TUESDAY TRAVELS

On this election day in several states, I give you two guys in Washington in 1980, looking glum possibly because neither of them WERE elected.

GONE FISHING

There was a time in my youth that I liked going fishing.

It occurred mostly at Lake Carlyle, Saskatchewan, Canada, about 100 miles north of where I lived in North Dakota.

I hated trolling from a slow-moving boat because it seemed nothing ever happened.

But I remember once when Dad and I and some others had been out much of a day fishing that way and catching nothing.

When we returned to shore at dusk, my dad went up the hill to the cabin we were staying at to fix us some kind of supper.

I stayed at the dock practicing my casting.

That is to say swinging the fishing rod and throwing the lure as far out into the lake as I could.

And what happened?

I caught a fish!

I hurried up the hill to show Dad and then went back to the dock to try again.

Before long I had caught three nice fish.

They were called Pickerel or Northern Pike but for some reason we usually called them "Jacks", short for Jackfish.

Good eating.

After I brought the third fish up to dad to clean and fry in a pan with some butter for our dinner he said "Stop! We have enough!"

I don't have a photo of that evening but this is one of me and my partner-in-crime, Jim, with a "mess of perch" we had caught, perhaps from that same dock.

Some times you would think you could practically reach down into the water and scoop them up.

Kind of like these . . the wily trout.

They're in a so-called "Show Pond" at the Page Springs Fish Hatchery.

The smaller fish are kept in tanks under canopies.

Ducks can always seem to find water and a few were in evidence at the show pond on the day we visited.

I've never fly-fished but I suspect the trout would be too cautious for my impatient younger self.

Maybe it's just as well that I can find pleasure with simply gazing at them.

The hatchery is ideally located just across the road from a winery and within walking distance of two more!

If you are so inclined, you may read more about the hatchery here.

LATE WINTER PICNIC

One of the nice things about living in Arizona is that you can picnic outside year around.

SWMBO and I did just that last Thursday and it was delightful.

Just in case you're wondering, that's a Guinness in that cup.

And we split a bottle for the trip home without a DUI charge.

CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?

There's a place for peace and it's right here in Arizona.

Here among the red rocks and the green trees in West Sedona is the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park.

It was created as a vision of Jetsunma Ahkön Lhamo, the spiritual director of Kunzang Palyul Chöling, a Buddhist organization committed to compassionate outreach.

A large Stupa dominates the center of the site.

A sign says the Stupa represents the body of Buddha and requests that people not sit on it nor place objects on it.

Nearby a statue of the Buddha gazes over the quiet landcscape.

Visitors are invited to walk around the Stupa three times and many do.

You can see the size by the next photo with some visitors next to it.

It's a quiet spot where one can meditate while circling the Stupa or sitting under a canopy in a plastic chair.

I had a long conversation with a man from Illinois who knew a lot about Buddhism though he did not profess to be a Buddhist.

He told me of one visit he had made to a retreat for 10 days of silence and sitting.

He described it as "psychic surgery."  I liked that.

In these increasingly tumultous times, I think we could all use a little psychic surgery and a little peace.

This small park may be a good place to find it.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

I was going to post today about my visit to the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park.

But that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Because today is Friday and we have no need for peace today.

Even though last night's GOP Presidential Debate was pretty civil, according to the participants and people who watched it.

I understand the Drudge Report called it "boring."

But enough about that.

Let's get on with the REAL humor.

Arrrrggghhh! That's a terrible thought.

So we'll quit now.

Gentle Readers, I want you to have an exceptionally splendid weekend.

Keep those cards and letters (and cartoons) coming and always remember to keep laughing.

Here, kitty-kitty.

(Oh, no, who let the cat out??!!!)

THROWBACK THURSDAY

I'm not sure when this photo was taken but I believe it was a couple of kitchens or more back.

I note my beard was still basically brownish-red except for the chin whiskers which were turning gray.

That t-shirt has long since gotten too small for me to wear and was discarded.

And I haven't worn that watch for many years.

But this photo demonstrates the Catalyst's first rule of Italian cooking: When you make lasagna, don't get none on ya'!

MY DOG BLACKWELL

This is my dog Blackwell.

I know.

You're thinking "that's not a dog, it's a cat".

And you'd be right.

Except SWMBO has said frequently "that cat follows you around like a dog."

And he does.

The other one doesn't like me coming near her except when she's relaxing on the bed and I come into the room.

Then she sets up a caterwauling until I sit down and give her a good pet.

When I stop, she voices a "quack" sound, like a duck.

But she (Muggles) is more my wife's cat then mine.

But Blackwell loves only me and wants to be where-ever I am.

If I'm at the computer he comes in, jumps up on the armchair and stays there as long as I remain in the room.

When I get up to go to another part of the house, he wakes up and follows me.

If I sit down in the recliner in the living room, he jumps into my lap.

If I go outside, he sits by the slider where he can watch me.

Or waits patiently by the front door until I come back in.

You may have noticed his two somewhat imperfect ears.

The right one has a notch in it which I suspect he got in a neighborhood brawl with another dog or cat when he was young.

He was a feral cat when we took him in and had been in some fierce scraps that left an open wound around his neck.

Then when I took him to the animal center to have him "fixed", the young lady who took him asked if he had been feral and would I like them to notch his ear to let people know that was so if he got away from us.

Anticipating a small notch as in the other ear I assented and then was shocked when I picked him up and saw that they had lopped off the tip of his left ear.

So my aging prizefighter has a rugged look.

Not picture perfect.

But he is loyal to me.

Like a dog.

My dog Blackwell.