Summer is in full swing around our house, which includes Science Kids Camps for WyoBaby. Her most recent was a fly fishing camp, and she is hooked (Yes, slight pun intended. You're welcome.)! I actually went with the kiddos last Thursday, but had no grand scheme of wetting my own line. I knew, going in, that I would be otherwise engaged. My group was four of my favorite small people, and they kept me on my toes.
"Dang! Just lost another fly!!"
"Oh man, I'm caught in that tree again!!!"
"Grrrr. I can't find the fish anywhere!!"
"Hey! They're in the water, splashing around and scaring all the fish!!! Will you make them stop????"
"He just took my fishing spot!! I was there, but I had to leave to get a new fly, and now he won't MOVE!! Will you tell him to MOVE????"
And once or twice:
"OH MY GOSH!!! I CAUGHT A FISH!!! QUICK, TAKE A PICTURE!!!"
Oh yes, I got my workout that day. After lunch, we let the kids get in the water and splash and swim, because it was surface-of-the-sun hot out there. The director, who's a bit vigilant about germs, asked, "Do you think this was a bad idea? I mean, who knows what's in this water???" To which I replied, "They're fine! Heck, my brothers and I all but grew gills in the summer when we were kids; we spent so much time in the irrigation ditch. Look at me! I turned out just fine!"
On second thought..."Kids!! LISTEN UP!! Do NOT drink the water!! Keep your heads out of the water!! No diving! And when you get home, tell your parents you need to bathe a.s.a.p!! Mmmkay? Now, you may resume your splashing!"
All in all, it was a fabulous outing, and when we got home, WyoBaby began making her play for another fishing trip. Okay with me, maybe I'd actually fish this time! So, we made arrangements to procure a fly rod for me, and a spinning rod for J (He and I do NOT share an affinity for fly fishing. It's another deal breaker, but we've agreed to disagree, and to never discuss it at any length.), both borrowed from my brother J, who was going out of town, and could spare the fly rod. Next step was a fishing license for WyoMomma. I was in the clear when I was just helping the kids, but if I were to put rod to reel and tie one on, and avoid a monster fine, I would need said license. I'm big on obeying laws when the breaking of them carries hefty fines. Kinda silly, eh?
WyoBaby and one of her friends piled into the car, and away we went. Straight to the nearest gas station/convenience store/bait & tackle shop. It's a fine establishment, if you want some night crawlers, a coupla gallons of mid-grade, and 120 ounces of your favorite soda. A one-stop shop, if you will. So obviously, the standards for staff decorum are a bit lax. Enter the Fishing License Gal. I strolled up to the counter, and announced, "I'd like one fishing license, please." The woman at the register grunted and pointed to another gal at the end of the counter. "Oh, so I need to see her about a license? Okay, thank you for your help." (And your eloquence.) Away I sauntered, leaving WyoBaby and Friend to explore the wonders of live and jarred bait.
Allow me to set the scene. As I approached, this is what I observed. There sat a youngish gal, perched on a bar stool, staring into a computer screen, with a mouthful of Spitz sunflower seeds, and plastic water bottle she'd converted to a spittoon. Nice.
"Excuse me, I'd like a fishing license, please."
Mumble, spit. "Driver's License?" Spit.
"Oh, sure. Here ya go."
Silence. Spit. Type. Silence. Spit. Type. Mumble, "How" mumble, spit, "years" mumble mumble, spit, "resident?" spit.
"Pardon?"
"How" spit spit "many years" spit spit "have you been" mumble, spit "resident?"
Oh crap. Does that ever happen to you? It's something you should know, right off the top of your head! I mean, how many years have I lived in Wyoming? All of them!! But my little brain, distracted by the spitting glory in front of me, felt like a deer in the headlights! "Ummm. Oh yeah, now I remember. Thirty-two. Yep. Thirty-two years."
Grunt.
So there I stood, in stunned silence, while this gal typed & clicked. I was not altogether comfortable with the fact that she had my driver's license, and I couldn't see what exactly she was doing on that computer. For all I knew, she could've been enrolling me in a jelly-of-the-month club, or adding my name to one hundred junk mail lists. I longed for the old days, when you filled out the form with all of your vital info, rather than putting it in the hands of a stranger.
"Is this" spit spit spit mumble "right address?" spit spit spit spit (Hark! Fair Juliet speaks!).
"Huh? What did you ask?"
Spit "Is this your correct" spit spit spit "address??" spit spit.
"Oh. Yes. Yes it is." As far as I knew. I basically had no idea which parallel universe I'd entered, but I knew I wanted out. And how. Meanwhile, WyoBaby and her friend were an aisle away, examining the jars of bait fish, "Ewwww, that's GROSS!! Mom! Check this out!!!" "Mom!!! What the heck is this???" Serenity now.
The gal finished, and announced, spit spit spit mumble "Thirty-six fifty," spit.
"What?? I'm sorry, what the heck did you say???"
Spit "That'll be $36.50!"
"Oh, okay. Here. Take it. Take it all! But wait! What about my conservation stamp??"
Spit spit spit "included, sign here" spit spit spit spit.
"Well, thanks. Could I have a little plastic sleeve to protect my license, since I'll be, you know, fishing, and there's a chance I might get near some water?"
Mumble spit spit mumble "all out."
"Fine, that's fine. Thank you for all your help. WYOBABY!!! LET'S GO!! NOW!! PUT DOWN THE JAR OF MINNOWS AND GET IN THE CAR!!!"
I burned rubber out of there as quickly as I could, and headed home. Where we waited. And waited. Because it was four in the afternoon, which is hot time, and I was not all about fishing in hot time. Finally, at seven, we headed out to catch the big one. We ran into one of our favorite little friends, whose Mam and Pa had agreed to some fishing as well, and the kids were thrilled. We fished happily, until the mosquitoes were the only things biting, then ran for the safety of Big Red. All in all, it was an interesting day. And now, I'm good to fish for an entire year, before I get to visit my little license friend again.
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