Phantom Fish

     I started fishing a few years ago. Who knew I would like it so much? We go a few times a summer, hiring a guide service  to make things easier. My kind of fishing is with a guide service. The guide baits my hook, nets the fish, takes the fish off the hook, and then cleans and bags the fish. I first hired this guide outfit as a Father's Day gift for my husband and father-in-law years ago. Even though its more difficult for Chris's dad to go with us, we still go out, sometimes with our son, his girlfriend, college friends; you get it, basically anyone who would like to try fishing on a world-class walleye lake.

    The guides, especially the one we had most recently, are very attentive to someone with PD. Balance is already an issue for me, but throw in a rocking boat and things can deteriorate fast. On our most recent trip, I made it onto the dock. and eventually into the boat with help, no problem. After we were all situated, Mark, the guide, set the engines in motion and we headed to our fishing grounds.

    I don't know if you realize this about me or not, but I'm not what you'd call patient. My son, who was  along on this trip, joked to one of our fishing accomplices, our friend Ed, that I'd have the most false alarms of the people fishing. He said this as I was jerking on my line, tugging at the imaginary fish, hoping it didn't get away.

    But it did, just like the dozens of fish I caught in my mind. Undoubtedly there were legitimate "hits" and "strikes," fishing terms for missed opportunities as evidenced by my empty hook, devoid of even a small vestige of worm. The day was beautiful, mid-80s, slight breeze, and bright sunlight. Although I was staring at my line waiting for the next real or imagined tug, the lolling boat relaxed my mind, and it headed off in different directions. 

    Out of all the musings I dabbled in that day, I returned to thinking about my false alarms. How many times do I do or say something to someone, convinced of the accuracy of my observations, only to see those home-run ideas fall short of the wall? My life, I thought, is a lot like my fishing. I lack the patience  needed to wait for the decisive moment. When trolling for the elusive creatures, my head knows how to catch fish, but my heart gets too antsy. I figure if one jerk is good, three or four are even better, even though the tugs are just the bottom grabbing onto my hook and worm.

     Drifting in my thoughts found me comparing fishing to life.  Patience is a needed virtue in life. How many times have I messed things up because I lacked patience? How many times have I said an errant comment? Or made an impatient gesture or made a hardly muffled sigh?

    There are times I need patience with my body as well. It doesn't move as quickly as it once did. Parkinson's has taught me to go at my own pace. Not to be flustered or get all freaked out when I'm holding up the show; or setting the hook on another fish. Impatience leads to hurried, thoughtless movements which can lead to falls. Not good for anyone, but especially not for people with PD.

    My head returned to the moment, jiggled from my thoughts by a tug on my line. Instantly I was in the moment, jerking my line to set the hook. I reeled up my line, fully expecting  a wiggling, slimy creature on the other end. Imagine my surprise to see I had only landed a phantom fish. Again.