A Gazette for Those Who Fish, Work at The Theatre, and The Sinews of Their Lives
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Dear Gordon, You speak of death as it is eminent. My dear friend, I was planning on you doing my epitaph, and I'm not ready. Last year I attended a West Texas graveside funeral. It was almost 100 degrees and the wind was blowing hard enough to imitate a blast furnace. It was so hot one lady fainted during the service and they had to call an ambulance. She survived and the preacher continued on with the sermon. He spoke of the crystal clear water that flows from the Throne ad someday all of us would be together. I tell this because afterwards I asked the preacher if the stream was a cold water stream. He assured me it was, so I then asked how big were the trout. He was puzzled and admitted he did not know if there were any fish in the stream, much less know how big they were. I tell this story to say I believe in God, that He is a dry fly fisherman, that He fishes with a bamboo rod and that the stream is full of beautiful wild trout. What I do not know is how big are the trout. Gordon, if you get there first, call me with a fishing report. If I get there first, I will do the same.