There are rules that prohibit me from soliciting gifts from readers and listeners of my outdoors radio talk show.
But I am not bound by any edicts concerning my communications to my wife, relatives and state lawmakers.
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When my wife reads this, I hope she will understand that complete immersion in warm salt water is the cure-all for what ails me. Perhaps she recognizes that it's time for me to get rid of a dozen suits, sport coats, beautiful slacks, and four-dozen ties, as well as smart-looking shoes and the like, just so I can spend all day in cutoff jeans and flip-flops.
All of the above, of course, would take place on my own secluded island somewhere in the Caribbean. My wife could trade my truck, her car and other items from an era when goodies were more important than actual reality.
I would need an unlimited avenue of travel back to the States to see the kids and grandchildren, if they don't want to come to my hideaway affectionately renamed the Isle of Crusoe.
The surrounding crystal-clear, turquoise-tinted water would be rife with bonefish, permit, tarpon and certain edible species willing to donate their existence to my beach-front grill.
All my wife would have to do is draw a picture on construction paper (like the stuff in grade school), place it in an envelope or small box with some saltwater flies tucked in for good measure, and place it next to the television remote control.
All three of my adult daughters could band together and collectively surprise dear old dad with a new Gold Wing Motorcycle.
I used to tour the back roads all the way across the country to take in much of what I considered real America and all it had to offer. The sights, sounds, and aromas always pulled me toward locales I never knew existed.
And when I rode the two wheels with a fly rod strapped on the back rack, I was always rewarded with some excellent pond fishing in the company of an old-time farmer.
I do not need nor want any more fishing tackle. I suspect that pretty soon I'll start passing out lots of gear as well as various outdoor-related items to friends just to thin the herd.
Of my three girls, only one of my offspring enjoys fishing as much as me. But raising three girls did take its toll on my hairline.
As a result of attempting to nurture and lead them to the path of straight and narrow, stress levels forced changes upon me.
In the 1950s, this nation was fed a lot of propaganda about nuclear fallout. Later, in my situation, I was a victim of hair fallout. So maybe my kids can pony-up some coin and send me to the outfit where the guy on television keeps telling people "that not only do I own the company, but I am also a client."
This next gift scenario is a stretch. While pond fishing with a friend this year, we got around to the topic of politics, on state and national level. It was useless conversation because many politicians enjoy their status and often refuse to take responsibility for their reckless ways.
Realizing that the 21st century has provided many political heartburn scenarios, I suggested to my friend that one of my holiday gifts to myself would be an actualization of my fantasy that every politician would convert to a life of honesty and integrity.
It was 20 minutes before he stopped laughing and gasping for air.
•Contact Mike Jackson at email@example.com, and catch his radio show 6-7 a.m. Sundays on WSBC 1240-AM and live-streamed at www.mikejacksonoutdoors.com.