Dock Chatter: "There's No Fool Like an Old Fool"

Having heard that saying since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, you'd think I would have learned my lesson well. Guess what, though--I haven't. And now I'm paying for it.

For the first time in ages, I decided to try fishing all winter, and as a result, I've been fighting a certain amount of arthritis in my left arm and right shoulder for the past few months. By pacing my fishing days, I've been able to deal with that pain, but I ruined the whole thing this past Monday, when I decided to trim some trees in the backyard. That activity aggravated the arthritis and messed up some neck muscles, too. I then proceeded to cook my goose royally by spending all day Tuesday on the water. The result: I couldn't even lie down and sleep last night. I instead had to spend the night dozing in a recliner.

The worst blow of all, though, came this morning, when I realized I wasn't going to be able to keep that second appointment this week with my Skeeter bass boat parked at West Neck Marina. Oh, I probably could have pressed the issue and gone, but with a tourney slated for Saturday, I knew it was in my best interests to take today off and rest my ol' bones. With the help of a heating pad, which saw some serious action last night, I should be able to get everything under control by Saturday morning. One way or the other, you can bet I'll make that 0-dark-30 muster Saturday, 'cause I know a whole chorus of fishin' friends who wouldn't ever let me live it down if I didn't show.

The irony in all of this is that I remember an occasion about 10 or 12 years ago--or maybe longer--when I had made a trip back home to Kansas to help Mom and Dad get ready for winter. One of the last things I did while there was to help Pop cut down an old tree that stood alongside the driveway. We'd only work about 15 or 20 minutes before he'd say, "Son, let's take a breather."

I couldn't understand this such short burst of wind coming from a man who, in his prime, often would work 8- and 10-hour days shingling a roof in the hot summer sun. I'd watch him carry a whole square (three bundles) of shingles up a ladder at one time all day long, while I struggled with a single bundle. And only rarely would he pause for a drink of water and to wipe the sweat away from his eyes.

The lesson in all of this is that Pop had learned he wasn't the man he used to be, nor was he foolish enough to even try. After this most recent incident, I think I've come to terms with my own shortcomings. I've decided that, if/when there are any more trees that need trimming, I'll just pay someone else to do it for me. I'll also have to think seriously about whether I want to try fishing all next winter. I truly need to apply some of that risk-management philosophy we always were preaching to the troops throughout the last years I worked at the Naval Safety Center.