Fishing
It was back in 1985, and my drunk-ass father brought my brother and I down to the Assiniboine river near Portage la Prairie. Besides that asshole being drunk, it was a fantastic day. Sitting along the Assiniboine river, which was low that year, fishing with pickerel rigs. We used frozen minnows and frozen chicken livers as bait. The catfish just loved it.
I like sitting back to think. The world slows down and everything appears focused. I remember once, while a passenger in my grandma's car. My drunk dad was yelling at someone who cut him off. It was a moment to remember. So awful. And when he died in 1987, it was a huge relief. Because of the awful things he had done to my brother and I.
Oh and the kicker? My mom marries some raging, alcoholic asshole named Bert. This motherfucker tears up the family in short order due to alcohol. I moved out and never returned. That scumbag died in 2005.
Good riddance.
But always back to the river. The calm feeling. The sound of the water moving. The ominous danger that lurks in the waters. It was powerful and dangerous - it could kill with lethal force. I respected the river. It took many lives every year. So did the Red River.
Back then, crime was so bad in Winnipeg, kids would roll abandoned cars down hills into the Red River. Along with the bodies.
Awful.
But the Red River, although polluted, offered great variety in fish for catch-and-release.
And release those fish I did.
Back to the river.
Also: I fixed the router I destroyed a few days ago. I had to use a special USB->RJ45 adapter, PUTTY, and set the serial port to 9600 baud, COM5 port. I hate Fortigate firewalls.
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