Posts Tagged ‘fishing’

A couple of years we were having a visit and some drinks on our friend’s docked boat in the harbor. As it grew darker there was a bit of a commotion around the corner of the pier. An old beat up fishing boat captained by a couple of guys who were struggling to get it into the Bay. Hitting the pillars. Back and forth. Curses and clamor. Think parallel parking woes in reverse for a visual. Laughs and apologies for the foul language when they noticed us there. The struggle was, I’d say, because they had their fair share of drinks already in them. That’s my opinion anyway. It was comical.

I asked my friend, “Where on earth are they going at this time of night?”

He said, “They’re fishing for shrimp.”

I countered, “At night?”

“Yes, the shrimp are burrowed in the sand and these guys will cast a big chain. The disturbance will cause the shrimp to rear their tiny little heads to see what’s going on and then they’re caught in the net. Bam, that’s it.”

“What happens then? Are they sold? Are they tasty?”

“Nope, they are not tasty at all. Not good shrimp. This is stuff that gets sold at the dock to be bought by local Asian restaurants.”

What???

That just raised more questions in my mind.

He continued, “So, Mary, remember this. Curiosity kills more than the cat.”

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Last month I came across the obituary of a fellow from a nearby town. He was sixty-four years old and it appeared he died from cancer. I did not know him. But when I was reading the notes of on-line condolences I started wishing I did.

I was inspired by a total stranger who passed away. Because of the things other people said about him. See below for some of those messages of sympathy. The poem is also beautiful.

“Steve and Liz were dear and wonderful neighbors for so many years on the corner of Bay and Governor Bradford Rd…we were all so blessed to have them next door. Mr. Perry, as my kids used to call him, was forever trimming the rose bushes that bloomed on their property. One day, my then eight year old daughter leaned out of the upstairs window and called to Steve as he pruned the rose bushes,

“Mr. Perry,” she asked, “Why are you always smiling and so happy?”

“Because you’re my neighbor, “ he answered with a grin.

That was Steve Perry. One of the nicest people I’ve ever known.”

“My heart is so heavy for your loss. He was such a wonderful man to so many that his leaving will be felt for a very long time but his memory will always remain in the good works and love he left behind. Prayers and sympathy to his parents and siblings, to the kids whom I watched grow up under his wing and to Liz who always made his eyes twinkle.”

“I always enjoyed time spent with Steve away from work, whether it was playing softball for TFC, blue fishing on Barrington Beach, or sledding with the kids at the cemetery. He was just a good guy with a bright and engaging smile.”

“Steve was a wonderful man who cared deeply for the needy and homeless. When we decided to form our ministry he named it Breadlines from the picture his parents displayed in his home when he was a child “The Christ of The Breadline.” Now your request for contributions in his memory continue his wishes to care for those in need. God bless you Steve from all the Breadline volunteers. We will remember you always.”

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze,
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch her until she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: “There! She’s gone!”
Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the place of her destination.
Her diminished size is in me, and not in her.

And just at the moment
when someone at my side says: “There! She’s gone!”
there are other eyes that are watching for her coming;
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“There she comes!”

“My heart is broken. All my love goes out to my Perry family… Steve was simply the best!”

“I knew Steve as a colleague, neighbor, friend and fellow adult leader of a Boy Scout troop. As the Scouts, say he was always helpful, friendly, curious, and kind. Steve’s gift of empathy was one of the things I admired most in him. He and Liz have raised a wonderful family.”

When I finished reading all of the comments I sat and thought. About a lot of things.

A life well-lived. How Steve sounded so special. Loved his family. Was a kind man. Liked to smile. Good-humored. Engaged. Cared about his community and friends. Fed the hungry. Enjoyed the outdoors. Was a good neighbor. Had empathy.

I pondered all of these things. Then I thought, “Well, why can’t we all be like Steve?”

Is it that difficult to smile? To be kind to others? To volunteer? To spend time with our families? To be engaged? To laugh? To enjoy nature? To be a good friend?

No, none of it is difficult. It’s quite easy. We just need to be mindful.

Steve left us all with a gift.

Inspiration.

 

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