gone fishin'

Something I've learned about fishing, you've gotta have patience. Ben thinks it's good for me. I disagree.

I don't like bobbers. That means I can't reel it in immediately. I just have to sit there.

I don't like sinkers. They pick up all the icky lakeweed (we weren't at the sea thus it is not seaweeed). And then you get all excited cause you think you've gotta a fish but then nope. Just green slime.

But I LOVE casting and I LOVE the baby ducks and I LOVE the sunshine and best of all, I LOVE the stories!

Answer: No, we didn't catch anything. But as always, we came away with many a fish stories...well, more like tree stories.

We caught a total of 3 trees. Wait... no, technically 4.

The first one I will admit, was my bad. With Ben's pole. (whoopsie!) It was actually almost immediately following this picture. (And by the way, when I left the house my hair was completely straight-not frufy(pronounced: Fruuu-feee). blasted humidity.) I was getting frustrated attempting to attach a bobber to my line when Ben ever so graciously agreed to do it for me. And I, in return, agreed to reel in his bobber and cast it again.

Problem: We were surrounded by trees, big ones, hanging over us and the water. I attempted a very fashionable side cast. The line whipped up beautifully and then ever so gracefully wrapped itself around the numerous tree branches.

Ben just stared at me.

But I fixed it! I daringly jumped from rock to rock (okay, there were only two, but I did lose a flip-flop in the process-don't ask why I was wearing flip-flops) to reach as far up the line as I could and Ben pulled as hard as he could while hiding behind a tree so he wouldn't get slashed when I cut the line. But we did it! We saved his bobber.

That was number one. The next one was all Ben. About two casts later, he beautifully executed an "Elizabeth cast." This happened two more times, once on a huge piece of tree floating right next to us, before we decided we needed to move to more open spaces....

We fished for a few more hours until I decided that I was only a good fisherwoman in Washington. But at least we didn't lose any more shoes, have to tromp thru anymore ice cold water or hook anymore trees! And best of all, I didn't have to eat any fish!

(To the left: the bobber just gleeked out water on my face. SICK!)

another one for Terri's list...

I've been through my share of traumatizing experiences in my life, Terri can attest to that. She's got a list of things that I cannot participate in. Snowboarding, horseback riding, river rafting, etc. I guess I just feel as though I have to go home with a more exciting story than the people I left home with. ya know? It's actually been speculated that perhaps I shouldn't even participate in the common art of walking. So what? I trip...a lot...

Anyway, Ben bought me roller blades for my birthday.

He wanted to be with me when I went for the first time just so he could make sure I picked it up okay. (That's what he said anyway, but I think he foresaw this catastrophe and simply wanted to be there to witness it.)

Don't worry, I wasn't foolish about this new experience. I've learned from my previous mishaps. I knew I shouldn't try to conquer the majestic hills of Logan without being comfortable with bladeing on flat surfaces first. So I started small.

I was headed to work about a mile and half away. Right outside our apartment there is a gargantuan hill so obviously I didn't start out with my new blades right away. I had every intention of putting them on at the bottom of the hill.

However, at the bottom of the hill was a rather busy street. I didn't even know if I could get up from putting these treacherous things on. Obviously I was NOT going to do that while people were driving by (with my luck they'd be so intrigued watching my struggle they'd drift off the side of the road and hit me. My wouldn't that be a story! Imagine, "I was just standing...well sitting there... well actually....falling there Officer. Over and over again. Right on my face each time. When out of the blue! Wham-o! They ran right into me! Did they not see me?!").

Back to the story, so there's lots of church parking lots in Utah right? (churches too obviously, but all I needed was the wide open, very flat, asphalt.) So I simply continued on my walk (about a mile later, I was almost at work and I hadn't even put on my blades yet!) until I found the perfect parking lot. It was ultra flat. I pulled myself up a lovely peice of curb and began dressing up my feet.

To my utmost HORROR a truck pulled in, with not just one or two but three people! They came to watch my awkwardness! I was and still am positive about this fact. But you can't just casually take off your blades when they've seen you only just putting them on. You'd look not only foolish but cowardly! A look that most assuredly does not compliment me.

What did I do? I finished lacing myself up and I boldly stood up. I did it! I stood up! I was completely stable! I shot them a smug look. Ha! I knew preciscely what I was doing. I glided past them, with my arms flailing and in awkward little almost-jumps.

After a long, and very agonizing few minutes, I finally made my way past them. I started to gain speed as I passed Martha's old house and my hair began blowing behind me as I just kept both feet on the ground, letting the slight slope do all the work. I was coming to a turn. Can you feel my terror? I still can feel my stomach in my throat when I think of it. I had no idea how to slow down much less, turn! I was about to die. My life as I knew it, was relying on an itsy-bitsy peice of plastic attached to the back of ONE of the blades.

I tentatively touched that tiny peice of plastic to the ground. Felt it grinding against the cement, noticed that I wasn't stopping and leapt out of death's grasps! Right onto grass. Oh sweet grass! Freshly cut grass! Very freshly cut.... the nice gentleman simply stared at me from behind his lawn-mower. I smiled, regained my composure and casually got back to my professional roller bladeing.

I knew I had to find somewhere casual to stop and take off these death-bringers. I did. Finally.
Only after another memorable encounter and countless jumps to the grass and the following awkward little baby jumps I found myself a lovely peice of ground to stop this terror. It had been one block. One blasted block.

Moral of the story: Don't leave your life in the hands of an itty-bitty hunk of hollow plastic.