SUNDAY FISHING

On Sunday afternoon, the fishing Frenchman took me out on Lake Miltona, north of Alexandria. This, of course, was after I said in an earlier blog that he never took me out on his boat.


Temperature: 72 degrees.
Wind: calm.
Water: like glass.
Walleye: not biting.

But sometimes that doesn’t matter.


It gives you time to contemplate the sky and the clouds . . .


. . . and your hand.


And it gives you time to reflect that it’s the end of August, so summer is almost over.



Every fall for the past 32 years, my stomach was in knots every Sunday night: Am I ready for my classes on Monday morning? Are my lesson plans ready for the week? Are all those stacks of papers I brought home on Friday graded?

Except that since I'm a newly retired teacher, summer being over is not as traumatic as it was a year ago. The knots in my stomach aren't there any more--I guess they're somewhere at the bottom of Lake Miltona.