What a Snarled Mess

Written by: Kim Fundingsland

It didn’t seem so bad with the door closed but, good grief, what a mess. A real, big time, embarrassing mess.
What kind of person could create such an embarrassment? Ah…me.

Kim Fundingsland photo


Now, dear reader, I respectfully ask that you do not rush to judgement as to my general habits in creating such a mess. Rather, I think, and I’m certain you will agree, more details are needed before a verdict can be reached. In the following lines, I offer a precise reflection of all events pertaining to the messy room.


You see, one room of my modest home is dedicated entirely to fishing. Some might see it as a kind of shrine, but it is much more than that. It is there that I engage in lure making, tackle sorting, rod and reel maintenance, daydreaming and, on occasion, accidentally telling a few mild lies of the sort that might be attributed to any fisherman.


During the active months of the fishing season I am usually fishing, meaning there is less time to spend in the fishing room. At the conclusion of the open water season, and I’m sure you’ll understand, the amount of “fishing stuff” returned to the room reaches the overflow level.

Fortunately, with some clever rearranging and sheer determination, I was able to close the door to the room and thereby hide a miserable mess. You know, out of sight out of mind. However, that only created the daily agony of knowing that eventually I was going to have to tackle the wicked mess of tackle for which I alone was responsible.

Kim Fundingsland photo


Those thoughts were accompanied by any number of reasons why the once organized room became such a nightmare, all of course that exonerated me from any responsibility. Reasons like more or better shelving was needed, more bins for lure parts, the dog did it, there was an earthquake, Sundays are my day off and, I know you can relate, the need to watch a favorite movie for the 300th time.


Excuses. Excuses. Excuses. And the room was still a mess. There was only one responsible, adult thing to do – go fishing. Unfortunately, the weather was much too forbidding for that.


With lures to make and a workstation covered in tools, hooks, beads, connectors and so many miscellaneous parts that I could hardly remember what they were used for, I dove into the long-postponed task of cleaning up a mess entirely of my own making.


It proved to be a three-day task, but my fishing room is functional once again. I can wheel my chair wherever I want. All components for making and repairing lures are in their proper place. Rods, reels, tools, lure boxes too.
I’ve promised myself never to repeat the situation. Lesson learned? We’ll see.

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