Whenever possible, and when both sides of my brain collaborate to remind me, I drink some water.
I know and have been reminded a gazillion times since birth that water is “the lifeblood of all things big and small,” and that I should guzzle it down by the half-gallon and like it.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, boys, girls and Mrs. Brown’s cat, I don’t like it.
There’s no zing to it. No lingering taste that begs you drink more, drink more. Come on folks, even the cheap “shine” we used to buy somewhere south of town had a taste to it.
Isn’t there some rule that states if it’s good for you, it should taste good? No, wait, I’ve forgotten about Aunt Naomi’s insane use of cod liver oil and 7 Up.
You never got sick at her house.
But wait, there’s hope: we can buy water in a plastic bottle or get a pitcher-sized jug that purifies it on our kitchen counters while we watch.
Now, according to the manufacturers of our jug, as they dump a test tube of dirt out on the table, our water is now good for us and tastes even better.
Only it doesn’t.
Granted, we have saved the planet from miles and miles of plastic bottles — you’re welcome Mr. and Mrs. Tree Hugger — but it still has no oomph, and I really miss the dirt.
On the other hand, water in a bottle comes from sparkling artesian wells around the world and here at home.
They take the time to freeze it, boil it and catch the tiny drips of steam to make sure the ionized liquid we’re now drinking is worthy of the idiotic price per ounce we’re paying for it. I wonder: if the water comes from a well high atop the Alps of Europe, how does it get here?
Is there a 7,000-mile water pipeline? Could there be giant water tankers plunging headlong into the Atlantic Ocean every morning, its’ tanks overflowing with watery goodness? Does the crew drink from the forward bulkhead as they journey across, or settle for the stuff from the purifying jug?
Most of this bottled gooey-goodness is so good for us that the manufacturers add “natural flavoring” to make it even better.
Only it isn’t. After all is said and done, no matter what you take out of it or add to it, it’s still water. Just plain and simple water.
If you chose to pay a penny or so per swallow for it, so what. Me? Well, I’ll just keep throwing Kool-Aid into it and try to forget about cod liver oil.
Now for something completely different
This past Saturday, while fishing a much-maligned secret fishing hole, I managed to drive a treble hook into my back, barbs and all.
Quit giggling. It hurt, and I couldn’t reach it to pull it out.
Hoping someone was around the next point, I grabbed my trusty pliers and went forth looking for help. I can only imagine what the Bill Shue family thought when I walked up asking if he was “handy,” and showing him my predicament.
After taking a look at it and reminding me it was “really” going to hurt, “doctor” Bill grabbed a hold of it and yanked her out.
Who better to pull stupidity from your back than a retired shop teacher? Once again, Aunt Ruthie and Grandma led me in the right direction, or was it Roy?
Speaking of fishing, it seems only three kids have signed up for the Freeman Lake fishing trip on Wednesday. Come on, folks. Craig Parks and Recreation is offering the three Fs in every child’s life — food, fishing and fun, all for $10.
It’s better than bottled water and more fun than wandering aimlessly around town.
Call 826-2004 and sign a kid up. Jane’s sending me.
Hey, you be careful out there.
P.S. — “Doc” Shue saved my lure, so I can use it on my next adventure.