I built it a nice rack to hang upon, on the wall of my garage.
And there it was, laying in wait this morning.
And there I was, minding my own business, sliding by it to
get into my car to go to work, like I have done countless mornings before.
All of the sudden, I found myself snared, entangled in the
strap I keep on the front end of it. It
had wrapped itself around my lunch pail and neck.
Keeping my cool, I spun myself free, and hopped into the
car, quickly shutting the door behind me. I looked out the driver’s side window, to make
sure there would be no further aggression, and drove out of the garage.
Oddly enough, I understand.
I haven’t really been there for it. I’ve not given it the attention it
deserves. We never go out anymore, I
never take it anywhere nice…
Our relationship’s never been overly exciting, more a casual
thing than any kind of serious commitment. We go out and have fun together a couple of
times a summer, maybe I’ll let it go on vacation with me if the circumstances
are right. But, up until now, it's worked for me, and I assumed for it as well.
But for whatever reason, it’s not moved from its nice rack,
so far this calendar year.
If this is the kayak’s reaction to a year of me not paying
it enough attention, I dread going anywhere near the corner of the basement
where my fishing gear is stored.
Yeah,
we had a lovely weekend away together in Wisconsin ,
back in May. But since then….
And since my fishing gear is full of pointy metal objects
and knives and lead weights, I could be in big trouble, if I turn my back at
the wrong time.
Bad things could happen.
And my pristine, unwrinkled,
so-clean-you-could-eat-off-of-it IL fishing license will sit on the shelf,
laughing as it all goes down.
On the other hand, my camping gear should LOVE me, as we
dusted IT off, and took it away for a weekend in the woods for the first time
in over six years, a few weeks ago.
And it was awesome, and smelled of promise of more to come.
And wood smoke.
And Citronella oil.
Maybe that’s what promise smells like, to camping gear….
Anyhow, you’d think it would have my back, protect me from
violent kayak-tic outbursts.
Where’s the gratitude?
