the fish

Thursday, June 29, 2006

After a nice roast chicken, Greg asked me to go fishing with him. I was taking my strat through a full cycle of blues and agreed to leave after another verse. I snuck in a few more verses before he insisted we go.

We live in Canyon Creek, an older suburban country club area with monstrous trees and, naturally enough, a small creek. The banks reach about twenty feet at the widest and no more than a few feet deep generally. Not too far from where we live is a small flood-control dam that also provides some lovely little falls. After a week of exploring, Greg and I decided that the best place to fish would have to be the dam, where the water is probably eight feet deep. Despite the drought we have experienced lately, the creek is at the top of the dam.

Even after seven years, the intense heat of a Dallas sun is a continual shock. There is nothing like the sun.

The dam, settled in a rain-forest thick green overgrowth that reaches thirty feet from the ground up. Meditation incarnate as the falls gently sing their aquatic harmonics. Photographers often use the setting, particularly for weddings and other romantic portraits. Other than late in the evening, it is rare to be alone at the dam for long. We have met dozens of wanderers as we sat on the banks or boulders and poised a tasty worm temptingly for kicks.

An old man and his grandson were fishing near our usual spot when Greg and I crested the hill. "Fellow fishermen," the thirteen year old announced happily. Despite the fact that Greg lives in intense self-centeredness, he is remarkably gregarious and eagerly approached the pair to find out the current state of the creek. We set up camp under a tree and baited our hooks. The boy gave us some further advice to help our quest and the pair packed up, wishing us luck.

A pretty photographer was setting up at one end of the dam. Since she had no one to photograph, I thought she was doing some landscapes. Soon, a gang of four carrying light shades arrived and began setting up to take photos of a lovely lady and her dude. The other photographer continued to work nearby.

As I sat on the grass, teasing the fish with a free meal and hook, Greg went over to stand on the dam. I told him to keep out of the way of the photography, but he is charmingly headstrong.

"I caught something," Greg yelled from behind the thin veil of overgrowth between us. We'd landed about a dozen fish over the last week, a delightful array of six-inch perch, crappie and bass. After their lesson in not eating hooks, we'd toss the young fish back to fight another day. I didn't even stir. Greg had been known to sound a false alarm when the fish almost bit the hook.

"It's big," he shouted and I looked over to see him pulling his rod into a semi-circle. I figured he'd caught a branch or a turtle, either of which is quite a fight but never won. As he continued to reel, I picked up the net and began to walk toward him. Our fish catching routine had been fairly established.

Out of the muddy creek water, Greg pulls a monstrous large-mouth bass - over a foot long and at least five pounds of fish flesh. I'm still quite a ways away, but next to Greg is a tall young man holding the light screen. He showed Greg how to hold a bass and helped him remove the hook. I was struck dumb, never imagining that our casts into this little stream would ever yield such a fish. I was doubly glad the young man was at hand to give us bass lessons.

"Hey, kid," the photographer said, his camera set up about ten feet from Greg. "Let me get some pictures."

So, not only did Greg catch one of the largest fish I've ever seen taken from freshwater, but has professional photographs of his fishing conquest. I'll post the pics when I get them. Unbelievable.

I have begun negotiations with my headhunters. Since the kids are here, I can't leave Dallas, but I may take some interviews around the country for kicks. After all, who knows what may arise. I'm even employable internationally. Few things are as fun as travelling on other people's money.

I've engaged a top-shelf intellectual property attorney recruiting firm to market me. They get paid a percentage of my compensation, so I expect that they'll look for big money. I can work with that, although I am very sensitive to matching the work with the pay. I'm not selling my soul without proportionate rewards.

Because of my experience, I know things about patents that no one else knows, particularly outside of the DC area. No one in Texas comes close. I don't mean to brag. These are concepts I need to raise to consciousness. I need to create the confidence I will need to demand huge sums.

When I first began working as an attorney, my billing rate ($180/hr) disturbed me. After a while ($250/hr) I would quickly tell people when they couldn't afford me, when they didn't need a specialist to do an ordinary job.

Confidence is essential. No one hands you enormous sums if you are uncertain. As much as anything, I sell my self-confidence to bolster their confidence. So I have to believe. Fortunately, I have skills.

I took the boys back to their mother's last night while Cats took Tess to pick up a friend who was spending the night with her. As I've said, my recent encounters with the eX have been disturbing in the ease we are achieving. Cats took some insurance papers to the eX and found herself as disturbed - warm and fuzzy feelings with a woman who had become viscious in her dislike. The urge to forgive is naturally strong, but that slippery slope leading back toward a place that had caused years of suffering. The kids give us every reason to keep things working positively. The future is bound to be very strange.

I am eager to see the pirate again.

M