| Boating in Fish Lines |
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| ~ Welcome to Stories of Heart! ~ If you are not a subscriber and this has been passed on to you, join us by sending a blank e-mail to four_ears @ msn.com (remove spaces) with "subscribe" in the subject line. And get the love direct! Tour our web site: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001 ________________________________________________________ "People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within." -- Elizabeth Kubler-Ross ________________________________________________________ Happy birthday to my sister, Jackie! I wrote a special poem for her that just might bring a tear to her eye: Roses are red Violets are blue I'll always be Younger than you. Love you, Jackie! ~ Jennifer ________________________________________________________ Folks, give a Texas-sized howdy to a new contributor I think many of you may have already grown to love and respect like I have: Diane Dean White. When I think of the advent of summer I think of fishing, and her story below illustrates a classic - uh - fishing moment you won't soon forget! Thank you, Diane! ________________________________________________________ BOATING IN FISH LINES My Dad was a fisherman, and my parents often went up to Canada to fish on vacations. It was my Dad's way of relaxing and getting away from his executive duties. One summer weekend they rented a cottage in northern Michigan near a small town on the lake. My younger brother invited a friend of his, and I invited a girlfriend of mine. My parents had invited other couples with kids, and we had a good group for a fun time. Of course Linnea and I would be in senior high and the oldest, so we had dibs on the best room and beds. Being the oldest also allowed us the seniority of handing down our part of the kitchen duties over to the younger kids, and we'd escape and do our own thing. Linnea was an avid reader. She always had a book in her hand wherever we went. And on this particular afternoon we decided to go for a ride in the row boat tied outside at the dock. My Dad had a small motor he brought with him for a quick getaway out on the lake when the fish were biting. But he was in town with the other men, and Mom gave us permission to take the row boat out. I didn't attempt to start the motor on the row boat. I pulled it up and out of the water since we were just going for a ride and using the oars. I didn't want the motor to get stuck in any weeds during our trip. I had my transistor radio with me, and Linnea had her book. I took the oars, and started out on the Lake. I was enjoying the afternoon row and listening to my favorite top ten oldies. "One, two, three, four, tell the people what she wore..." But at some point during the song I heard a man's voice yelling. "Hey, watch out! You're gonna get my line, lady!" Lady! I must look sophisticated for a 14-year-old. Must be the sun hat! I looked up to see the person who had been speaking. His face ruined the image of his words and my sophistication. He was mad and he wasn't alone. There were several people fishing from the bridge above where we were rowing. In our enjoyment it seems we had drifted the wrong way from the cottage, and Linnea with her nose in the book and me rowing backwards, didn't take notice of the bridge with the fishing lines in the water. "Hey, turn that thing around! My line's getting caught in your motor," another guy yelled. "Linnea, get your nose out of that book and help me here." I scanned the situation and wondered what I would have her do! The boat was under the small bridge where the local town folks were fishing. I was trying to row it away from them, but in doing so, the fish lines from their rods were tangled in the small motor attached to the end of the boat, and I was taking them further out. Pretty soon I'd have their fishing rods in the lake. If people were hanging on, they might just come, too! "Oh, Lord, help me, please," I sent up a silent plea. "Look at all these specimen of fish." Linnea was giving no thought to our predicament. She was leaning over the boat, looking at fish in the water. "Linnea, quit looking at those fish and take these oars, and don't stand up! Just move slowly over to middle. I'm going to try to get these lines off of this motor," I instructed. Words I'd never heard were coming off the bridge at this point. Every time I tried to do something, another line appeared. Linnea obviously knew nothing about a row boat, and we were heading into more lines! "Steer this boat, Linnea. They aren't looking too happy up there, and this is northern country. They'll eat you for dinner after they shoot us!" I tried a scary tack. "Hey, you girls, get out of that boat and take our lines off that motor! You're gonna break some expensive equipment!" one guy yelled. Another said, "Ya' get in the water and take care of this! You're responsible." I wanted to tell the guy to jump in himself, but he did have a point. Then I saw my Dad. He and his friend were rowing over to us. He wasn't looking all that happy! My Mother was up near the bridge, watching us. The other kids were all standing around, too. At this point I did want to jump in! One guy was up there swearing like I'd done something awful, another was giving my Dad orders not to break his line, the others had taken their lines down the bridge out of harm's way. One guy was howling over with laughter, holding onto his stomach. Dad told Linnea and I to sit in the middle of the boat and we obliged. He carefully got the boat closer to the area where he could untangle the lines instead of pulling it further away. He was working on the motor and lines while his friend held the boats together. Dad lost a bobber in the process, but the first guy's line and hook came up unharmed. The other one took a bit longer as it was tangled around the bottom of the motor, but soon he was able to release it, too. "Sorry, guys," my Dad gestured a farewell to them. Some onlookers applauded. "Hey, keep them women out of here," the big-mouth guy scorned. My Dad just waved. I wanted to stick my tongue out at that guy, but would a "woman" do that? We all made it safely back to the dock and out of the row boats to the cottage without anymore words or incident. My Dad did suggest that I look, as in driving a car, to see where the boat was actually heading next time. I told him I would, but I wasn't planning anymore excursions at that point. And when I did I'd sure pick a spot where people weren't in my way fishing! Diane Dean White Thelamb212 @ aol.com Copyright © 2002 by Diane Dean White. All rights reserved. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ About the author: Diane and her husband Stephen reside in Hilton Head, SC where she continues her love for writing. She is a former newspaper reporter and fundraising writer for organizations. Her stories have appeared in several major newspapers across the country and in thousands of homes in Michigan. They are the parents of three grown children and two grand-gals. Diane has a women's ministry called SEEDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT, at: www.heartwarmers4u.com/members?thelamb212 and Featured writer for Ripplemaker, at: http://www.ripplemaker.com/Writer-of-the-Month/Diane-White.htm _________________________________________________________ KIDS NEED LETTERS Within the next two weeks I will be visiting The Baptist Children's Home (Orphanage) in Baxley, Georgia. They have about fifty children in their care. I am trying to start a program called "e-Doptions". It will allow the children to receive snail- mail letters from those living outside the orphanage. People will write to a specific child, giving them words of encouragement on a monthly basis. This would mean so much to these kids. It is hoped that this will give these children a feeling of being part of something other than just being part of an orphanage. To help please email your name and address, or visit The Sad Orphan Foundation web page at: http://www.geocities.com/thesadorphanfoundation Thank you. -- Roger Dean Kiser, Sr., trampolineone @ webtv.net _________________________________________________________ QUOTE FROM LESSER KNOWN PEOPLE Four-year-old Matthew came up to me, crying, "Ethan pinched me!" "And what did you do to him first?" I asked. "Well...I didn't hit him..." _________________________________________________________ LOVE, JENNIFER I. OLIVER AND FAMILY four_ears @ msn.com "To live that in thy last long sleep, Smiles my be thine wile all around thee weep." - Nellie L. Wallace, June 24, 1873 _________________________________________________________ This E-mail may be forwarded in its entirety, but first ask the writer for permission before forwarding. Thank you for doing the decent thing! Ü ________________________________________________________ SUBMIT STORY, QUOTE, OR FAMILY LOVE MOMENT: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/submission.htm FEEDBACK: four_ears @ msn.com ________________________________________________________ |
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