Monday, May 16, 2005
Wee Hours Ramble
Went to the river this weekend. A buddy was shrimping, so I took faithful houndpup with me, and we sat with him a while. Since there's a limit on one person using shrimp traps, he can attach metal tags to his extras with my name on them and catch more. Or give me the catch, which he usually does.
We once had one of the great all-time feasts from his activities. Beheaded, peeled & deveined nearly 50 pounds of shrimp, soaked them in a coconut milk/pineapple juice mix, skewered them and cooked them on a hibachi. Some we slathered with barbecue sauce, others we just let the soak mix do the flavoring. Either way, it was a most memorable munch. Wish I'd known about this when I was a stoner.
It was good for me, as my buddy has been reminding me. Sitting by the river, the timelessness of the sounds and smells, the sheer beauty of it. The relaxing, peaceful setting is good for the soul. Plus there's nobody out preaching the evils of fishing.
I read where PETA is trying to get the Brit Royal Guardsmen to quit wearing bearskin hats and switch to plastic. For once, this is a really stupid and environmentally unfriendly idea. A bearskin hat lasts 20 t0 40 years; they're made from black bears culled by the Canadian Government to keep the species healthy and the numbers supportable by their environment. No plastic hat is going to last that long, and it's not biodegradable when it's too ragged out to wear. So BACK OFF, PETA. They won't, of course. I hope Queen Elizabeth tells them to piss off.
On the flip side, if you've ever read "Never Cry Wolf", you have to wonder just what the Canadian Government knows about species preservation. It's another modern horror story. After learning all about wolves, he discovers the government intends to nearly eradicate them on the excuse that they decimate the elk population. Mowat proves that the elk are mostly being killed by bullets, and that the wolves, not having opposable thumbs and articulated index fingers, are most unlikely to be the ones shooting them.
Without sheep farmers around, the wolves mostly live on mice. That's right; mice. Oh hell. Read the book. It's worth your time.
I'm learning the perils of middle age; I woke up the other morning wanting to tell my mother something, and she's dead. I've done that off and on for years with my brother. Now it happens with her and far too many friends. I guess that's why I'm so excited to hear from people I knew way back in high school. My senior class had several deaths, I think 12 or more, before we graduated. Since then, we've lost about 20 more. We graduated in 1974. Makes me wonder how many will make it to the 50th.
I think maybe we should have followed Heinlein's idea about studying old age and how to circumvent it. I could sure use an oil change and tune-up about now.
