I look up and see one fisherman, one party boat, and one pelican. The party boat revelers quickly pass from view. The pelican flies off to play swoop and dive air games with a seagull. The lone fisherman smiles as he reels in a hardhead catfish from the Laguna Madre.
Bob loves to fish. He's not a diehard fisherman who's got to have the newest and best fishing equipment. He doesn't devote hours to studying tide tables, wind speeds, and the phase of the moon. He just fishes.
I watch him lean on a piling tube. He's holding, with both hands, an insulated mug of limeade-on-ice made with freshly squeezed key limes. He stares off onto the water, gazing at the waves. He turns to glimpse a jumping fish. His attention then settles on a pair of cormorants. Before long, he looks back at me, smiles, and blows me a kiss. Meanwhile, his rod and reel leans on the piling next to him.
This is why I like RVing in a small motorhome. Our decision to stop here was spur of the moment. We went out for breakfast. On the way back to the campground, we pulled in here. At 22 feet, half the length of some motorcoaches, parking isn't a problem. Bob's fishing gear is handy, including the bait shrimp in the freezer. From the comfort of our RV, I can unpack the boxes of my Watkins order and sew a button on my shirt. And, I can watch the love of my life fish to his heart's content.
Filleted, battered, and deep fried to a golden brown, the catfish make a darn good meal. But the catch of the day? That kiss he blew to me.
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