The Dream

I died. Yes, dead, kaput, mort, no longer among us, pushing up daisies, pennies on the eyelids - dead. What the heck had happened? One minute I was here, the next I’m standing in front of the Pearly Gates waiting for them to open. Dead? How can this be. I was in relatively good shape. Sure, I didn’t exercise on any regular basis, unless you count rushing around the house looking for the tv remote, or bending over to see what was in the refrigerator. And my diet did include fruits - that is if strawberry ice cream counts as a serving of fruit - and pizza with mushrooms and olives should be counted as vegetables. I was going to do something about my cholesterol just as soon as it hit four hundred. I figured I had a few weeks to go before that milestone. But, here I was, dead.

I stood at the Gates wondering what I was supposed to do next. I didn’t see any bell to ring or any other way to alert them, whoever they were, that I had arrived. Surely, they would have some high tech advanced warning system to alert them to the fact a new arrival was waiting to get in.

I examined the gates and walls more thoroughly. The gates, tall elaborate patterns of gold bars, interlaced into intricate shapes, were tightly closed. The walls, approximately twelve feet high, appeared to be made of solid gold. Everything was polished to a high sheen, reflecting the light to the extent that it was almost painful to look at them. I wedged my face between the bars of the gate trying to see if anyone was close that I could ask for help. There wasn’t anyone to be seen. I extracted my face, sat next to the wall to the right of the gates, and waited.

"Hey, buddy, you can’t sleep there."

"What?" I answered, jumping up. "Who said that?"

"You can’t sleep there," a man standing at the gate said.

"I wasn’t sleeping. I was just waiting for someone to come and let me in," I stated, trying to explain myself and why I was there. Where had this guy come from? "Are you St. Peter?" I asked, excited to be meeting one of the original Apostles.

"No, he is on vacation. My name is Al," he explained.

Vacation? I wondered where one living in Heaven would go for a vacation. I decided not to ask.
"Al? I was expecting St. Peter."

"I know, I get that a lot," he said, looking through some sheets on a clip board. "What can I do for you?"

The question set me back. "I guess you could let me in," I suggested.

He glanced through the sheets again. "Nope, I don’t see you here," he eventually said. "Sorry."

"What! How can that be?"

"You’re not on the list. Sorry." He turned to leave.

"Wait," I yelled. "There has to be a mistake."

He turned and looked at me for a moment. He leafed through the papers on his clip board again. "Nope, no mistake," he declared.

"No, now wait a minute......Al....do you mean....I’m supposed to be.....down there....?" I said, pointing down. That can’t be.....can it? I mean, I’ve tried to be good.....most of my life, mostly, kinda....you know, there were those few times when......well, eh......alright, maybe more than a few times, but I wouldn’t think that would be enough to keep me from getting in.....would it?" I was stammering, trying to think of anything to persuade Al to reconsider. I was becoming frantic.

"Apparently," was all he said.

"No, wait, listen. I’m sure there is something we can work out. Surely, there must be something."

"There is nothing. And don’t call me Shirley." He turned to leave again.

"No, wait! I want to see your supervisor." I demanded.

Al turned to face me. "My supervisor?"

"Yes, your supervisor. I want to talk to him." I tried to sound as if I carried some weight. I wanted to let him know he couldn’t push me around.

Al walked back to me. He put his hand on my shoulder as if he were a grandfather giving his grandson some sage advise.

"He rarely makes appearances outside these walls and since you aren’t coming in, you can’t see Him," Al explained. So much for having any pull here.

"Your supervisor is....Him?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yes, now go on about your business."

"Wait, I have no idea what my business is now. And I don’t know how to get to.....well, you know,....heck,"I said, not wanting to say the real word while standing so close to heaven. Besides, I didn’t want to hurt any chances of some sort of clemency.

"Sorry, I can’t help you," Al said. "That’s not my department. I’m in charge of the gate and letting people in."

"So, who do I talk to about getting.....there?"

"I think that is....oh let’s see.......is it Bob?" Al answered looking at me as if I was going to affirm his answer.

We both stood staring at each other while Al rummaged through his brain. At some length, the various brain cells came to a consensus.

"Yes, Bob is in charge of that department," Al finally declared.
"Then can I speak to Bob?"

"He’s inside and......"

"I can’t come in," I finished for him, shaking my head in agreement. "I know. So, how do I see Bob?"

Al seemed stumped by that question. I was beginning to think that Al must have worked for the government at some point in his life and his bureaucratic thought process had hung over to the hereafter.

"Did you work for the government on earth, Al?"

"No," Al answered, " I drove a cab in the Bronx."

"Well, Al, maybe you can summon Bob to come down to the gate here and give me some advice. What do you think?" I suggested.

"Wait here," Al instructed.

I turned to return to my spot next to the gate thinking I’d be waiting awhile, when Al spoke.
"This is Bob," he said.

It hadn’t been but a second and here they both stood. Apparently, things moved fast in heaven.
Bob, thinner and taller than Al, stood at Al’s left side. He too had a clip board. He spoke. "What can I do for you?"

"Al tells me I can’t come in, so, I need to know how to get to....the other place."

Bob shuffled through the papers on his clip board. "I don’t see you here," he said.

"What!" I exclaimed. "If I’m not supposed to be in Heaven and I’m not on your list for the other place....where in the he.....heck am I supposed to be?" I yelled, almost forgetting to be on my best behavior.

"That’s just it," Bob replied, "Your not supposed to be at either place. If you’re not on either list, then you aren’t supposed to be dead yet." He looked at me as if that settled the issue.

"But, here I stand," I said reminding him of the problem we were trying to solve.
He shuffled through his papers once again, studying one in particular. "Ah, here it is," he said reading it to himself.

"What?" I asked.

He read to himself a bit more. "It says here that you weren’t supposed to die until your cholesterol hit four hundred. You have a few weeks left." he said, smiling. "Just a minor snafu. Here, I’ll give you a pass back and we’ll see you in a few weeks.....unless you make some changes. There, all’s well that ends well, eh?." Bob was quite pleased with himself for finding the answer. It was a bit disconcerting the cavalier attitude Bob and Al had toward my demise, or my pending demise. Either way, they didn’t seem to broken up or concerned that I was dead or about to be. I was about to offer my observations on that subject when Bob wrote something on a piece of paper on his clip board and stepped toward me.

He handed me a piece of paper and as soon as I touched it, I was back in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling. I sat up and looked around. It was a dream, but it seemed so real. But, how could it have been? Was it real? Was it a dream or a near death experience?
What ever it was, it got me to thinking. Maybe I’d better start exercising and watching what I eat, besides just watching it all the way to my mouth. I think I’ll start next week.
　
　
　

An Evening of Entertainment

Last night, at the Hillcrest High School Performing Arts Center, we watched some extraordinarily talented young men and women. Hillcrest held a talent show as a benefit for the Halford family who’s son was injured in a snowmobile accident this winter. As I sat there, enthralled by the amazing talent of these young people, I couldn’t help thinking of the criticism thrown at teens today about their addiction to sitting around watching tv, playing video games, etc. One can only imagine the amount of time and effort that went into these performances. These young people are indeed talented, however, talent without work is often wasted and left untouched. These young men and women had obviously spent hundreds of hours honing their talents, practicing until the performance was flawless.

On top of the dedication and discipline, we must add courage - the courage to stand in front of their peers, their friends and their families and put it all on the line. Live entertainment has a magic that comes from the performer standing on the edge of a precipice of failure with disaster waiting to grab them by the neck and pull them down. Forgotten lyrics, missed notes, botched arrangements all are specters that hover about waiting to take down the unsuspecting performer. And yet, they all rose above the fear. Undaunted, they went on and with an air of professionalism, provided the audience with an evening of unparalleled entertainment.
Katie and Jake, my daughter and son, were members of this ensemble of talented youngsters. Katie played guitar and Jake played the bongos. They sang "I’ll Follow You Into The Dark" and, since I am an unbiased and impartial judge, I’ll admit they were the best of the show. At least, they got the longest ovation. In addition to Katie and Jake, there were several pianists, a young woman who played the harp and sang, several other guitarist who all exhibited excellent talent, three violinists, a singing group with piano and violin accompaniment, a ballroom dance duo, there was even a re enactment of the Mario Bros. That is just a partial list of the wonderful acts that we were privileged to see.

In conclusion, let me say live entertainment is alive and well in Idaho Falls and these young people represent our future, not only in the world of entertainment, but, I would venture a guess and say that they represent our future in all areas. I am proud of all of them for their courage, commitment to excellence, and discipline in setting goals and accomplishing them. They are young men and women we can all be proud of.

Pictures

I wanted to post a couple more pictures since that seems to be required in the world of blogs, or at least in the country of Blogeztan, where it all started. Does that make me a Blogeztonian? Maybe just an honorary citizen. Anyway, back to the pictures. The first picture, taken about ten years ago, is of my children. I think you’ll notice they have some common characteristics. It is probably apparent to those who know me, that I don’t have those characteristics. I asked Mikki, my wife, about that but she just laughed and walked off mumbling something about free milk. I have no idea what she meant.

The second picture was taken several years ago just after we had spent a large sum of money to have our new swimming pool installed and the whole neighborhood showed up for the initial plunge. Talk about rub a dub dub, three men in a tub. We managed to get seven in our tub! The picture is taken facing North across the barley field that used to surround our home. Of course, now we are surrounded by houses that are far less appealing to the eye, and much noisier as well. And, they smell bad. But, don’t get the idea that I’m bitter.....or angry......or upset....or feel betrayed...or....or.....bah!

Back to the pool. It’s a good thing our water isn’t metered since we have such a large pool. You’ll notice at the left side of the picture is the corner of a building. That, of course, is the pool house where we keep all the chemicals, life saving devices, cleaning equipment, skim nets and alligator repellent. It contains the changing areas as well. To the right, you’ll see the exercise equipment that we installed prior to the swimming pool. As you can see, it is nothing but the best for the Martin family. Well, I’m starting to brag now, so I’ll quit and try to gain some humility. Until next time.....

Spring sprunged?.... sprang?....springed?

(I’m detecting a recurring theme here with posts about the weather)

Yesterday was one of those days we, here in Frozen Nowhere ,look for from the beginning of November - a day with no wind, plenty of sunshine, no wind, warm temperatures, no wind and grass poking up out of the rock hard, black snow, and no wind. It is a day I like to call a ‘Sucker Day’. I refer to it by that name because every year at this time, we get suckered into thinking that because of one great day, Spring is just around the corner. But, we should know that winter will not let go that easily and will raise its ugly, nasty head a few more times to remind us that it is still alive and well and only sleeping. Snow will return, cold will be back and the wind, lurking just around the corner waiting for us to turn our backs, will rush in to nearly blow us into next year.

But, dear Reader, what a day we had! Hope was again a word we dare use. Hope that, perhaps, someday, we would see the return of warm, sunny days. Perhaps we will again be able to walk outside without eight layers of clothes, knee high boots, two hats, a scarf, gloves, goggles, hand warmers, and electric underwear- which, by the way, mine shorted out the other day and I thought I’d fallen in love again!

What more can I say about yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away. Now, it seems as though they’re here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday. (nice turn of a phrase, huh?)

Yesterday was glorious, marvelous, magnificent, outstanding, stupendous, fantastic, and good kinda... thing. (I love writing.)

Well, I can’t write any more about yesterday without crying - it was (past tense, dang it!) a beautiful day. But, it is gone, taken leave of us, exited the stage and we are left with this day, a crumpled, grey, forsaken day with little to write home about, the ugly step sister of yesterday, the son that disappoints kinda day, an, 'oh, it's only you', kind of day, a, why can't you be more like your brother day. But I still have the memories of yesterday. So, until tomorrow, farewell.

I'll try not to write about the weather for a few posts. I mean, after all, enough is enough! I'm becoming a one note sonata, a broken record, a scratched cd (a reference for the younger set who don't understand the broken record reference), an untalented writer who has nothing to say but continues to say something anyway. So, I'll try to do better in the future. Thanks for your patience.