Getting Serious at Bedminster

Some people have told me I should run for President. Can you imagine a supermarket food-prepper getting elected? That's like a "nigger" in charge of a 19th-century South Carolina plantation. Some have wondered what the f@#! I am doing in that job, but as it turns out, it's a very good one, because among essential services. I will continue supporting my family on less than 15 bucks an hour, while--unfortunately--many Americans will be strapped. For all we know, we may see soup lines.

A janitor there had $700,000 in stocks a few weeks ago. No, nothing like that now. But the point is, I'm not the only one who, after he lost his corporate job, found no one would hire him because of his age. Companies routinely break the age discrimination law. When on unemployment, I went to some seminars offered, and the speaker told us they do. The janitor has a story similar to mine.

And more. I voluntarily stayed in a low position with the credit union. I had more than option to climb the ladder; it was encouraged, and my performance evaluations were beyond "meeting expectations." I was subtly frowned upon for not reaching for better, but on the road, I not only had time to quickly write thoughts on notebook pages, but time to shoot photography and fish on lunch breaks, a practice I found not only filled my life with inspiration, but made me much more willing to do my job well. And, in fact, I became superlative. (I never quite got over making the mistake of giving a bag of interoffice mail to the wrong branch on rare occasion, however. Then I had to race back and correct the mistake, but there was always time.) You wouldn't understand why that was better than advancing and making thousands of dollars more each year--as well as retaining employment rather than getting laid off--unless you can understand the ambition of a writer who is fully committed to every advantage he can gain for that career, rather than for a conventional career.

(It's theorized that average IQ cannot understand IQ above 130.)

An evening like this one at Bedminster Pond with my son, Matt, is a great equalizer. If my IQ were over 200, it wouldn't have made any difference, perhaps. Not in terms of a catch. I did see a small sunfish. Matt pointed out a snapping turtle that had just surfaced. The evening lacked that certain punch bass need to overtake a spinner. I got a couple of bumps that might have been bass knocking it. A Rapala Husky Jerk--suspends--would have been the choice. If the water were clear. I knew that maybe even with it dingy, the plug might work, but I got into the persistence of trying to tease one of those bass, maybe bass, knocking the spinner, to commit. I knew all along the chance was about nil. Maybe not nil itself. Especially with the light getting interesting.

We did begin on the sunlit side. Shallower. But there was no sunlight on it. I got the notion that maybe the deeper shaded side would offer something. It did result in more interest from both of us. And for me, the feeling that it mattered cleared up some uncertainty about life.

Matt told me he felt better out there. He remembered Lake Musconetcong. Topwater fishing for the pickerel. Wants to do that again. I don't know if many pickerel have come back after the chemotherapy the lake got for water chestnuts, but perhaps they have.

Summer