My husband loves to fish, probably as much as he loves me and the girls. He's tried golfing (mainly because of his job) but it isn't something he really got into. There was paintball for awhile when we first met but that to fell by the wayside.
Fishing is his stress reliever, his time to unwind, to just breathe, and not think, no cell phone ringing, no screaming kids, and certainly no honey-do lists. Just like blogging is mine.
For about six months he has fishing tournaments about two times a month. He is very serious about his hobby. He has a boat, rods and reels and all those various fishing accoutrement filling tackle boxes galore, and about 4 fish finders (each one more expensive than the last and every time he buys one I hear "and this will be the last since there is nothing out there better"). He's even read books on the subject and he hates to read. He is like a kid in a candy store when he walks into Cabela's.
There is the annual pilgrimage to Canada with his friends at the end of the season. Except this year. They decided to go in June last fall when they were making plans for this year's trip. Unfortunately, it is the week before my due date so no trip for my husband this year.
In the fresh water off-season, this is a man who goes deep sea fishing in the cold Jersey waters in December bundled head to toe in warm clothing on the open sea. He thinks this is fun.
I can't say I understand what he finds so appealing about his hobby because I am not quite sure. Of course, I am sure many of my blogging friends have spouses who are just as perplexed as to why in the world any of us can be so into blogging.
I still haven't forgotten the day my husband came home. It had been a warm, sunny summer day. He had been out on the river. (This was pre-kids).
He skulked in and couldn't meet my eye. He told me I was going to be upset which did not bode well. I figured he had sunk his boat.
He had lost his wedding ring. It was platinum and matched my wedding band-the band that took us forever to find. It had been loose ever since we went to pick up our bands but my husband never got around to having it taken care of because he was afraid that a smaller size would be to tight.
While he was at the river, his hands had got wet and icky and it had "slipped off" into the water, never to be seen again. It still resides at the bottom of the Delaware River in the mud and the muck with the fishies my husband loves so much.
I wanted to cry.
Out we went to get a replacement band. I knew he felt awful and not just at the money we had to spend to replace it but also because the ring that I had slipped onto his finger during our wedding was gone forever.
We both got over it because it was just a symbol of our love and it had in no way damaged the love we felt for each other. We still joke about it every time he comes home with a new fatality from his boating excursions.
That has only been one of the more significant things my husband has lost fishing. There was also his class ring, a cell phone that was ruined when he fell in the river and got soaked head to toe, lost poles, a downrigger system that ended up at the bottom of the river his first time out with it, and the list goes on...
In two months time when the season opens and he starts to gather his gear, I will just smile and tell him to have fun as me and the girls embark on some excursion of our own.
This is love-supporting your spouse even though you may not understand or appreciate their hobbies but standing by supporting and wishing them well just because it is something they enjoy doing and because it brings them pleasure. I won't lie though. There will be times throughout the season when I will need to contain the twinges of annoyance that I may feel over the time he spends with his hobby because of the tournaments and the preparation that comes with it. I am human after all.
That is basically how my husband views my blogging. He doesn't quite understand the allure of it or why anyone would be so into it (as do most people) but he is supportive of it. I thank him for that because this space is my outlet just like his time on the river is his.