Texas Lake Bobbin'

Another chuck of Texas is behind me now. I found an interesting place to call home for a few days in Athens. Each parking lot is enclosed by chain link fencing. Park the trailer on a concrete pad. Next to the pad is a private lawn, complete with sprinkler. Next to the lawn is a covered garage for the truck. The place has just the right “snoot” factor for me. I did, however, have a hell of a time getting the trailer backed into space. My several attempts attracted the attention of all the other geezers who live semi-permanently in this lap of luxury. I am not sure, though, that Athens would be the place I would want to call home. I base this on the fact that it is a dry county – had to drive twenty miles to get a beer. Such foolishness.

The real reason for being in Athens is that it is close to Boy. He and I helped develop the fine art of Texas Lake Bobbin’ (TLB). I am here for another weekend of the sport. Boy and I worked on the rudiments of the endeavor while we were both in Missouri at the same time. In those days, we used an Oklahoma lake but when Boy moved to Texas, the mere past-time was propelled into a serious pursuit.

TLB is deceptively simple but extraordinarily refined. The ingredients necessary are life-preservers, a floating cooler, and a hat. Naturally, you need a lake. You get out in the middle of the lake, straddle the life preserver, hop in the water, open a Tecate from the cooler, then the magic begins. The true art form is in the conversations that are spawned while bobbiin’ . Boy and I have solved the Middle East question, health care in the US, issues of the environment and social justice, even determined the essential definition of what makes country music (steel guitar and fiddle are in the mix). We have plotted careers, deconstructed game theory, and projected life potentials. It can truly be said that TLB has saved me thousands in counseling fees and proved more effective as a treatment regimen. TLB is more zen than mountain-top contemplation, more spiritual than any sweat-lodge ceremony, and more powerful than any drug I might have taken as a crazy youngster. TLB is the Grateful Dead and Rolling Stones playing a double bill and as moving as the third act of Turandot. It is no wonder that I drove clear across Texas for these next couple of days of bobbin’. I am on the steps of Valhalla, preparing to enter. I am suited up and waiting for the whistle to mark kick-off. My mind is racing and my nerve-endings are twitching. It is better than Christmas morning, better than a sure-thing date with Melba Sue Cotney. I am in Texas. It is hotter than Hades. The humidity is sopping. But none of that matters. When the bobber is ready, the lake will appear. Come, sweet water, engross my body and mind in your curative embrace. Wash away my temporal concerns. Cleanse my mind of trouble. Let me see the face of God. Amen.