CHRISTMAS LETTER

          Hi all, sorry this is so late in arriving, but this is not something I normally do.  Since a considerable number of you so thoughtfully sent out your year-end summaries to catch us up to speed with your year’s goings on, and my wife made me read each and every one of them, I calculated I’d get even and force you to read mine.  There will be a test later in the year, so pay attention and here goes…

2006 was a busy year.  Not really, but this is how most of these letters seem to begin so I’d hate to break tradition.  The truth is I sat around on my fanny most of the year and tried my best to avoid the eight-hundred-and sixty-two thousand honey-dos my wife, Cathy, attempted to dupe me into performing for her.  I must admit I was quite successful and managed to get out of most of them, feigning everything from avian bird flu to acute Apazuties.  Actually, quite a few things did happen to us last year and I know you’re just dying to find out so as to not prolong the agony of this letter.

Our year began on a disappointing note last January when our neighbor, Lilburn Merriwether, the retired mortician, tripped over his weed-wacker and broke his nose when he crashed headlong against his fish smoker.  It was his own fault though, apparently he’d forgotten I had borrowed them, and what with the light out in the barn he apparently didn’t see them.  Besides, if he had just waited to search for his chain saw until we came home, I could have shown him the secret path through the barn to where the saw rested neatly right next to his hedge trimmers.  At any rate, Lilburn never actually sued as he threatened and I’m sure all will be forgiven just as soon as I return his leaf blower.  I just can’t remember exactly where I put it for safekeeping.

February kept Cathy busy taking care of the animals, chopping wood and carrying it up to the house, pulling tree stumps, and hauling manure and trash out to the dump.  I would have helped, but as fate would have it, I suddenly came down with a near-fatal cold sore at the corner of my lip and had to remain indoors where it was warm until I was absolutely certain it was cured.  After all, they don’t call them cold sores for nothing.  While the nasty buggar never actually materialized, I’m certain it was due to my meticulous care.  

March and April weren’t much better for me.  I don’t do well in the cold weather what with the old rheumatiz and all, so I deemed it prudent to dutifully keep the fire going in the house and rest up my tired old back.  Cathy inconsiderately running the vacuum in the room I was trying to get my much-needed rest in repeatedly interrupted my peaceful naps.  Her incessant banging on pipes under the sink while fixing the plumbing was nearly impossible to ignore.  Thankfully I had an extra-large pillow to stuff over my head to drown out the noise while attempting to nap on the couch.  This, not to mention the days she thoughtlessly rushed in and out of the house between changing the oil on the trucks, raking leaves in the yard, bringing in a fresh re-supply of fire wood, and checking on some infernal concoction she had burning in the oven.  Sheesh, it’s a wonder I managed any rest at all!

The month of May was terminally slow in arriving, but get here it did and at last my luck began to change.  With the warm weather finally upon us I began to feel bit better and ventured outside to work the animals.  Despite their protests, we began getting the mules in shape and packed several loads up onto San Jacinto for the Forest Service.  You’ll be happy to know I didn’t have one single mishap throughout it all, and although my mule, Zane Grey, moaned, groaned, whined, and complained the entire time, he and the others performed magnificently and without incident.

The annual Bishop Mule Days celebration saw us hook the 5^th wheel up and head to the eastern Sierras for 10 days and some blessed rest and relaxation.  Heaven knows I needed it desperately as it had been a long winter.  While I stalked the monster lunkers and expanded my botanical expertise by catching several here-to-for unknown species of western Cercocarpus, hop hornbeams, and scale-leaf conifers with my fly rod, Cathy practiced her catch and fillet skills and kept us in trout nightly.  There was one unfortunate incident, however, when my bride decided upon bicycling the 12 miles down a dangerous and rocky canyon against my advice.  “It’ll be great exercise,” she said.  To insure my wife’s safety, I dutifully followed along to lend my cycling expertise and see to it she wouldn’t hurt herself.  It was, after all, a steep and narrow, rocky, and dangerous trail.

 Not one to say I told you so, it was just as I’d predicted, and after a brief visit to the emergency room, (just a minor concussion accompanied by numerous scrapes, cuts and bruises) we returned to the campground to rest and recuperate, and where I could keep a watchful eye on my wife.   Cathy was kind enough to keep my ice-packs filled and changed my bandages routinely, and in just a few days I was back up and walking with the aid of a cane.  I think I’ve finally managed to convince her that this exercise stuff is highly over rated and not all it’s cracked up to be.

June brought the warm summer sun and I spent weekends over at Lake Hemet fishing and honing my skills with a fly rod.  Twice I very nearly caught a fish and most certainly would have if he’d only taken my fly.  I guess that’s why they call it fishing and not catching, ha, ha.  Meanwhile, Cat kept herself entertained by climbing up into the oaks to remove the mistletoe, keeping the mules in shape, and working out in the shop on one project or another.

July and August arrived like a blast furnace in a smokehouse, the heat dangerous and absolutely unbearable.  I don’t do well in the heat, (the old rheumatiz, remember) and I found it necessary to retreat to the comfort of my recliner located strategically in front of the swamp cooler.  Cathy cheerfully kept my glass full of iced sun tea, but repeatedly ignored my warnings about heatstroke as she stubbornly insisted upon re-roofing the well-house, tool shed, and porch, not to mention weeding and mowing the orchard, and cleaning corrals.  Oh well, I guess she’ll just have to learn the hard way!

September rolled around and the heat just didn’t seem to let up around here so we headed for the mountains.  We did some more packing locally for the Forest Service and then once again headed for the Sierras.  First to Monache Meadows where we spent a few days camped out on the South Fork of the Kern River.  I had a great time fishing and exploring the area while Cathy whined the entire time.  First, my sweetheart somehow managed to get eaten alive by mosquitoes and deer flies.  Her fanny had more bumps on it than a freshman prom.  I know what you’re wondering, don’t ask.

Then there was a minor incident that involved crossing the river in my truck, how to word the insurance claim and a long hike.  In my defense, it really didn’t look that swift, deep, or sandy.  Besides, you’d think by now she’ have acquired a sense of humor about these sort of things.  She should have applied more insect repellant, for crying out loud.

Upon returning home, we hooked up the 5^th wheel on the other pick-up while a friend of mine, Ed Goosecock loaded the quads and we headed back up to Bishop for the opening of deer season.  I said we because Cathy decided to accompany us.  Normally my wife lets me have deer season to myself, but this year she wanted to do some fishing during the day while Ed and I were out hunting.  That and she insisted upon me not driving our truck without her present.  At any rate, Cat sure got into the hunting spirit and really enjoyed herself.  She was with me when I bagged my buck and even helped me pack it out.  It looks as though now I’m going to really have to teach her to shoot.

October and November arrived and with it, deer camp and our local deer season here in Anza.  I spent most of my time as camp cook and every one sure enjoyed my gourmet meals.  Dutch oven chili and tuna, chili and spaghetti, chili and pork and beans; the guys just couldn’t get enough.

Meanwhile, Cathy kept busy back at the house picking apples, plums, peaches and harvesting whatever else grows on our property.  She also occupied her spare time keeping the animals in shape and their pens cleaned by hauling manure to the dump.  She also did an admirable job painting the house and tiling the entryway into the den.  That’s my gal, always busy, busy, busy! 

Suddenly, before we knew it, December was upon us like a fat lady on a Hershey kiss.  This could only mean two things; another year shot to hell, and the MasterCard was about to be maxed out again.

Cathy got me a nice hunting knife, a portable gamble for deer season, and a much- needed pair of Simms fishing waders and boots.  Not to be outdone, I got my honey a new pair of pruners to replace those old, worn-out ones with the duc-taped handles, a crock-pot, and a new double-barrel twenty-gauge shotgun.  It sure is a beauty and should bring down a fine limit of quail before the close of the season.  Next year I’ll teach Cathy how to shoot, as she seemed a bit apprehensive about it.  Oh well, good thing she has a new crock-pot to cook ‘em in.

At any rate, that was our year in a nutshell and you can look forward to another one of these wildly entertaining updates next year…or not!  tf