I catch cold, snippets of gossip, flack for misdeeds. 
Catching a poisonous Black Mamba snake, not so much.

I was half listening to an NPR broadcast. The interviewer was talking to (I ultimately found out) Thea and Clifton Koen about their personal mission to catch and capture these poisonous creatures.

Really, I thought, Jewish snake catchers? My head shot up. After a few more minutes of listening it became evident that these two Koen's were not of the tribe. 

Nonetheless, what did strike me is what some folks undertake. Outside of the daily routine, that is. Imagine, brush teeth, comb hair, wrestle a snake into submission, have coffee, maybe a croissant. 

I do have these momentary lapses where I imagine myself doing something infinitely more noble and heroic than I currently do. Yeah, yeah, I do volunteer and I appreciate that is a very good thing to do.

But, what I am talking about here is the heart racing, knees knocking, sweat forming, breath holding acts of courage and heroism. I am talking about documentaries being shot to record this fearless act. I am talking about folksongs, books. Monuments. 

I'm exhausted.

And, I am clearly not the only soul with this fantasy. Think "Up the Sandbox", "Zelig", "The Incredible Life of Walter Mitty," to name just a few.

But, for me, for now, I can only add rainbows and pipe dreams. I can catch glimpses of those anytime I want.