I don't know why it was, maybe it was the paint fumes I've been inhaling, or maybe it is imagination taking over parts of my brain that used to be occupied with the opening and closing hours of the mall, but I have been thinking very strange thoughts. For instance today, I rolled over in my bed, saw that it was 4am and thought randomly, and for the first time : "Well, the Pope must be up by now." Then rolled over and went back to sleep, but not before remembering that I was thinking about Pope John Paul the Second, who died like 6 years ago. "Hmmph.... Maybe not."
And that is not all. It seems that it isn't just thoughts about religious leaders that run rampant through my brain in the moments (or hours) between restful sleep and my functional conscious state (which has been known to elude me for years sometimes) because at 7:33 this morning, I remember sitting straight up in bed and proclaiming, "Fishing isn't that bad." And this got me to thinkin 'bout fishin' and now I'm gonna write 'bout fishin'.
My thought process this morning, I believe, was related a conversation I had with my sister where I said I just didn't understand hunting. My dad used to hunt, and my eldest brother does hunt, and I said that never in my life have I regarded the simple and majestic beauty of wildlife (ie. deer, a flock of geese) and had the desire to kill it. I went on to say that the poor deer, losing so much of it's natural habitat to urban sprawl has enough problems on it's hooves already that it doesn't need grown men running around in gear purchased at great expense, shooting at it. Nor does it need to be shot, or mounted on a wall in a living room. The poor dear, it has so many problems.
But back to fishing, I likened this activity to picking wild raspberries this morning. Sure, you can buy raspberries at a store, but somehow they taste better when you go out into a meadow, sun shining and pick them (and then pick the bugs and dirt off of them) and eat them. I guess it is like fishing. Some people (not me) may want to go out in a boat, and drop a line and catch a fish. Maybe those fish taste better then the fish in your grocer's freezer. And maybe I feel this way because I have never imagined a baby fish, nervously walking up to me and eating from my hand. But whatever it is I could say that perhaps I understand fishing. Just don't tell anyone.