The Tailor

Leave it to my brother-in-law John to mess up his lead on the rented poles, waders and boots. He sat on the sofa like an old woman, went through two hotel sewing kits (we were here on a temporary gig so didn’t bring the larger sewing box) and for the past three weeks I’ve been getting monofilament out of the vacuum, rugs and my shoes.

Now his parents are here. We love them all. But John was funny. He was reading this flyfishing book and trying his knots. Jim got them both the gear just to spend time with his little brother. He got a great video but we tried to send it to his folks and even after eight hours it wouldn’t load. I think if he practiced some more and got a guide once he’d be a great fly fisherman. He spends too much time working at work and working on the house and needs a hobby, especially one he can do with his young son.

With older brother Jim, my husband, he wants no household chores except perhaps taking the dog out once a day. And he does play with her outdoors or, in bad weather, in the house. We bought John the same flyfishing book he had from his local library and got the newest edition paperback for the bookshelves for our visitors.

I wish my family would head this way, after the major event a week away. It’s a lot of work hosting family and friends but worth every moment of quality time spent with them when they’re out of their element and just “on vacation.” I just get more tired than I used to be and have to take a few moments to myself from time to time. Plus get dinner ready and take care of the dog.

So, the monofilament invasion, after about ten vacuumings in two weeks, has lessened. Can the world create (hear this, parents) more driven, intelligent and singularly focused (methodical) sons than these? I think not. Some employers hire kids out of college simply because they’re the sons (sorry, daughters) of farmers. They know you’ve milked cows twice a day and cut and carted hay and never really had a childhood. I had the luxury of spending three of my formative years on what was designed as a “mansion” and that i was certainly not. We worked hard every weekend for three years to make it a home. But now that I think of it most of the land was not able to be built upon on a hillside, and any flatland we had was “lawn” because Dad wouldn’t endure weeds. We just mowed them with a Toro, at age 8 I knew how to drive a riding mower. Perhaps if we planted the right grasses one or two cows could have lived there, or a dozen goats.

He just wanted the view, which was spectacular. This will become a recurring thread in my non-cooking stories, though dinner was great tonight! Cheers, Dee