The Fishing Report
The inexorable cycle of life thought Caretaker. The nurturing, the murdering. He was up early on Tuesday having fallen asleep the previous day with still some light in the sky and an aluminum pipe in his mouth. Alzheimer's be damned. Honey is that you? Yes mom. Have you always been here? Got here yesterday mom. The grass would be wet with dew, this he knew without even leaving his bed, because he was a genius this Caretaker with regards to dampness and seasonal dew-points. He would use up the last of the fertilizer and hit those spots near the bighouse that were less than lush. And since he was up and moving around with barely a sun up to burn him he would also poison the weeds in the driveways and between the brick pavers at both houses.
While he did these things gnats hovered around his face and these gnats he was careful not to inhale, but this did not prevent one from flying onto the wetness of his eyeball and sticking there irritably. Honey is that you? Yes mom. Well its good you could come for a visit. Yeah mom, glad I could come.
Caretaker was now avoiding the hateful manual weed pulling between the 200 or so flat jagged rock pavers surrounding the pool. On his knees on a cushion, sitting yoga style, legs stretched in front, one knee up one folded underneath, a dip in the pool, it did not matter, it was hateful and slow. He used a butter knife as his digging tool. But he wasn't doing that now, he was instead thinking about the fishing he had done over the weekend and the unprecedented feeling of almost being sated by success. Over 5 different area ponds traveling around with Mowerman and sometimes his twin brother, which made things nosier, Caretaker had caught at least twenty small bass, a half dozen more that had thankfully unhooked themselves at the bank to save him the trouble, four nice sized bass, and one really nice sized one at a pond they had sneaked to through bramble and over a dry stacked rock wall, that Mowerman had fished growing up, with his dad, and considered his birthright. And no one messed with us which was giving Mowerman the courage to consider trespassing onto some other area ponds. Except for Kriegers pond because he was, quaint as it may sound, known for shooting at trespassers. No, he WILL shoot your ass Mowerman's twin brother reminded us more than once.
But this reminiscing was only one of the many techniques Caretaker had for avoiding hateful work so he had to be careful not to spend too much time on it. Weeds awaited. There would be some reward for the accomplishment, however temporary.