Tuesday, June 2, 2009
My husband, Brady, loves to fish. So much so that I've caught him sneaking to the pond in our back yard at sunrise on his day off just to throw a line in. So much so that he hauled the boat out to Cheney lake three times this weekend. So much so that when he fishes, he holds multiple poles at once to increase his chances of success.
Now that's passion. And I love him for it. Do I love it when he comes home smelling of lake and beer and slimy fish? No, but I love that he's truly exciting about this. Life is too short to not have that feeling.
I tagged along to Cheney lake once on Friday afternoon. It was the kind of weather that you only dream of. The kind that you wish you could bottle up and pour out during the cold winter months. Or during the steamy summer months. Or anytime really. Weather like that is NEVER inappropriate. We went minus kids and plus a cooler full of Lynchberg Lemonades. A big bag of sunflower seeds and a good book is what I brought along to keep me entertained while he was "passionate". It was a great day, despite the lack of fish we brought home.