When I discovered the piece of ginger nestled coldly at the back of my fridge, I was filled with regret. The poor morsel had it’s members trembling with cold. And then, all of a sudden, it was like a vision, a thunderbolt… almost mystic. My piece of ginger left it’s vegetal envelope and was transformed, before my eyes, into a little frog with a light ochre skin.
Be assured dear readers that I had not abused any substances, that day, of which the law disapproves. No! It was only my wandering imagination diabolically, as always, playing with me.
I made a dash for my vise and in no time at all, there beneath my agile fingers, a marvelous fly was born that I baptized “Ginger”, a fly that should be a big hit with our friend: the pike.
It’s funny, but each time that I think of “Ginger”, I can’t help seeing the image of my mother, a fantastic woman who, since she was a young girl in Germany (until her family escaped nazi persecutions and took refuge in France) had been in love with the great Fred Astaire. Along with Ginger Rodgers he filled the dreams of generations of young girls, including Charlotte, my darling mother.
Even in her late seventies, in a very delicious manner she would delicately set a vinyl on the turntable and (my father had a sacred horror of anything that came from despised America!) in the dining room she would dance with eyes closed, all alone. Then came the day when my marvelous wife started to dance with her. Ecstasy… OH! Not too fast… Charlotte was so fragile; wouldn’t want to jostle the old bones that were as brittle as meringues.
Me, I would sit in my chair and get off with the sight of my two loves having a ball. They giggled like teenagers, my mother singing along with the old songs, filled with the magic that only Hollywood knew how to create. And she knew them by heart, as though they were her national anthem.
My wife whispered secrets about Fred and Ginger in her ear: “Charlotte, did you know that one day Ginger said that she did everything that Fred did, except that she did it backwards and in high heels.”
Charlotte doubled up laughing. She was almost choking… but why am I telling you all this? Oh, yes… It’s because of my fly “the Ginger”.
If my mother were still here, it would surely be her favorite fly.