This past week was especially difficult for me, in that those persistent north and northeast winds kept holding the water level on the river right at the point where I didn't feel comfortable heading out, for fear I wouldn't be able to get the boat back on the trailer. As a result, I kept one eye on the weather all week, just waiting for a decent break.
Throughout the week, I had my gear in "ready" status. The rods were rigged, and everything else was gathered neatly in one spot, where the only thing I had to do was grab 'em and run. Finally, on Friday, I saw a game plan coming together for Saturday. The water was coming in steadily, and the win predictions were just right, too. It was all I could do to contain myself throughout the day Friday, knowing I finally was going to get a day on the water Saturday.
About dinner time Friday, though, I noticed our heat pump seemed to be running rough (enter bad luck #1), so before I sat down to eat, I threw the thermostat over to "emergency heat," figuring that would get me through the weekend until I could call Monday and schedule a maintenance person to come and have a look at the situation.
Later in the evening, however, as we were watching TV, I realized the room temperature appeared to be dropping, so I went downstairs to check the thermostat. It confirmed my suspicions--the emergency heat wasn't working. A few seconds later, I learned the regular side wasn't working, either.
This turn of events concerned me a little, but I thought I had one last alternative left. I knew I had a maintenance contract with a local company, and I also knew they advertised an after-hours service. So, I got on the phone, called them, and left a message about my problem, figuring they soon would call me back, and before bedtime, everything would be back on track. That call, however, never came. As a matter of fact, it still hadn't come as of 8:30 Saturday morning, so I called one of the local competitors, who assured me they would be at my house in no time.
They made good on their word, too. However, as you've probably already figured it out, my much-anticipated fishing-trip plans by this time long since had gone up in smoke. You see, back when I was working full-time, I usually left my wife holding the bag as far as playing host to repairmen, regardless of the problem. Once I retired, though, I promised I would start shouldering those duties, and because I feel very strongly about people keeping their promises, I'm not about to renege on one I've made.
What I hadn't counted on at bedtime Friday evening, when I already had dismissed my fishing plans, was the little "bonus" that was waiting in the wings for me, once my head hit the pillow (enter bad luck #2). The bonus I'm speaking of is the migraine headache (actually, it's a cluster headache, but more people know what I'm talking about if I just use migraine), which came on during the night. It still was raging yesterday morning when my feet hit the floor, and much to my chagrin, it stayed that way until last night--well after the repairman had finished his work on our heating system and left.
It was while we were watching TV last night in the family room that the pain in my head at last started easing off. As I started feeling better, I decided to give myself a treat and eased downstairs to get three pieces of my favorite candy--Goetze's caramel creams (enter bad luck #3).
Now you may be thinking to yourself, "I'll bet he broke a tooth or pulled a filling," but if so, you're wrong. No, I did something I haven't ever done before in my whole life. I actually bit the tip of my tongue so hard I severed a tiny piece of it. Yes, it hurt, and yes, it bled.
How did I do it? I still can't really explain it, other than I remember it happened while trying to get part of that oh-so-delicious caramel to turn loose from where it had stuck in my mouth. And, somehow, my tongue ended up where it shouldn't have been at the wrong moment in time.
The only consolation I have here is knowing, as a surgeon once explained to me during cancer surgery on my tongue, that it regenerates itself rapidly (as long as it hasn't been "bobbitized," or cut off completely, if you will). In other words, my tongue should be as good as new in no time.
As one expert has pointed out, "Bad luck can come in threes, fours, fives, sixes, etc.--it doesn't matter (the number). We can handle more bad luck during those challenging moments. So, smile through the bad times. It may be that they're ensuring you'll have even better luck afterward. The universe will look after you."
I'm not certain I agree with the notion that the universe is going to look after me. The only thing I'm really certain of is that I'm going to take advantage of the next opportunity that presents itself for me to go fishing.
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