Smellin' Fishes

Pretty, isn't it? Doesn't it look a picture that should hang in an art gallery or a private collection? Well, it does belong in a private collection -- mine. See? This is a molecular picture of cholesterol, the same kind that got my attention earlier this week. That's because I got to a point where I couldn't catch my breath after the mildest of exertions. No, there weren't any other of the classic heart attack symptoms: no pain radiating down my arm and jaw, nausea, pressure on my chest or chest pains. I just couldn't catch my breath.

So, I went to my doctor who is also my friend to 'see what condition my condition was in.' It was the first time we've fought, and it was over whether I could drive the two blocks to the hospital or ride the meat wagon. I drove, taking an envelope full of nasty things about the inside of my body to the admitting person. Turns out I know her niece, so we hit it off just fine (good thing this niece was in her good graces). In the meantime I let slip what I was doing, and the phone started to ring. A lot of folks were wishing me well, but my good friend, SC, spoke the important ones that helped me to get through the next day or so.

Others called my buddy, Elf, who had my phone. He kept the world informed, especially Bob. That was most important to me that Bob was kept apprised. When I called Fishing Buddy Charles, he asked if he should come to see me. I said 'No' pretty emphatically. I had just settled in to the room when he arrived with Dr. Fahrenheit (because she holds so many degrees) in tow. Since Elf was already there, the party fell into full swing. We laughed and made general horses behinds of ourselves until everybody's cheeks were hurting from smiling and laughing. They are all good, special friends.

But, that's not what I'm here to talk about. The heart cath found some blockage that, although small, was significant enough to affect my breathing. That's what got me to thinking. Not only is life short, it's fragile. There are so many things that can go wrong in a human body, it's a miracle we keep going at all. That's when I figured out a few truths:

• I don't have enough time on this earth to sweat the small stuff.
• I need to love hard the ones I love and cut the wannabees loose.
• I shouldn't have to put up with the life I'm living now.
• I need to slow down and smell the fishes.

So, that's what this is all about. Life should be about watching bobbers getting pulled under water. Life should be about a fly hitting the water before its line and totally fooling a bass. Life should be about lazy hours in a boat on the water, whether a fish is caught or not. Life should be about making red wrigglers live up to their name while impaled on a hook. Life should be about a trout, lightly breaded with cornmeal, sharing a plate with wild rice and asparagus. Life should be about sparkling eyes that hold all the promise in the world that can still be seen when two cheeks are touching.

That's what life should be. It should not be all the crap and drama that we live with daily. There oughta be a law that everybody has to fish at least two hours a day. That same law should make it a crime to give up the location of a sweet spot, and the fisherman shouldn't be allowed to tell the truth about how many he caught.

And everybody needs to have the time to stop and smell the fishes. Thanks, Charles for teaching me that.