It's pretty common for guys who live in Michigan to go on Canada fishing trips. Some guys go several times a year, some go annually, and some just go once or twice in a lifetime to try it out. I'm a try it out guy. I've actually been up there to fish 3 times. The success rates varied on these trips, but they were all interesting in their own right.
My first time up there was actually with Michelle and a bunch of couples. They were all married and we were engaged at the time. It was one of those deals where we knew one couple really well, but the rest of them were more their friends than ours. I'm not great with people I kind of know. I'm the epitome of social awkwardness, introvertedness, quiet, shy . . . whatever you want to call it. If I'm in a social situation and the natural shuffling of the people leaves me alone in a room with some other poor sap, there always seems to be this jolting, silent vacuum that sucks the air out of our lungs when we both realize, "Oh crap, it's just me and this guy." Most of Michelle's friends' husbands have given up on me. Still, she tries valiantly to pull me into conversations with them. "Really, you like Mountain Dew? Oh my gosh, Matt likes Mountain Dew! Tell him hon!" "Yeah, Mountain Dew is pretty good." I've noticed that sometimes when the "kind of know" people are women, they turn me into their social charity case. They nod at me really big with their eyes all wide, laugh too loud, act way too interested, and basically treat me like I'm 3. If whatever I do elicits responses like this, then I must be some kind of a social dolt.
So here we were, on a long weekend trip with a bunch of people that I really just wanted to get away from. This sentiment was punctuated the first night when the conversation turned to everyone's pooping habits. This is what married people talk about? I felt like one lonely prude in that room, because I seemed to be the only one who wasn't giving up his/her proctological habits. This even included this very pretty model who announced, "I have to poop every time we go to the mall, don't I hon?!" "Yep, it's true. Everytime we set foot in the mall, the first thing she has to do is go poop." Everyone was delighted. I wanted to be anywhere but there. Bedtime finally rolled around, and our close friends actually slept in a bed between us to keep us pure. I was starting to look for the cameras and Ashton Kutcher. I agreed with sleeping separately from Michelle before we were married, but couldn't I sleep on a couch or something?
The payoff came the next morning when we headed out to fish for smallies in this beautiful clear lake with a rocky bottom. My friend caught a huge bronzeback from the dock on his first cast. I couldn't stay off of the lake after that. The smallmouth were everywhere and they were aggressive. I caught monster after monster, slipping around the edge of the lake in a small canoe. Of course, I was supposed to be doing couples stuff, so I got myself into quite a bit of trouble. Michelle was mad, the other wives were looking at me with disdain, and my good friend had to give me a "C'mon, dude . . . " speech. Actually, I think this might have been the first time that Michelle realized that she was in trouble. My obsession with fishing and avoidance of the pooping couples must have been pretty scary to witness for the first time. She stayed with me for some reason, but she still fights me on it from time to time.
My other two trips were with my dad. We went once with some guys from church and once with Tim and Jared. There is a group of guys at the church where I grew up who went every year. I think that they even had a waiting list of guys who wanted to go with them. My dad has always been held in high regard by these guys, so we were extended a special invitation. The trip started with a long drive up into Ontario in the middle of a foggy night on winding roads. I offered to drive a couple of times, but I don't think they quite trusted the boy. We made it to the outfitters, loaded our boats, and then took an hour or so boat ride in to our cabin. The cabin was set on a small rocky point that was surrounded by extremely thick woods. The only walking that we would be doing was up and down the short path between the cabin and the dock. We weren't going to be getting much exercise.
The fishing up there was good. We caught a lot of walleye between 12 and 17 inches. We mostly trolled crawler harnesses. I was put in a boat with this big, happy teddy bear of a guy who liked to sing "Coca Cabana" at the top of his lungs while we fished. I was also with a guy who was simply fun to be around and a crafty fisherman. The big guy snuck in a few cigars and they let the kid try one. I remember the 3 of us pounding down peanuts to get rid of the cigar breath before we headed back to the cabin. I commented that you know your breath is bad if you have to eat peanuts to improve it. The kid made a joke! They liked that. In the end, I caught the fewest fish, but I did take home biggest fish honors. We ate fried fish all week, got no exercise, and I found myself unable to perform in the outhouse-speaking of proctological habits. When we got back, our women said that we looked fat.
The trip with Tim and Jared was the least productive fish-wise, but we had a lot of fun. We knew that the fishing might not be too hot when the fishing guide that my dad hired got excited when he saw a frog by the lake. "Amphibian, that's a good sign." No, catching a huge bass on your first cast is a good sign. Seeing a frog by a lake is supposed to be so normal that it doesn't get mentioned. Old Eugene. He was a piece of work. Jared nicknamed him "Eu-weenie" and it stuck. He came wandering up about 30 minutes late the morning that we first met him. He was a greasy, sinewy, scraggly looking fellow with a thick accent and nose hair curling breath. We were pretty sure that he hadn't slept at all the previous night but was just getting in from God knows where. He took us out in a tub of a boat and we trolled all morning. As I recall, he had me using a big red leadhead jig with a whole crawler on it. I picked up a rock bass and he again got way too excited. He told me to keep it and he'd clean it for me. Just as he was starting to blame our lack of success on high clouds and a blue sky, I announced that I had a snag. He said, "Do you have a snag or do you have a fish?" Turned out that it was a fish. It was a nice walleye that he also cleaned and cooked for us.
The highlight of that trip for me was when the outfitter set us up in canoes on a lake that was supposed to hold pike. The canoes were those red plastic kind that are riveted to a frame. It felt like the shell could pull away from the frame at any time and it was incredibly unstable. My dad worried about flipping the thing during the whole outing. We stayed dry, but we did lose one rod and reel. What made this the highlight started with the outfitter advising us to throw a live minnow just off of a rock face. He said that there is a ledge under water just off of this face. The idea was to land the minnow on top of the shelf and then pull it off and let it fall straight down off of the drop. I did this and hooked into a 29-inch pike. At that time in my life, this was a really big fish and I was pretty impressed that the guy's advice panned out for us.
When we got home from that trip, I took Jared to a local lake with a lot of bass. I promised him that we'd catch more fish in one day than we caught all week in Canada. I'd like to tell you that we killed them and made up for the slow week, but I honestly don't remember. I'd like to do the Canada thing again sometime. Maybe when I'm done paying for diapers and sippy cups I can get some guys together and fly in to one of those isolated lakes with the monster pike that are fabled to hit on empty beer cans. Truthfully, it will probably be decades before I'm able to do something like that. In the mean time, I'll keep it in the daydream vault.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Everyone Showed But the Perch
In the earliest hours this morning, not long after the bartenders told their soggy patrons, "You don't have to go home, but you have to get up out of here!" my alarm went off. A small army of friends and relatives was planning on coming fishing shortly after sun up and I decided that I wanted to have a nice pile of crappies on the ice and some tip-ups set before they got there. Not wanting to wake the wife at 3 AM, I slept on the couch. This move unwittingly made me the first line of defense when my daughter woke with a sore throat and my youngest began screaming for his mommy, both at about midnight. I was glad to be able to field these late night issues and let Michelle sleep, but I knew that my short night just got shorter and it was going to take its toll.
I was glad when my fitful sleep on a too short couch was ended. All of my gear was lined up and ready to go, so it didn't take long for me to hit the road. I fell into a bit of a sleepy euphoria on the ride up to the lake. I had the heat on way too high, but it seemed to suit the mood. The rock station that I had been listening to the last time that I drove, however, was carving on the back of my skull. Country went with the mood. Kellie Pickler was asking me didn't I know how much she loved me. Frankly, I had no idea, but it was nice to hear. The last 4 or 5 miles after the exit are back roads, so I shook off the stupor and kept an eye out for deer and black ice. What had been an occasional snowflake in the headlights when the ride started out had turned into steady flurries. I hadn't noticed snow in the forecast, but I'd take it over a brisk wind.
I pictured having that "only person on earth" feeling, walking out on the ice at shortly after 4 AM. Surprisingly, 3 or 4 homes on the lake already had their lights burning bright. A couple of backyard dogs spotted my headlamp and went into a hysteria. In my head, I apologized to the sleeping neighbors. After hauling my gear and dropping the tip-ups, trudging through over a foot of snow the whole way, I had a pretty good sweat going. I knew that this would turn into a chill later, but I'm not sure how else I could have played it. I would just have to deal with it.
I found the crappies in 40 feet of water. There was a huge school that covered most of the bottom half of the water column, and an occasional fish showing up just 10 feet under the ice. I haven't done a ton of concentrated crappie fishing, but my limited experience has been that if you drop a minnow just above them, they slide up to it and eat it without hesitation. This school hadn't read the same manual that I read. They couldn't care less about the minnows that I was putting right in front of their snooty noses. The only reaction that I could get out of those fish was fleeing the minnow in a panic. I didn't have anything else to do, so I continued to toy with them. Just as it was getting light, I finally talked just 2 into grabbing on. They were about the same size, decent but not huge. So much for trying to act like a big shot. A pile of 2 wasn't going to get very many "attaboys."
A friend from work, Chris, was the first to show up. He came out just after 7:00. He fished with me in the deep water for awhile and managed to hook a couple of small gills. Just as we were heading back to my normal spot, our first flag popped. It was the 40-incher hole that I marked with a dead branch. I had a good feeling about this one and saw that it was running as we approached. It continued to take out line as I picked up the tip-up and gave the line a sharp yank. Nothing there. I'm guessing I pulled the hook right out of the fish's mouth, but I never even felt the slightest bit of weight on the line. Frustrating, but still good to get a flag this early.
Josh and Elijah showed up next and the other guys followed fast on their heels. I lost count of exactly how many guys we had out there, but it must have been close to 15. We had a good half ton of Elyea on that ice, plus friends and in-laws. It would have been good to have Jeff and Mike with us, but maybe we can catch them on a summer excursion.
Because of some recent catches, we were pretty sure that the perch were going to pile up. Didn't happen. Most of the perch that we caught were pencils and we never really found a school. Whatever the phenomenon was that I experienced last week, it seemed to mark the peak of the ice season. Something about today just felt like the beginning of the end of this winter's fishing season. Even though the perch weren't doing much, Jared's brother-in-law, Tim, did find some hungry crappies and a few decent bluegills. I have to admit that the chase for the panfish is probably where my short night took the toll that I talked about earlier. I just didn't have the energy to keep moving through that deep snow and drilling hole after hole. I was content to stay in the first hole that I drilled and if I got into them, then great. If not, don't care.
Something else that probably helped diminish my concern for pannies was the fact that we got flags relatively steady all day. We decided that most of them were bass. We had a lot of pop and drops. We pulled in a number of empty hooks or dazed minnows. They looked like Linsay . . . wait, I already used that one. We did manage to land a couple of nice bass that pushed 20 inches. My Uncle Tim caught a really healthy looking 29-inch pike. He'll tell you it was over 30. Just agree with him. We landed a few more smaller bass.
The party broke up around 2:00. There was some disappointment at not hammering the perch. Josh bought a fillet knife for the occasion and now he has to dig through the trash for the receipt. My only complaint is the excruciating charlie horses that I'm getting in both legs from high stepping through snow all day. I've had to walk them off a few times just in the last hour. Despite the bite not being as hot as it has been and my hamstrings getting tied in knots, I really enjoyed today. What a great bunch of guys! I look forward to getting out with them again. In the mean time, I think my next fishing trip is going to be back to the muskie lake. I have a goal of catching one on the ice before they go out of season. Getting a little nervous about following through with that one.
I was glad when my fitful sleep on a too short couch was ended. All of my gear was lined up and ready to go, so it didn't take long for me to hit the road. I fell into a bit of a sleepy euphoria on the ride up to the lake. I had the heat on way too high, but it seemed to suit the mood. The rock station that I had been listening to the last time that I drove, however, was carving on the back of my skull. Country went with the mood. Kellie Pickler was asking me didn't I know how much she loved me. Frankly, I had no idea, but it was nice to hear. The last 4 or 5 miles after the exit are back roads, so I shook off the stupor and kept an eye out for deer and black ice. What had been an occasional snowflake in the headlights when the ride started out had turned into steady flurries. I hadn't noticed snow in the forecast, but I'd take it over a brisk wind.
I pictured having that "only person on earth" feeling, walking out on the ice at shortly after 4 AM. Surprisingly, 3 or 4 homes on the lake already had their lights burning bright. A couple of backyard dogs spotted my headlamp and went into a hysteria. In my head, I apologized to the sleeping neighbors. After hauling my gear and dropping the tip-ups, trudging through over a foot of snow the whole way, I had a pretty good sweat going. I knew that this would turn into a chill later, but I'm not sure how else I could have played it. I would just have to deal with it.
I found the crappies in 40 feet of water. There was a huge school that covered most of the bottom half of the water column, and an occasional fish showing up just 10 feet under the ice. I haven't done a ton of concentrated crappie fishing, but my limited experience has been that if you drop a minnow just above them, they slide up to it and eat it without hesitation. This school hadn't read the same manual that I read. They couldn't care less about the minnows that I was putting right in front of their snooty noses. The only reaction that I could get out of those fish was fleeing the minnow in a panic. I didn't have anything else to do, so I continued to toy with them. Just as it was getting light, I finally talked just 2 into grabbing on. They were about the same size, decent but not huge. So much for trying to act like a big shot. A pile of 2 wasn't going to get very many "attaboys."
A friend from work, Chris, was the first to show up. He came out just after 7:00. He fished with me in the deep water for awhile and managed to hook a couple of small gills. Just as we were heading back to my normal spot, our first flag popped. It was the 40-incher hole that I marked with a dead branch. I had a good feeling about this one and saw that it was running as we approached. It continued to take out line as I picked up the tip-up and gave the line a sharp yank. Nothing there. I'm guessing I pulled the hook right out of the fish's mouth, but I never even felt the slightest bit of weight on the line. Frustrating, but still good to get a flag this early.
Josh and Elijah showed up next and the other guys followed fast on their heels. I lost count of exactly how many guys we had out there, but it must have been close to 15. We had a good half ton of Elyea on that ice, plus friends and in-laws. It would have been good to have Jeff and Mike with us, but maybe we can catch them on a summer excursion.
Because of some recent catches, we were pretty sure that the perch were going to pile up. Didn't happen. Most of the perch that we caught were pencils and we never really found a school. Whatever the phenomenon was that I experienced last week, it seemed to mark the peak of the ice season. Something about today just felt like the beginning of the end of this winter's fishing season. Even though the perch weren't doing much, Jared's brother-in-law, Tim, did find some hungry crappies and a few decent bluegills. I have to admit that the chase for the panfish is probably where my short night took the toll that I talked about earlier. I just didn't have the energy to keep moving through that deep snow and drilling hole after hole. I was content to stay in the first hole that I drilled and if I got into them, then great. If not, don't care.
Something else that probably helped diminish my concern for pannies was the fact that we got flags relatively steady all day. We decided that most of them were bass. We had a lot of pop and drops. We pulled in a number of empty hooks or dazed minnows. They looked like Linsay . . . wait, I already used that one. We did manage to land a couple of nice bass that pushed 20 inches. My Uncle Tim caught a really healthy looking 29-inch pike. He'll tell you it was over 30. Just agree with him. We landed a few more smaller bass.
The party broke up around 2:00. There was some disappointment at not hammering the perch. Josh bought a fillet knife for the occasion and now he has to dig through the trash for the receipt. My only complaint is the excruciating charlie horses that I'm getting in both legs from high stepping through snow all day. I've had to walk them off a few times just in the last hour. Despite the bite not being as hot as it has been and my hamstrings getting tied in knots, I really enjoyed today. What a great bunch of guys! I look forward to getting out with them again. In the mean time, I think my next fishing trip is going to be back to the muskie lake. I have a goal of catching one on the ice before they go out of season. Getting a little nervous about following through with that one.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Week of Freedom
Having 3 small children, I just can't leave whenever I want to spend some time on the river. Most of my trips are the result of some planning and more than a little bargaining with the wife. It's only fair. I know that being at home with all 3 kids is quite a bit of work. If I'm going to leave Michelle with this responsibility, it's only fair that I offer to reciprocate at some time in the near future. The thing is, my whole being is screaming to fish much of the time, so all of my planning and focus is on fishing trips. It gets old. The wife wonders when I'm going to actually plan a little family vacation, a day for the two of us to get away, a date, anything. I don't have a good answer for this. There are plenty of good intentions, but admittedly not much follow up as of yet. On my end, I do spend almost all of my time either at work or with my family. I consider myself an active and involved dad. Is it too much to ask to spend one or two nights a week fishing, especially when most of my time away is after bedtime?
You're probably getting the idea that this can get pretty complicated in our home. That is why I couldn't believe my ears a few years ago when Michelle was talking to her sister, Heather, in Boston and it sounded like they were planning for Michelle and Hayden to go out there for a week. I was pretty sure that the grandmas would be willing to watch Luke for me (We didn't have Lincoln yet). A full week of nothing but fishing hadn't even been close to my radar before this. As it began to sink in that this was, in fact, going to happen, I calmly walked into the bedroom away from the family and threw down the best white boy dance I could muster. Until then I hadn't dared to dream of a full week of freedom, of 168 straight hours in which I could fish whenever I wanted. Now, it was coming and it was all that I could think about.
It was 4 or 5 months between that phone call and the actual trip, but it eventually rolled around. Luke was already up at Grandma's and I dropped Michelle and Hayden off on a beautiful Sunday morning. As luck would have it, Michelle knew someone who worked at the airport and he was able to get me into the terminal to wait until it was time for them to board the plane. Oh, good! Thanks, guy! My drop and run turned into an hour-and-a-half in a crowded airport terminal. I was thrilled. I was just starting to twitch when their flight was called and I was finally sprung to the river.
Murphy showed up a few days before Freedom Week and dropped several inches of rain on West Michigan. I knew the river was high, but I had no idea what I was in for. I pulled into the parking lot and found the launch and most of the dock under water. The river was swelled far beyond its banks. The current was pushing by at an extremely high rate and it was full of everything from small branches to huge uprooted trees. I've got a stubborn side, so instead of heading to a local lake, I backed the trailor into the dirty foam that was swirling in the submerged gravel drive above the launch and got ready to head up river.
The bridge generally sits several feet above the water surface, but with the river in the state that it was I could practically touch its girded underbelly as I past by. There was so much junk floating in the current that I couldn't go at much more than idle speed for fear that I'd run up on a bobbing tree trunk. For months I dreamed of 18 hour days on the river filled with big green flatties and an assortment of other gamefish. Those dreams were quickly being replaced by a sickness in the pit of my stomach. I knew that the fish were just down there holding onto something. They wouldn't think about eating for well over a week. Still, I found a big snag outside of the main river channel and anchored. I figured that maybe something was sitting down there trying to stay out of the current. If I was lucky, it would hit a big piece of cut bait. I sat at my first spot for close to 2 hours. I quickly developed the frequent habit of looking over my shoulder to make sure that I didn't get run over by an errant tree. Three times I had to pick up anchor and move out of the way while the waterlogged remains of an oak or maple with branches still full of bright green leaves pushed through my spot. I found too that it was useless to try to keep my lines in the water, as there was just as much stuff bouncing along the riverbed as there was on the surface. I stayed until dark, and then went home fishless and defeated.
I kept a close eye on the water level that week and tried it a few more times as the river dropped a couple of feet per day. Eventually, the posts of the dock were most of the way out of the water. I used it once, but discovered that hundreds of spiders were taking refuge on those posts. I still get a shiver thinking about laying my hand on the post nearest to shore and having the surface go fluid as a layer of big, white spiders either moved to get out from under my hand or climbed aboard in hopes that my arm was the way to solid ground. I sputtered unintelligible curse words and shook my hand with an adrenaline charged violence. I could feel them crawling inside of my clothes for the rest of the night.
Eventually the river shrank back down to something close to normal. The first fish I caught that week was a sucker. This is probably the happiest I've ever been to see one of these dumb looking fish. I picked up a few channel cats, but things just never got right until a week or so after the family returned. My dad talked me into hitting a local lake during one of the evenings, but we happened to hit it on tournament night. We stopped fishing to watch 25 boats race to their spots, and then decided to head in early as there wasn't much shoreline left to fish.
I've had a few more Freedom Weeks with the family in Boston since then. I look forward to them with intense anticipation each time they are made available. I probably shouldn't admit this, but by the time the ends of those weeks roll around, I'm ready to get off of the river and spend some time with the family. I think that I'm in the best situation that I can be in. I fish just enough to keep the hunger. Having all of the responsibility that I do and having to work for my outings makes them all the more enjoyable. If I could go all the time, I think that my outings would actually lose a little of their luster. I wouldn't mind testing that hypothesis. I don't think Michelle would go for it.
Speaking of Michelle, this Sunday is Valentine's Day. To demonstrate some growth, I've devised a plan and I'm actually going to follow through with it. She's been extremely busy and stressed with a new teaching position this year. The spa is her ultimate relief. I've saved a little money and I'm planning on taking Monday off to be with the kids while I send her to the spa. There's hope for me yet.
You're probably getting the idea that this can get pretty complicated in our home. That is why I couldn't believe my ears a few years ago when Michelle was talking to her sister, Heather, in Boston and it sounded like they were planning for Michelle and Hayden to go out there for a week. I was pretty sure that the grandmas would be willing to watch Luke for me (We didn't have Lincoln yet). A full week of nothing but fishing hadn't even been close to my radar before this. As it began to sink in that this was, in fact, going to happen, I calmly walked into the bedroom away from the family and threw down the best white boy dance I could muster. Until then I hadn't dared to dream of a full week of freedom, of 168 straight hours in which I could fish whenever I wanted. Now, it was coming and it was all that I could think about.
It was 4 or 5 months between that phone call and the actual trip, but it eventually rolled around. Luke was already up at Grandma's and I dropped Michelle and Hayden off on a beautiful Sunday morning. As luck would have it, Michelle knew someone who worked at the airport and he was able to get me into the terminal to wait until it was time for them to board the plane. Oh, good! Thanks, guy! My drop and run turned into an hour-and-a-half in a crowded airport terminal. I was thrilled. I was just starting to twitch when their flight was called and I was finally sprung to the river.
Murphy showed up a few days before Freedom Week and dropped several inches of rain on West Michigan. I knew the river was high, but I had no idea what I was in for. I pulled into the parking lot and found the launch and most of the dock under water. The river was swelled far beyond its banks. The current was pushing by at an extremely high rate and it was full of everything from small branches to huge uprooted trees. I've got a stubborn side, so instead of heading to a local lake, I backed the trailor into the dirty foam that was swirling in the submerged gravel drive above the launch and got ready to head up river.
The bridge generally sits several feet above the water surface, but with the river in the state that it was I could practically touch its girded underbelly as I past by. There was so much junk floating in the current that I couldn't go at much more than idle speed for fear that I'd run up on a bobbing tree trunk. For months I dreamed of 18 hour days on the river filled with big green flatties and an assortment of other gamefish. Those dreams were quickly being replaced by a sickness in the pit of my stomach. I knew that the fish were just down there holding onto something. They wouldn't think about eating for well over a week. Still, I found a big snag outside of the main river channel and anchored. I figured that maybe something was sitting down there trying to stay out of the current. If I was lucky, it would hit a big piece of cut bait. I sat at my first spot for close to 2 hours. I quickly developed the frequent habit of looking over my shoulder to make sure that I didn't get run over by an errant tree. Three times I had to pick up anchor and move out of the way while the waterlogged remains of an oak or maple with branches still full of bright green leaves pushed through my spot. I found too that it was useless to try to keep my lines in the water, as there was just as much stuff bouncing along the riverbed as there was on the surface. I stayed until dark, and then went home fishless and defeated.
I kept a close eye on the water level that week and tried it a few more times as the river dropped a couple of feet per day. Eventually, the posts of the dock were most of the way out of the water. I used it once, but discovered that hundreds of spiders were taking refuge on those posts. I still get a shiver thinking about laying my hand on the post nearest to shore and having the surface go fluid as a layer of big, white spiders either moved to get out from under my hand or climbed aboard in hopes that my arm was the way to solid ground. I sputtered unintelligible curse words and shook my hand with an adrenaline charged violence. I could feel them crawling inside of my clothes for the rest of the night.
Eventually the river shrank back down to something close to normal. The first fish I caught that week was a sucker. This is probably the happiest I've ever been to see one of these dumb looking fish. I picked up a few channel cats, but things just never got right until a week or so after the family returned. My dad talked me into hitting a local lake during one of the evenings, but we happened to hit it on tournament night. We stopped fishing to watch 25 boats race to their spots, and then decided to head in early as there wasn't much shoreline left to fish.
I've had a few more Freedom Weeks with the family in Boston since then. I look forward to them with intense anticipation each time they are made available. I probably shouldn't admit this, but by the time the ends of those weeks roll around, I'm ready to get off of the river and spend some time with the family. I think that I'm in the best situation that I can be in. I fish just enough to keep the hunger. Having all of the responsibility that I do and having to work for my outings makes them all the more enjoyable. If I could go all the time, I think that my outings would actually lose a little of their luster. I wouldn't mind testing that hypothesis. I don't think Michelle would go for it.
Speaking of Michelle, this Sunday is Valentine's Day. To demonstrate some growth, I've devised a plan and I'm actually going to follow through with it. She's been extremely busy and stressed with a new teaching position this year. The spa is her ultimate relief. I've saved a little money and I'm planning on taking Monday off to be with the kids while I send her to the spa. There's hope for me yet.
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