This being afraid of technology is getting old. Reid, in particular, has to be shaking his head at his dad’s dunce-headedness. I just don’t get file sharing and storage and transfers of who-knows-what and deep down apparently I don’t want to get it. Some people embrace gizmos and are inherently adept at handhelds, downloads, apps and anything else that smacks of electroni-mania.
Not me. I’m not feeling it.
But I’d better come up to speed pretty damn quickly. Otherwise I can add technology to the long and ever-growing list of things I know little about – and that includes fishing, too.
April 11, 2016
Ellen/Reid: Here’s how the lion’s share of my day has gone. A 6:45 a.m. call (mercifully, I was already on my second cup of coffee) from the newspaper to see if I could pitch in on editing articles. ‘Of course’ was the answer – and that was just the start.
To bring a semblance of coordination to the editorial structure, they instituted something called Box.com. It’s used to manage stories and the such – and me, as the new editor, is supposed to master the dog-gone thing – but it is so utterly bamboozling to me. I worked all day to log on, went back and forth with the Box.com staff – and still didn’t get online with it. So I meet tomorrow with the Mint Hill Times new owners to get it all straightened out. Then I head to a local high school to cover my first-ever baseball game plus do a couple of features on a fan and some savant who is a wizard with high school baseball stats.
But it should be fun, and in some ways is really exciting. It’s genuine work and is right down my alley. I just like the news. My editorial guidelines for writers was finished tonight and tomorrow I begin to call everyone to introduce myself and lay down the law on how they ought to put pen to paper, etc.
All this work stuff has shoved aside my budding painting career. Not that anyone will miss my artistic endeavors, but it was fun while it lasted. The walls won’t wait for art to be added. I’ve got to hop to it and get canvasses done before it just becomes another pipe dream that, like a few other can’t-miss projects, has gone unfinished. That’s no fun.
It’s been unusually cold here the last few days. Lower 30s in the morning, 50s in the afternoon, tops. Only 10 from my golf group showed up to a really great course up in Hickory, about an hour’s drive away. It was just too cold and windy for golf. The unseasonable cold has also stalled planting my basil and cilantro for fear they would wilt in the nearly-freezing temperatures.
Speaking of cold, fishing in Charleston last Wednesday was a total bust. Make that another bust in a string of busts. It was just frigid with a hard wind from the 8:15 a.m. start to the tail-between-my-legs 5:30 p.m. finish. No fish in the weeks at high tide, no fish in the creeks at low tide, no nothing. Well, it felt like nothing but that’s not entirely true. The only bright spot, Reid, was pulling Miss Emma alongside the exposed portion of the barge to stand atop the rusting hulk. I pried open some attached oysters with my bait knife and used the innards to land a few sheepshead, including one keeper. Those were the only fish boated, although in fairness, there was one gigantic tug on one of the rods – a big red most likely – but of course I was rummaging for my lunch in a dry bag at the very moment of the strike. Thus, I didn’t give it a yank in time and therefore lost the fish. I was very irritated. That’s just how my fishing goes: asleep at the proverbial switch. These down and back jaunts are particularly tiresome. I departed at 3:40 a.m. and didn’t get home until almost midnight. It just puts a beat down on me but it sure as hell is one ton of fun. They say you forget pain, so I’ll probably head back down for another butt kicking at the hands (fins?) of fish the first next week. Something keeper size better be landed; I’ve committed to having eight folks for a fish dinner on Thursday and there’s only enough fish for four in the freezer.
I had a new neighbor and her one year old child, a beautiful little red head named Evelyn, over for dinner last Thursday, and Evelyn literally made a shambles of the main floor. She got into everything; she spilled golf clubs next to the fireplace, broke crayons all over the floor, tried her best to break wine glasses on the rack, and just generally created the chaos as only a one year old can create. But that’s what little girls do, and they’ve got a standing invitation to return. I’ll just make sure stuff remains out of Evelyn’s arm’s reach.