A Goat's Song and a Paddle's Whirl

After reading very few novels over the last few years, I am getting back into the habit. Finishing A Goat's Song, by Dermot Healey, is proof that I am over the hump. Like the mournful call of goats separated from their mates, it's a relentlessly sad book that focuses on alcoholism and ugly breakups, one of a man and a woman, the other of Ireland. One of the blurbs promoting the book made the latter, somewhat obvious, link. Not me. At the same time, the book was compelling enough for me to hang in for 400 pages, even though I am in the early stages of my comeback. Nothing more to say.

I have discovered the joy of kayaking. My latest adventure on Friday afternoon too me to Lac La Peche, where I managed to knock my sunglasses into five feet of water while swatting a deerfly with my Mexican straw hat. I was watching the evening's action at a beaver dam at the time. I noted my position in terms of the dam, a stump and some floating flowers. But it was a shady spot, and I could not find them from the kayak or from the water. About an hour later, I came back for a final attempt. While I was paddling around, I heard a critter scampering along on shore. What I observed and later confirmed is that it was an animal I had never seen before...a fisher. A few minutes later, I spotted a flash of something silver as I peered over the edge of the kayak. I noted its position in relation to some weeds, in a lake full of weeds, abandoned the kayak near shore and swam out to look once more. When I reached the spot, I dove down, not easy to do while wearing a life jacket. I grasped...a handful of muck. I reached into a the cloud of dirt that rose and grasped...my sunglasses.