As I said yesterday, I really hadn’t tied much since Spring. I had left my tying station a bit (a lot) disorderly. Couple that with Penny the Cat routinely spreading this and that around the room from my tying station and things are much like an archeological dig when I first sit down to organize my tying plan of action.
So today, I found a couple items that were partly pleasant and distressful. The distressful first: There is a lovely lady in her late 70’s, who had seldom missed my birthday with at a minimum a card. My dear departed Mom always took care of sending a card to the sweet lady and I regrettably did not pay attention to the date of her birthday…self centered and preoccupied as I was. Well last year I was diligent in not only thanking her for remembering my birthday, but in asking her what her’s was. A card went off and all was in balance with the world. From now on I would remember.
Today, I found my notes, my reminder to remember her birthday on November 7th. What a putz! I missed it! Now it isn’t terribly too late and I can send a ‘geeze I am a putz, I forgot your birthday’ card that also wishes her Happy Thanksgiving. But really………………
Secondly, I found one of those small plastic hook boxes buried beneath all manner of bagged materials. In the box were less than a dozen small, size 18 (small for me) bead head pupa patterns in which I had, as I recall, Fiddly-F’d around applying goose biots for the wing (kind of like a Prince Nymph) and the tail. Honestly I tied maybe half a dozen of these and I selected the best one to photograph. The rest looked quite distressed and disheveled. They never made it into a fly box. I wonder if they will yet.
I need to get a card in the mail forth with to that sweet heart of a lady, who as a teenage girl baby sat me. It was an always interesting tale to me. She was a member of the only black family in a very rough neighborhood in the late 40’s. My parents tried to run a grocery store in this rough area and this sweet girl took care of me. Imagine the black girl carrying this white infant about in 1948 in this inhospitable neighborhood. My mom never lost track of her and she never lost track of me even though she lives clear cross country. Bless her.