Saturday morning…

I used to take my light blue blanket into the living room for Voltron and The Smurfs when I was a kid. I liked cartoons, but I don’t remember longing for Saturday’s animated pictures on a Wednesday, or Thursday. Granted I was only six, or seven so who really knows if I sat in Mrs. Westfall’s kindergarten class dreaming about waking up on the first day of the weekend, but the point is the prospect of Saturday mornings now enraptures me. I am 39 hours from stepping my wader protected legs into the Upper and Lower Sacramento River in pursuit of trout. It is all I am thinking about this Thursday evening; the warm afternoon sun creeping into the lower elevations of the mountains that slow the drive from the valley of central California on the way to Oregon; the strong take of a thick, beautifully colored rainbow or brown and fight that makes me feel more helpless than in control.
I called The Fly Shop in Redding twice today. Both guys gave me good info, but I called mostly because I felt a little closer to the weekend by talking the employees. The dudes working the phones don’t sound like depressed fishermen that would rather be on the water, or bank tellers that work at a fishing joint at the recommendation of their therapist. They sound like guys 15-minutes from heading out to the river themselves.
But now I’m sitting by myself, staring at my fly-tying vise. I’ve tied half a dozen patterns to back up the back ups I have for the back ups. I’m ready.
Life awaits, once work relents.

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