Alive and well on Fantasy Island

Walter Mitty (of the "Secret Life of Walter Mitty" fame) ain't got nothin' on me.

My penchant for an active fantasy life first revealed itself during the lazy summer afternoons spent touring the high country in the company of my parents and four siblings.

Dad loved to drive into the majestic Rockies and we spent many summer Saturdays or Sundays exploring the canyons west of Denver.

Around each corner it seemed, a new vista opened up. Early summer found us remarking with wonder at the amount of snow left in the shadow of the evergreens while the autumn days were ablaze with the colors of the aspens as they turned, transforming entire mountainsides into shimmering gold.

In between the oohs and the aahs I would while away the miles imagining the surprise I was sure was waiting for me when we turned around and headed home. You see, I would convince myself that waiting for me at home was my heart's fondest desire -- a horse.

In my fertile imagination, Mom and Dad had spared no expense to achieve my heart's desire and they had secretly made arrangements for the horse to be delivered during our absence, wanting only to see my look of wonder and gratitude.

Each horse we passed became my instant favorite. It could be a gray, an Appaloosa, a bay, didn't matter. As long as it was a horse. (I thought ponies, especially those wooly Shetlands, a poor substitute.) Anticipation would build and I would mentally practice being surprised so that Mom and Dad wouldn't suspect I was on to their ploy.

We were, of course, city folk. There was no place to keep this horse, no way to feed or pasture it -- it was a total fantasy. I came to understand that on an intellectual level, but at the ripe age of 11, intellect was no match for imagination.

This penchant for fantasy continued long after intellect won over imagination as far as horse ownership was concerned. I love music and I love to sing. Though I have received precious little encouragement for my singing talent, my passion for it is demonstrated frequently -- whenever the radio plays a song I'm even slightly familiar with. I often fantasized that in one of the many cars I shared the highways and byways of metropolitan Denver with was a recording agent -- looking high and low, far and wide, for just my unique style of harmony. After all, what I lack in range and natural ability is more than made up for in enthusiasm.

Hey, it could've happened. Might happen still, if said agents would only frequent Norris Ave., or B Street now rather than Colfax or Wadsworth Blvd.

After all, my lifelong fantasy of earning an Oscar award was realized in a most unexpected fashion when my co-worker presented me with my "Oscar," proclaiming me the winner of the "Best Portrayal of an Actress" award. It is proudly displayed on the wall beside my desk -- it's not quite gold, the best she could manage was an orange paper cut-out.

Now, of course, I simply wait for some literary agent to happen upon my writing and discover this diamond in the rough, opening doors of opportunity now only viewed from a distance.

I'm sure I'm not the only one with a Walter Mitty imagination. Imagination is yet another of our God-given abilities, bestowed when we were fashioned in the image of our Creator. Certainly, no one has ever attributed members of the animal kingdom with the ability to fantasize or to create, both are limited to the human species and to God himself.

Created in his image, we become creators ourselves -- even if that creation is simple fantasy.

What I need to keep in mind is that Lana Turner's story is unique. (Turner, you'll recall, was "discovered" by William R. Wilkerson, the publisher of the Hollywood Reporter, as she sat drinking a soda in the Top Hat Café, not Schwab's drugstore, as the famous Hollywood legend would have it.)

For all of my fantastic daydreams it means that if I am to make them a reality, I'm going to have to do the necessary work.

I'm still city folk, just on a smaller scale, so I guess I'll have to forego the horse project. Since growing up, I've discovered that not only are horses expensive pets, they are high maintenance as well. Besides, my last ride was my best ride. I was on a thoroughbred stallion, in full gallop, holding on for dear life to the reins with one hand and the saddle horn with the other. Head high and slung back by the sheer speed of my mount, hair streaming behind me, I was grinning from ear-to-ear.

As to my singing career? I shall have to content myself with the occasional community concert and fuller appreciation of true talent ably performed. Intellect is winning the battle over imagination there, it's just taking a little longer. And, I'll never forget the height of passion my soul reached as I joined my voice to a hundred others in the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus with the McCook Community Chorus' performance of Handel's Messiah in 1999.

I think I'd best stick with my writing, using every opportunity available to fine-tune the craft, seizing every opportunity to use it to the glory of God, and let God handle the rest, living day-by-day, learning to live in this day, love in this day, and to cherish this day.

And perhaps, in this way, one day, I'll be able to say with the Apostle Paul,

-- " ... I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." Philippians 4:12 (NIV)