Hi, Honey, I'm home, now I'm off to fish!

One of the great benefits about having your own blog is that it gives a person a chance to vent when she's really, really angry without resorting to a screaming match with the person she is angry at (yes, I know I shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition, but I'm too annoyed to fix it.)

It's summer vacation, which means that before I can come home, I have to pick the child up at camp, which is a little further away than the regular school. And, well, it's been a long day at work, which the husband knew.

So, after a really long day and having to pick up a cranky child. I pull into the driveway just as he is leaving the house wearing his fishng shirt and carrying his pole and tackle box. He looked at me as if he was a 10-year-old just caught playing hooky.

"Oh, you're home, already? I was going to go fishing with Billy."
"I see," I couldn't hide the sigh in my voice.
"We won't be gone long."
That was an hour ago, and no sign of him yet.
It's not that I mind him going fishing every now and then, but did I mention it had been a long day? And, with the days going longer and longer, I most likely won't see him until about 8 p.m., at which time I will be about to put the child to bed. Then, the husband will look at me and whine about letting the child stay up a little later so they could spend time together. Never mind that I'm dead tired and I want to relax also. Sorry, but I just can't seem to really unwind until after the child goes to sleep.

With my apologies to the farmers who most likely need the extra daylight, I swear fishermen and husbands made up Daylight Savings just so they could get in a little extra fishing after work. And that leaves the Fishing Widow holding the bag. Again.

Grrrr.

Hunting season in July! Let the madness begin

It's started, and it's still July. The first hunt for my husband doesn't start until October, and yet he has started salivating already.

The results of the drawings for public Wildlife Management Area hunts are posted on the myflorida.com's web site. For more information, you can also check out this Florida hunting site. My husband got an email this week from the state. You would have thought he won the lottery the way he was celebrating the hunts he got. Sigh.

Archery season start in August or September, but they don't impact me. My husband isn't an archery hunter, although over the years his friends have tried to lure him into this sport. Archery season in Florida is even more brutal for hunters, I think, because it is still boiling hot outside and hunters sweat profusely in their hunting attire. But I digress.

Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission limits the number of hunters for each hunt on public land. The official reason is probably to limit the number of animals killed from each area. I say the real reason is to reduce the number of hunters in any one place so they don't kill each other accidentally. Now that the results are  posted, the scouting must begin. My husband is already making plans to head out to the places he has hunts so he can figure out where to put his stands, where the deer are moving and how far he has to walk to get there. I used to go with him during these trips, but now, with our child, it's difficult, so he'll go alone.

OK, so I use that as an excuse. Scouting trips aren't fun when it's 100 degrees outside.
To all other Florida hunting widows, welcome to Hunting Season. Let the fun begin.

No rain, nor sleet, nor even hail can stop the Fisherman

Today, being a holiday from work because July 4 fell on a Sunday. I figured I'd be spending the day cooped up with the husband and child, also off from camp. Wrong.
At 6 a.m., earlier than the alarm clock usually rings in our house, I awoke to the sound of him putting on his fishing shirt. (Yes, there are shirts in his wardrobe that are designated fishing shirts. You even  have to wash and dry them differently, but that's another post.)
"What are you doing?" I mumbled.
"Going fishing with the guys," he said matter-of-factly, as if I had just asked him why he as breathing.
"But it's raining outside," I insisted -- hence the reason I figured we'd be cooped up in the houe together.
"Yeah, but we're taking the kayaks. We'd get wet either way," he shrugged. And off he went.
So, I ended up getting awoken by the child at 6:30 a.m., also earlier than the usual alarm clock, so he could watch TV and get breakfast. Did I mention we'd all been  up late last night because of the fireworks???

I guess it's not so bad. The husband is not a good one to stay in the house with when it rains. He gets cabin fever easily. And the child and I usually can get a good game of Monopoly or something going.

But when the husband comes home, he will be drenched in rain and river water. Soaked to the skin, he will rush to the shower and then go take a nap. We'll see him emerge around 5 p.m. today, in time for us to start getting ready for dinner.

Father's Day for the fishing and hunting widow

OK, you would think Father's Day would be a no-brainer for me, considering my husband has two major hobbies and there are lots of accessories for me to buy for him. Actually, I hate having to buy for my husband. (Please see the entry about going to Wal-Mart to buy a simple lure for further explanation.) Fishing and hunting require certain tools and I think everyone is different as to which lure, bait, pole or other accessory is the best. Usually, when I've tried to surprise my husband with something, he tells me I've chosen the wrong thing. So now I don't bother.

I know what my husband wants to do on Father's Day -- go fishing on the boat. And, as a good Fishing Widow wife, I will go with him. After all, on Father's Day, we have to give our children's dad a break from our nagging. My husband works hard all week, and he is good with our child. My husband is waiting for our son to become seriously interested in fishing so he can actually cast some lines when the two go fishing by themselves. I think he has a while to wait. For now, I'm content to go along with him, especially on Father's Day, to distract the child a little with shells and swimming while my husband fishes and spends quality time with us.

Fishing widow and the Fishing Show

The husband was looking at the newspaper the other day and noticed a blurb about a fishing and boating show. He asked if I wanted to go with him. I couldn't think fast enough, figured it was either that or do laundry at home, and agreed.

Ladies, take notice. If your significant other ever suggests such a venture, do not make the mistake I did. Especially if said venue is outdoors in Florida anytime between May and September. Be sure and have your significant other drop you off first at the movies, mall, antique show, craft show or anywhere else.

Because if I thought shopping with him in the Wal-Mart sporting goods department was bad, a fishing show is MUCH, MUCH worse. Going with your husband to a fishing show is like taking a child to a carnival. He has to go to every single booth and talk with every single person in the booth. First he talks with the person about the products or service the vendor is selling. Then, they get a history of how long my husband has been fishing and hunting and how Florida has changed so much. Twenty minutes later, well, my eyes just sort of glaze over and I stand there with this silly smile on my face not knowing -- or caring -- what the conversation is about.

Then we go to the next booth, and the routine starts over. My husband can talk about reels, rods, lures even, get this, the LINE. I mean, seriously, he had a conversation over the best fishing line to use. Sigh. Meanwhile, sweat is pouring down my face and in my eyes. I'm having heat stroke and he's discussing the difference between a silver spoon and a feather lure or something. Plus, I have a bored child hanging on me and whining about the heat.

Three hours later, my husband turns to me and asks if I wanted something to eat. I'm thinking chain restaurant or fried clams (for some reason I had a hankering for seafood). Then I followed his gaze to the barbecued pork sandwiches someone was selling at the fishing show. Oh no. I drew the line at that. If I'm going to stand around listening to fishing discussions and waste a whole Saturday, the least I deserve is a meal out of it.

And not some lousy pork sandwich.

Has your spouse's fishing been affected by the oil spill?

I'm on the other coast, so we haven't been affected by the BP oil spill yet. Although, experts predict the oil will soon get to the Atlantic coastline. But I've heard that some areas are banning offshore fishing because of the oil spill. Now, my husband is not a commercial fisherman, so we aren't depending on the fish he catches to eat or anything. But banning fishing to an avid sport fisherman like my husband is almost as bad as cutting off his arm. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to eat fish spoiled by oil and I don't want my husband out fishing in that either. I'm just saying it's not going to be easy living with a cooped up husband who can't go fishing. We're between hunting seasons as well, so I can't even send him out to the woods.

Anyone have any ideas?

Memorial Day -- Compromise for the Fishing Widow

First off, I have to say thank you to all those real widows of soldiers, the ones who lost their lives while defending our freedom. I am grateful to the veterans, of couse, especially those who died while in service. But I also have to say thanks to the families of those soldiers, who also paid a price for their sacrifice. I call myself a fishing widow and hunting widow, but I know I would be lost without my wonderful husband -- even though I sometimes complain on this blog. My tongue-in-cheek moniker is a reality to the true widow.

Memorial Day doesn't get ther respect it deserves. I'm guilty of it as well, thinking of the day as a three-day weekend and a chance to get away, rather than a tribute to the men and women who have died while serving this country.

Perhaps then it was out of guilt that I agreed to a compromise when it came to making plans for Memorial Day. I was thinking a trip to Orlando to play in the theme parks. My husband was thinking three days of fishing. We agreed to a compromise.

I agreed to go on the boat, with book in hand, for a jaunt on the ocean, while he could fish. I even agreed to go camping for the three days so he could have easy access to the boat launch. I was looking forward to the weekend, thinking at least it was a chance to escape work and stress for three days. Because I like camping, my husband does most of the work because I still can't manage to light a camp fire or put together a lantern. I have become handy with a tent and usually tell my husband the best way to set it up. And, I figured I could sit and relax in quiet solitude while my husband and son took the boat to fish.

But as it turns out, we didn't go anywhere this weekend. My husband caught a cold earlier in the week and still wasn't better by the weekend. I grumbled a bit (OK, a lot) because I know he went out fishing in the afternoons when he should have been resting. And because I no longer was looking forward to the weekend. Believe me, three days cooped up with a sick fisherman who can't go fishing is no picnic.