Over a conversation enduring one and a half hours, I recently spoke in no little depth to a student of mine who goes fishing. He's dyslexic and suffered a brain trauma as a child, and the solitary oneness with the river is his escape, from himself and others.
He told me how he prepares boilies. An elaborate process by which a sweetener is cooked up that his fish love. Fish like chicken. They are not his fish, but belong to the Provincial Council, who, for a small sum, sell him the annual permit by which he goes and fishes the fish out of their water. For a brief moment, they are his fish. They are his responsibility, they are in his care. He holds their lives in his hands.
He told me about waders, lures and the French verb "ferrer". He could tell me the length of line he uses and the length of his rod, which is in four sections, so long it is. He told me how the weather affects the fish, temperature, rain and the currents, the time of day. He doesn't haul the fish in; they haul him in. Into their world. I asked him, innocently, "How do carp taste?" He answered, "I don't know. I always release them back to the wild. Sometimes you can see where the hooks have pierced their mouths, several times. Some cannot breathe properly, they've been hooked so many times, but I always release them back into the wild. For another chance. Another day, another meeting. In fact," he continued, "out of deepest respect, I don't eat fish at all."
I think I came a step closer to understanding fish. And those who understand fish.
I have to admit to never having been fishing in all my years - but I have always suspected that it would suit my temperament - I would enjoy the escape too. Whenever I here of carp I am reminded of the urban legend has it that the Barbican Center in London released a large amount of very expensive carp into their waterway only to find them all eaten, the next day, by Herons who came by for a free meal...
The problem with "usual suspects" is that they're the first to have a finger pointed at them, regardless of actual guilt. I do hope the herons were seen and noted to have nicked the carp, and that it wasn't someone just carping on.
Carp, of which there are many subspecies, has a status from "vulnerable" to "pest". The ornamental varieties (Japanese "koi", for example) are selectively bred for their colouration, making them a talisman of good luck, especially to the seller who charges their high price. The goldfish, now banished from fairground sideshows as a prize, is related to the koi, and qualifies, like it, as "domesticated". Funny that: a domesticated fish. Potty-trained and always politely ogling at visitors who tap their glass, even with two chips stuck up their nose. I once kept five goldfish in a tank, having obtained them free by collecting packet sides from Chivers' jellies. They came in the post, suitably bagged and furnished with water. We called them Eenie, Meenie, Miny and Mo. The fifth had the colouring of a kipper, so that's what we called it: Kipper.
One wonders at a London borough being so inept as to purchase expensive ornamental fish and trust that their domesticated qualification would protect them from the vagaries of life in the wild. It's a hope we cherish even for human beings, and it often comes unstuck.
This lady of yours domesticated her goldfish to an extreme and I wonder to what extent she'd have attracted half the attention she garnered without her goldfish in tow. Was the fish then a pet, or a prop?
They say pets and their owners grow to be like each other. Did the goldfish acquire a taste for the eccentric, then? Or did the lady retreat within a glass bowl?
My 15 minute writes are inspired by many things - one of which is flickr and images that I see there. I scribble notes such as 'Taking a goldfish for a walk' and come back to the notes to find some inspiration.
The 'Taking a goldfish for a walk' was one such note, inspired by an image, so I guess yes, it is inspired by a real person and here she is ...
Over a conversation enduring one and a half hours, I recently spoke in no little depth to a student of mine who goes fishing. He's dyslexic and suffered a brain trauma as a child, and the solitary oneness with the river is his escape, from himself and others.
He told me how he prepares boilies. An elaborate process by which a sweetener is cooked up that his fish love. Fish like chicken. They are not his fish, but belong to the Provincial Council, who, for a small sum, sell him the annual permit by which he goes and fishes the fish out of their water. For a brief moment, they are his fish. They are his responsibility, they are in his care. He holds their lives in his hands.
He told me about waders, lures and the French verb "ferrer". He could tell me the length of line he uses and the length of his rod, which is in four sections, so long it is. He told me how the weather affects the fish, temperature, rain and the currents, the time of day. He doesn't haul the fish in; they haul him in. Into their world. I asked him, innocently, "How do carp taste?" He answered, "I don't know. I always release them back to the wild. Sometimes you can see where the hooks have pierced their mouths, several times. Some cannot breathe properly, they've been hooked so many times, but I always release them back into the wild. For another chance. Another day, another meeting. In fact," he continued, "out of deepest respect, I don't eat fish at all."
I think I came a step closer to understanding fish. And those who understand fish.
I have to admit to never having been fishing in all my years - but I have always suspected that it would suit my temperament - I would enjoy the escape too. Whenever I here of carp I am reminded of the urban legend has it that the Barbican Center in London released a large amount of very expensive carp into their waterway only to find them all eaten, the next day, by Herons who came by for a free meal...
The problem with "usual suspects" is that they're the first to have a finger pointed at them, regardless of actual guilt. I do hope the herons were seen and noted to have nicked the carp, and that it wasn't someone just carping on.
Carp, of which there are many subspecies, has a status from "vulnerable" to "pest". The ornamental varieties (Japanese "koi", for example) are selectively bred for their colouration, making them a talisman of good luck, especially to the seller who charges their high price. The goldfish, now banished from fairground sideshows as a prize, is related to the koi, and qualifies, like it, as "domesticated". Funny that: a domesticated fish. Potty-trained and always politely ogling at visitors who tap their glass, even with two chips stuck up their nose. I once kept five goldfish in a tank, having obtained them free by collecting packet sides from Chivers' jellies. They came in the post, suitably bagged and furnished with water. We called them Eenie, Meenie, Miny and Mo. The fifth had the colouring of a kipper, so that's what we called it: Kipper.
One wonders at a London borough being so inept as to purchase expensive ornamental fish and trust that their domesticated qualification would protect them from the vagaries of life in the wild. It's a hope we cherish even for human beings, and it often comes unstuck.
This lady of yours domesticated her goldfish to an extreme and I wonder to what extent she'd have attracted half the attention she garnered without her goldfish in tow. Was the fish then a pet, or a prop?
They say pets and their owners grow to be like each other. Did the goldfish acquire a taste for the eccentric, then? Or did the lady retreat within a glass bowl?
👏🏻 thank you!
i will not analyze or dissect the sense & feelings that rose through the words
That is not necessary.
But I will simply and truthfully say thank you. I love that it poked piece of my inner world to consider elsewhere.
👏🏻
Thank you Alixandra
Hmm. I couldn't say with 100 % certainty, but yonder goldfish lady MIGHT HAVE DiD to a certain extent. That was 3 personalities ?
I'm just an armchair dabbler who took a few psych. courses in college. Is Goldfish Lady based on a real person ?
My 15 minute writes are inspired by many things - one of which is flickr and images that I see there. I scribble notes such as 'Taking a goldfish for a walk' and come back to the notes to find some inspiration.
The 'Taking a goldfish for a walk' was one such note, inspired by an image, so I guess yes, it is inspired by a real person and here she is ...
https://www.flickr.com/photos/23186006@N04/47859525682/in/dateposted/
SPOT - ON.
She looks vintage 50's - early 60's or just retro. Someone from a group of Mad Men extras. She appears to give off that vibe.