I agree with the inumerable similarities.

Remember the clunk of the spincast reel?

Peter

[Robert]

Ahhh...the clunk.

And the plunk as the sinker hit the water. The boredom watching the bobber. Distracting my self watching swallows dip and dive and skim the surface of the water. A shot of adrenalin as a blue gil or catfish hit the line and the bobber quivered at first, then dipped under the water and struggled back to the surface. And the whir as the line spun out of my little black Zebco reel.

Makes me want to go sink my toes in the mud a stream wandering through the farm land where I grew up.

(Of course I've forgotten being chased by bulls or farm dogs as I made my way to the stream - and that one encounter with the two skunks)

[Peter Stone]

Robert,

Ha, ha, ha -- I'd forgotten all about the impression made on me by the black color of the reel.

Anyone else have a story of vivid memories?

--Peter