Your day is coming

Recently, I have been forgetting things. Well, not really forgetting as much as I can't seem to figure out where all the time goes so quickly. Nothing earth-shattering, just small things that seem to dominate the majority of my leisure time.

The wife says it is a matter of too much on my plate and too little time to do everything. She may be right, but if things continue I will need to seek medical attention. And whatever the diagnosis, I'm sure it will have a hefty price tag attached to the name as well as the prescription.

Know the signs and how it manifests. You may not have it now, but your day is coming.

Take this past weekend. I decided, with the chance of rain, it would be best if I stayed closer to home. Not wishing to add to the honey-do list, I found things to occupy me in my workshop.

As I opened the door, I noticed the hinge was loose. In my search for tools, I got sidetracked organizing my assortment of screwdrivers. Heading back to the door, I found the knob to my fishing cabinet drawer. This needed immediate attention, so I went to find my drill and bits.

After a rather lengthy search, I located a dull bit and one of my old drills. You can't work with dull drill bits, so I sharpened a dozen or so and put them away. The drawer worked but was still sticking, so I removed it and put a bit of soap on the slides. Now it worked too well, and the contents spilled out on the floor.

That's when I noticed a package of small flies that I was supposed to have mailed to my son in Tennessee. I went into the kitchen and called to express my apology for being late with the package, but was told not to rush -- the hatch was over.

Anyone who has done any fly fishing knows the old slogan "Match the hatch." In laymen's terms, it means to use a fly that imitates what insects are breeding or active on the waters you are fishing.

I felt bad and decided to remedy the situation post haste. ... now, where did I put that reference book, "Flies And Their History" by Mary Orvis Marbury? I found it under a stack of feathers in my fly gear that I had planned to pin and put away on flat stock. No time like the present, after all, good feathers are hard to come by and can be rather expensive. So I decided it would be best to finish this job first.

About this time, I got to thinking I need screws for the door, some dubbing material for the flies and construction paper for the feathers. It wouldn't hurt to pick up a fresh drill index either, and the hardware store is just 10 minutes away.

I seemed to have misplaced my keys, but remembered I last had them in the workshop. Yep, there they were still in the lock. That lock had been giving me a fit for a few months now. Might as well get one while I'm out. But it would be easier to match it if I took it with me.

After 20 minutes, I decided the heck with it and I would treat myself to a new pair of channel locks as well. No sense in wasting time, and they would make the new lock easier to install.

I now had wedged the door shut, half the door knob was missing and my keys were on the other side. I pried open the window and managed to break the hinge, another setback that needed immediate attention. Well, what the heck, I was headed to the hardware store anyway.

Back in the kitchen, I decided to get me a cool glass of tea. With slippery hands, I dropped the glass and broke it. "What was that?!" was sure to come shortly from the back room, but I realized I had the entire house to myself.

Where's that remote? I seem to recall something about a replay of the Duke game I missed a few months ago.

There's the phone. "Hi, Honey. ... Oh nothing, just fixing to head to the hardware store to take care of that honey-do list you left on the table."

In the drive, in the truck, heading down the road, but I needed gas. So I stopped at the pumps and ran into Ronnie Nelson, who has been hounding me to settle a bet with his brother on my casting accuracy. A quick stop by his house could earn me a few bucks, why not?

In the back yard, Ronnie set out five buckets. I was to cast to all five buckets in under a minute, totally retrieving the practice plug to the rod tip with each cast. On the first cast, the line snapped and we lost the plug. A good substitute would be a quarter-ounce lead weight.

I tied the weight on, won the bet and headed back to my truck. But the stakes were raised, the buckets were moved and again I took my position. Only this time, the line snapped again on the back cast and broke the garage window. I really hate it when this happens. Why can't people keep their gear in better shape? Ronnie should know better than this.

So we were both headed to the hardware store. We got the items needed, and after helping him install the window, I headed back to my house.

I arrived to find my wife already home. Heading for the workshop, I was ambushed near the azaleas. In her hand was the infamous honey-do list. In my hand was an assortment of items not even remotely related to any of the work on the list, and a few fishing items as well.

Seeing as how no explanation would rescue me from this, I made a suggestion we start fresh tomorrow and go out for dinner. To which she replied, "We may as well call Ronnie and Tina to join us. She called earlier and said you were helping repair a broken window in their garage."

I realized at this point that any plans I may have had for fishing, going to the game or attempting anything remotely related to the outdoors would have to wait.

I have left myself a variety of reminders. Oddly enough, everywhere there is fishing gear or outdoor paraphernalia, a copy of the list mysteriously appears.