Going to Texas mode

So I left for Texas last Saturday. And started gearing up at least five days early. I mean, this is a big deal. It's Texas we're talking about.

By Thursday, I was nearly bursting with anticipation.

As soon as Brandon walked into the kitchen that morning for breakfast, I started drilling him.

"What time do you think we need to leave for the airport?"

"Katie, what day are you leaving again?"

"Saturday."

"So maybe we could revisit that question tomorrow night?"

I was okay with that. I'm a fairly reasonable person. I would agree it was a bit premature.

Then he was bombarded with a list of questions concerning all the things I had to get done around here before I could leave, any instructions I had for him while I was away, and I even showed him how I had lovingly arranged the freezer in the kitchen to contain only things he might need while I was away: ice cream, beef hot links and buns, four servings of lasagna, Toaster Strudel, whiskey and so on.

When I finished, he muttered, "Oh, great. It's already started."

"What?"

"Your 'I'm-going-to-Texas' mode. Where nothing else matters until you leave."

And he just might be on to something here...

Another Katie moment

I was out irrigating last week, and noticed a really nasty smell coming from near my truck when I got back in.

Now, I didn't really think much of it. It's pretty common to find dead fish in and around the irrigation ditch, and in the field. So I assumed that was what I was smelling.

But later, upon entering my truck at the opposite end of the ditch, I caught the stench again. It seriously smelled like something had died and was rotting. I would have sworn it was coming from underneath my truck. I had no idea what it could possibly be.

I sent Brandon a message reading, "I think something died under my truck."

I knew it was quite common for cats to climb into engines, so I thought that maybe a neighbor cat had done that, and I had killed it when I started my truck. Logical, right?

Two days later, Brandon was helping me load a mower into the back of my truck, and he smelled it too. At this point, it was awful.

I had brought a bag of trash to dump when I met him, so he thought it was coming from the trash bag. But I told him I had just loaded that bag a few hours before, and the odor had been present for several days.

I dumped the trash bag just a few minutes later. And found the source of the smell.

I called Brandon to let him know.

"You know how I told you it wasn't the trash in my truck that smelled dead?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, it was trash. Just not that trash. It was a plastic bag of fish ribs and scraps from cleaning those fish we caught last week. I put it back there, but forgot about it, and never made it to the dumpster."

"And here we have another Katie Moment."

A Southeast Texas girl's dream

We made a roast a few nights ago. I was running irrigation water all day and Brandon was out and about with other farm duties, so I wanted something that wouldn't take a lot of preparation come supper time.

So crockpot roast to the rescue.

Growing up, my MeMe made a roast, rice and gravy nearly every Sunday. My plate always consisted of a full layer of rice, covered in gravy, with some shredded roast on top.

And that's exactly how I made my plate Tuesday evening.

Halfway through our meal, Brandon asked, with a disgusted look on his face, "That really looks good to you?"

"Heck yeah. It's rice smothered in gravy. That's, like, every Southeast Texas girl's dream."

What did you do to yourself?

When Brandon came in for lunch on Monday, I couldn't even say hello. I think I greeted him with "What in the world did you do to yourself?"

He started out, "Well, I loaded two trucks..."

And I interrupted with, "By hand? With muddy hay bales? Or what?"

He continued, "...And the squeeze broke down on me three times. So I spent most of the morning working on it."

Y'all, this is what he was wearing:

And I really wish I would have captured a head-to-toe shot when he came in. Just imagine his face, arms and pants looking exactly like that t-shirt.

It seriously looked like he had gone out and rolled around on a freshly tarred highway.

I had to wash his hair in the sink before he went back to work, or it would have looked like he died it black.

He had just showered Sunday night before bed, so while washing his hair, I thought out loud, "Wow. This makes twice in the last 12 hours. That has to be some sort of Brandon Leister record."

And because I said that? He'll probably start some sort of silly shower strike. Because that's the person I live with.

Trying to be nice

I'm heading out of town this weekend for a long overdue return to Texas. Okay, so it really hasn't been that long this time. But even a few days away from my two favorite young men is plenty in my book. (Notice I said "young" Brandon. You're my favorite in a different age category.)

I'll be gone a whole four days this time to eat some crawfish with friends and family and watch Morgan's baseball game — my first time to see him in a high school uniform, even though it's the end of his sophomore year. One of many drawbacks to living out west.

Anyway, when I leave for several days, I try to do some cooking and stock the freezer with meal-size leftover portions for Brandon to enjoy while I'm gone.

Because if I don't? Brandon will spend all our hard earned cash in the Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru buying tacos. (Yes, we have very different ideas when it comes to fast food.)

Don't get me wrong. He's a perfectly good cook. He just doesn't take the time anymore. He'd rather be out selling hay or something. Which is fine. It helps pay for all those tacos.

So Sunday night, I made a huge lasagna. Okay, it was really a normal size lasagna. But for two people? That's huge.

We spent this morning irrigating together, then returned home for lunch and some bookwork.

And Brandon just about had a fit when I started making myself a hot ham and cheese sandwich, rather than digging into the leftover lasagna pan with him.

"Well, I want to make sure you have plenty while I'm gone, and we're both having it for supper tonight."

"Oh, great. So I get to eat lasagna for three days. That won't get old."

And now? He'll be lucky if there's a bite left.

Sweet redemption

So I lied.

We're just going to talk about fishing this week.

Because we went again. As I told my sister, "Life is good when you have an employee. One who knows what he's doing, anyway."

And it's true. Life has been good. So good that after we went on a two-day fishing excursion the weekend before Easter, we were able to spend Wednesday on the lake this week.

And the best part? I had some luck this time. I caught the first fish of the day. At the time, I thought this was a bad sign. I had also caught the first fish on our last trip, and only caught two more for the next two days; one of them the last fish.

But I was quickly proven wrong. Around mid-day, Brandon asked how many fish we had so far. Without opening the live well, I quickly informed him we had nine fish in the boat, "Four for me, five for you."

"Really?" he said, "You've been keeping track?"

"Of course. It's in my nature. You thought I wouldn't?"

"Okay, fine. But I don't think you really want to play this game."

"Game on, Buddy."

So I spent the rest of the afternoon falling down by two, catching up, getting up one, then falling behind again. I think our final count for the day was 23 fish caught, with Brandon leading by two.

But, I had some distinguishing factors that I think help even us up.

1. I caught a carp, which although they're nasty and I really didn't want to catch it, Brandon says they're really hard to catch, so I felt kind of good about that.
2. I caught the only two bass of the trip. We were fishing for crappie, but still. Bass are better, and definitely put up more of a fight.
3. Once again, I caught the first and last fish of the day.
4. I caught the biggest, fattest, most full of eggs mama crappie, and I caught her by the throat. I think if we would've counted pounds caught, rather than fish caught, I would have won, or at least been even. And that's what really counts, right?
5. I probably used half as many minnows as Brandon. Where he averaged two casts per minnow, I averaged closer to 20. Seriously. We went through six dozen of the little guys before 3:30pm. So I caught almost as many fish on half the bait.

On the way home I told Brandon, "You know, really, we weren't killing those minnows or using them for bait. We were just assisting them in fulfilling their role in the food chain."

We will also be assisting all those crappie in fulfilling their roles.

Yum.

One last fishing story

We were supposed to leave for the lake at 10am on Saturday. This turned into 3pm. So by the time we got there, all we could do was set up camp and break out the bucket of fried chicken we had picked up to eat on all weekend.

But before we could climb in the tent, Brandon insisted we get all our gear ready so we wouldn't "waste any fishing time" once the sun came up.

So we got back on the boat with a lantern and began assembling our tackle. When you fish with Brandon, you also have to bring a minimum of three rods per person, each set up for a different type of bait, so that, "When you decide to switch, it's ready. There's no down time."

First, I got instruction on how to properly tie on the hook I would be using. Then I had to try for myself. It seemed just fine to me, but when I tugged to check it, the whole line broke. I went on a little rant telling Brandon how I had done it correctly, there was no reason it should have broken, I had no idea what went wrong, and on and on.

Until we realized the problem. I had been holding my pole across the lantern. Heat and fishing line? No good together. My hook was secured just fine. The line had melted.

Then Brandon requested my assistance in tying two different lines together to create a "leader" or whatever it is he called it.

We went through the whole process five or six times, with the line snapping each time. Finally, Brandon said, "Okay, this is the last time, I promise. If it doesn't work, we'll put it up."

Well, it didn't work. But it also wasn't the last time.

Four tries and 20 minutes later, I was completely annoyed, but he had his leader.

And after wasting probably 100 yards of fishing line, we called it a night.

And that's the last thing you'll have to hear about fishing...until our next trip, anyway.

Here we go again...

So, yeah...Brandon got another elk tag this year. Once again, he was one of the fifteen luckiest elk hunters in the state of Arizona.

He and fourteen other hunters will get two weeks at the end of September to sling an arrow at some of the biggest bulls in the state. We're just hoping he comes away with the biggest.

We've already called the taxidermist and asked him to hold off on last year's bull in case this one is bigger. Because we certainly will not have two elk shoulder mounts in our home. We're still trying to figure out where to put one.

But for the time being, I have to live with the guy who drew an awesome elk tag.

Granted, I didn't get pounced on at 2am like last year, but what I had to endure was nearly as bad.

We were on the lake when he found out. We turned a corner into a cove, and Brandon's phone started buzzing like crazy. I think there were a total of nine messages letting him know the draw results were out.

Then we tried to get through on the AZ Game and Fish line, which rang busy three times before Brandon's phone went out of service. We then went through calls and text messages to a friend and his parents, along with 20 minutes of anxiety-inducing waiting, before we finally heard back from his mom.

No tag for me, of course. But Brandon? Brandon had a hunt. An early 23 South archery hunt.

Now, his mom only had the hunt number. So it took five more calls before Brandon found someone with a hunting regulations book to confirm it was indeed the hunt that would warrant all his whooping, hollering, jumping, fist pumping, running around the boat. With other anglers staring.

I'm pretty sure I told him at one point, "Brandon, settle down. Everyone on this lake is going to hate you."

"I don't care. You know why? 'Cause I have an elk tag, baby!"

And I'm pretty sure I'll be hearing that exact statement many times over the course of the next six months.

Lucky me.

Biggest fish of my life

I already mentioned Brandon did all the catching on our fishing trip last weekend. No need to dwell on that any longer.

But, I didn't mention he caught the biggest fish of his life over the weekend.

And here she is, y'all:

all whopping three pounds of her.

Bass are pretty much known for putting up quite a fight for their size. Something Brandon has had a great deal of experience with over many years of fishing.

But when this gal got on the end of his line late Sunday afternoon, he just knew he had the catch of the day. Which I guess he did...in our boat.

So he's hollering at me to get the net, running around the boat, following this fish thrashing on his line. And right before the fish surfaces, he shouts, "This is the biggest fish of my life!"

Then when I scooped her into the net: "Or, maybe not..."

But to Brandon's credit, this catch did make the biggest contribution to our fish fry.

The difference between fishing and catching

So, Brandon and I embarked upon a little fishing trip the weekend before Easter, in hopes of catching enough fish to be able to invite a few friends to a Good Friday fish fry.

As I've already told most everyone who asked about our trip, it was more like I went fishing and Brandon went catching. Of the 12 bass we were able to bring home, I think two were mine, maybe just one.

Which didn't go over so well with my pride.

I'll admit, I spent half of Sunday sulking on the back of the boat, not wanting Brandon to provide a single other "tip" for the day or "suggest" another bait, or really, say anything to me at all.

But, I felt much better on Monday when his luck began to wane as well. Pretty soon, he began asking every fishing boat we encountered what kind of luck they were having, what type of bait they were using, etc.

On toward the evening, after speaking with our last boat of fellow fishermen, Brandon asked me, "You know, I'm asking all these guys what they're using. How come no one asks what we're throwin' in the water?"

I replied, "Well, probably because they know that if you're asking, you're not catching."

"Hmm, you're probably right..."

We decided to try to make this trip an annual event. But hopefully I'll get to go catching next year, and Brandon can fish from the back of the boat.