Wednesday night about 3:00 a.m., I began to wonder if maybe the Mayans were right, but missed it by a day! Man, did that wind blow.
It did kind of sound like the world was about to end, or at least get blown away. I think this “end of the world stuff” is simply because the Mayans ran out of ink or papyrus and just got tired quit working on their calendar a zillion years ago. I predict it ain’t gonna happen. If I’m wrong, you won’t be here to know anyway. But those 40-45 mile an hour wind gusts with a straight line cold front that slapped the area were a bit scary. The trees were swaying, the windows popping, the pontoon boat doing was doing the jingle bell rock in the boat house, and the trash can went on a little trip down the neighborhood. And the Christmas decorations….well, Blow-Up Santa really CAN fly…RIP. I couldn’t go back to sleep because I stayed awake to see if the electricity was going to go off. I know, I can’t explain that, either. I did discover today that one of my other old fishing buddies, “The BEAR” came into town about the same time as the front. He must have brought it with him from Oklahoma.
But back to the Mayans. Predictions of killer solar flares, the end of the Mayan long calendar on Dec. 21 and that we are going to collide with planet Nibiru, well, I just don’t buy it. Besides, If you live anywhere near D’Arbonne, you are more worried about colliding with a deer than a Nibiru this time of year. The only day I have marked on my calendar is Dec. 25. Not as the end of the world, but more like the end of my line of credit. There are reports that World War III will break out Friday. I can give that some credence, knowing all the loonies running governments around the world today.
Now to the point of today’s article (You do realize that sometimes there is a point, don’t you?) Well, my fishing buddy George and I got to thinking that just in case this end-of-the-world thing was right, we needed to eat up some speckled trout and crappie filets that had been in George’s freezer for a couple of months. He said he caught them. I don’t know how, but I guess it is Christmas and the season of miracles. So I didn’t question it. Anyway, I get this text message:
“Hey, you and the wife wanna come over and eat fish?” Sure
“Be here at 6 “. Okay, see you then.
“Oh year, Can you bring your fish cooker,” Sure.
Two hours later: “Can you stop by and get a gallon of peanut oil?” Sure, since I’m buying, might as well get the best.
“Dad gum. I thought I had some fries and hush puppies“. I’ll get them while I’m at the store, George. In his defense, he does live a long way from a grocery store, part of his latest move in the Witness Protection program.
Then it was my turn to text: “George, you sure you have fish or do I need to get them too?” I’ve got ’em, he said. At least, he thought it was fish, and if it wasn’t, we would just fry whatever it was that he was thawing out. We have a coded labeling system for freezing fish and game, but that’s another blog for another day.
Turns out, we had a great time. We had enough fish for four meals, but with impending doom a possibility, we didn’t want to waste any. Chow down! Whew, it was good. But we ate way too much. Mrs. George sent me a picture of George a couple of hours later. Man, it was scary.
He looked just like that dude on the Mayan Calendar: