SINN-CLARK: Keeping it all in perspective

Then Mr. Clark made some exquisite concoction of olive oil, eggplant and who knows what else that clogged up the disposal and kitchen sink pipes so badly that four bottles of extra strength Draino, a new super industrial plunger and some kind of toxic professional-grade sludge from the hardware store did not unclog it. I haven’t had a kitchen sink for almost three days now; the dishwasher is full of dirty dishes; there are dishes stacked all over the counter. A plumber is rumored to be on the way, but no sign of him yet…

Last night, as I was trying to get my stories for this week done, my internet gave out – or it might be my ancient computer – or it might be the black box that talks to the internet - or it might be a cable that runs from the black box to my computer – or, who knows what else. All attempts at diagnosis succeed for a few minutes – just long enough to get my hope up; then “Crash!” again. Rumor has it there is also supposed to be an Internet technician on the way. No sign of him yet either; maybe he’s having a long leisurely lunch with the plumber…

Since life without the Internet is unlivable in the newspaper business, off to the office I go to displace one of my coworkers and get the stories that have to be done this morning done. On the way, in the mist, I discovered one of my car windshield wipers doesn’t work – yep, the driver’s side. Did I mention what a great time I’m having? When it rains, it pours, literally.

Step back; take a breath. One of the stories I had to get done was about an elderly man who lives in a hospice and wanted to go fishing one last time. He has fished his whole life (or “fed the fish” as he says) and loves it. “Nothing quite like a day on the lake,” he says….So, the hospice people arranged a trip to the lake at Fort Yargo State Park for him and the folks at Camp Twin Lakes out there helped make it a fine day of fishing.

When I went to photograph this event I was still caught up in the pageant-toddler-hooker-costume mess, so mentally, I wasn’t really there. But, as I looked at the pictures I took and started to write the story, the reality and poignant beauty of something as simple as that fishing trip started to sink in and by the time I finished writing the story I was in tears.

How can I be feeling so sorry for myself over a bunch of things like no dishwasher and no Internet? Shut up and go wash the dishes in the bathtub. There are people in this world who simply want one more fishing trip…just one more fishing trip. How self-centered and clueless do I need to be?

The man’s name is C.L. Bennett. He is a tall man, well-dressed – carries himself proudly in spite of the wheel chair he uses. For the fishing trip he sported a windbreaker, a hat with his initials on it, his pole and a tackle box full of things that might prove useful. His illness has cost him an arm and he is on oxygen, but you wouldn’t notice any of that if you watched him fish. The love of the lake and the wind and the act of casting that line lit up his face. It was obvious – C.L. really does love to fish.

The part of the lake we were at seemed to only have brim and they were crafty about stealing his bait. But he caught one or two, and threw them back, and clearly had such a good time.

As I looked at the pictures and wrote the story, I could hear his low, soft voice saying how much he wanted to catch a fish and later, what a good day it was. I remembered his warm, ready smile and his laughter at the fishing jokes the men from the hospice and Camp Twin Lakes told as they all fished. And, I remembered how well-blessed I am to have my health, my (relative) youth and the money to pay for the things that need to be fixed.

Perspective…it’s all about perspective; when I lose that, I get pretty lost. Who would think clarity would return on a fishing trip – to a person who doesn’t fish.

Lorin Sinn-Clark is features editor of the Barrow Journal. She can be reached at lorin@barrowjournal.com