Not just another fish story...

Yesterday was the first day in a year and a half I didn’t spend time pretending to catch fish, cleaning, gutting and cooking them with shrimp, clams, vegetables and whatever happened to be in our refrigerator that would taste good in our pseudo-bouillabaisse soup. In the past I could almost taste the fish, shrimp and clams as we sipped the soup and dunked French bread. Occasionally my assistant cook (I forgot what they’re called on cooking shows) would toss in a handful of hot pepper and he’d laugh his head off when I burnt my tongue and had difficulty speaking for a few minutes. The assistant cook would then hand me a giant glass of water to cool my taste buds off.

The little guy moved to Palm Springs earlier this week with his Mom, Dad and big sister Sunny. Almost every morning Elijah would come to my room and take me to the walk-in closet, turn off the light because how could we pretend to be deep sea fishing if we were looking at shirts and shoes instead of clouds and waves. One of the first things he’d do is hand out fishing poles; a macho big one for him and what he would call a Barbie-girl pole for me…the little guy has a sense of humor.
We’d bait our lines and cast our poles out, and naturally he casted the farthest…he’d get a nibble or two then reel in what he called ‘a big sucker’.

We’re going to Palm Springs in a few weeks and I already know that he has a walk-in closet in his bedroom…I’m packing my gear and we’ll have a blast… I’m bringing candy bars and Popsicles so we don’t have to eat dumb-ass fish again.