Daydreaming ...

On a crisp, autumn morning, as I watched the waking sun begin to spray golden bands of light just above the distant horizon, I caught my mind drifting back in time with fond memories of my beloved grandfather ... reminiscing as to how, as a young, impressible boy, I would sit at his feet on an overturned wooden crate as he rhythmically rocked away the hours nestled comfortably in his old chair telling stories of exotic, far away places of which he had visited, and of the scores of intriguing people he had encountered throughout his many travels around the globe.

With wry grin and piercing eyes, that grand, old adventurer told of sailing the boisterous inlets of the Gulf of Alaska, as majestic Blue Whales swam playfully alongside his boat launching frothy mists of water high into the briny air ... of observing pairs of bald eagles feeding their young eaglets along the sand bars and cottonwood trees as he fished for King Salmon on the Chilkat River ... of big game hunting in Zimbabwe in pursuit of Black Rhino and Cape Buffalo, and a host of other dangerous, big game animals ... of going after trophy Bighorn Mountain Sheep and gigantic Brown Bear in the vast and remote wilderness areas of Alaska and British Columbia ... he told of hospitable tribesmen who dwelt near the cliffs of the Nile Valley that took him rafting down the treacherous Nile River ... of touring the immense Pyramids, viewing the Great Sphinx of Egypt and seeing ancient Egyptian mummies ... of climbing expeditions on Mt. Sinai and treks across the immense and geologically diverse Sinai Desert ... of walking the bustling streets of great cities such as Paris, London, Rome, Bangkok, Munich, Cape Town, Sydney, Singapore, Istanbul and countless others ... he had  left behind footprints on every continent ... he had set sail on the seven seas ... he had beheld the seven wonders of the world ... he had dined with rich and poor ... and so much more.

Each time my grandfather recounted one of his marvelous adventures, I would express to him just how much I wished that I too could have been right there by his side at each and every instance ... his riposte would always be that "I had always been right there with him 'in my imagination,' and that was just as good" ... one lazy afternoon, I asked him if there was anyplace that he desired to visit of which he had not yet been ... he began to slowly rock his creaky chair back and forth as he gazed toward me with beguiling, blue eyes, then a rare tear began to inch slowly down his weathered cheek as he softly replied, "well boy, about the only place I haven't been yet is to the Emerald City, where my Father sits on His beautiful throne ... I sure would like to stroll down those golden thoroughfares ... fall down on my knees before my precious Lord, and offer praise and thanks for all He has done ... then maybe just sit in my chair and rest for a bit 'neath the tree of life, and watch that pure river of water of life flow by, clear as crystal ... yes indeed, I sure would like to go there."

One cold, winter evening, I received the sad news that my grandfather had passed away ... the old man had made his way outside to sit in his favorite chair, and after a few short minutes, the sound of his rocking abruptly ceased ... he had at last embarked on his final journey ... only recently, to my shock and surprise, I learned that grandad had never ventured beyond a fifty mile radius of the mountain homestead where he was born and had ultimately lived out all his days ... he had spent the majority of his existence thousands of feet beneath the earth's surface, crawling on his hands and knees, his strong, calloused hands gripping pick and shovel, digging coal by the dim light of a carbide lamp strapped to his head  ... when work was scarce in the mines, he fell timber with a crosscut saw and heavy double-bitted axe atop the steep ridges that surround the grassy valley ... he raised livestock and grew crops on that rocky farm in his 'spare time', earning just enough money for necessities ... he could neither read nor write beyond third grade level ... nor could he 'legally' drive the old flatbed truck which he nervously wrestled to the feed mill in town every Saturday.

How could this possibly be true? ... all those wondrous adventures ... all those fantastic, far away places ... then it suddenly dawned on me as I recalled grandad's words ... "I had always been right there with him 'in my imagination,' and that was just as good" ... he had been clearly illustrating to me, by telling those remarkable tales, how I had no limits as to what I could become ... or where I could go ... or what I might achieve with mere imagination ... and I must now say, that I too have traversed the four corners of the globe, and experienced many incredible things ... while strapped in the passenger seat, peering through the windows of my mind ... and I know with certainty, that as the waking sun begins to spray golden bands of light above some distant horizon, grandpa is slowly rocking away idle hours in his favorite, creaky chair ... in the midst of the Emerald City ... 'neath the tree of life ... watching that pure river of water of life flow by, clear as crystal ... while at his feet ... awaits an overturned wooden crate ...

Written some time ago for my friend Bob, one of his favorites --sja