yeah, took me a while this week. I Hope it's worth it.
Benazir Bhutto left an email with Wolf Blitzer, of all people, to be read only in the event of her death. The email said, and I'm paraphrasing, "if I die, it's Musharaf's fault." Which shows more foresight that her life was in danger than the act of sticking her head out the sunroof of her car at a crowded rally less than 3 months after an assassination attempt that missed her but killed over 100 other people.
My story of the week, however, has little to do with Benazir Bhutto, except for a simple correlation and an easy "speaking of posthumous correspondence" segue.
Chet Fitch, of Ashland, Orgegon, died in October, at the age of 88. All indications are that he led a happy life, and had lots of friends for whom he was willing to do nearly anything. Including, bargain with God.
Chet, perhaps still new to all the rules up in Heaven and maybe just a little homesick, asked nicely if he might be able to get his Christmas cards out for just one more year. And so, he sat down on a nearby cloud, and filled out his final messages. And this is what he wrote:
Dear Debbie,
I asked Big Guy if I could sneak back and send some cards. At first he said no; but at my insistence he finally said, 'Oh well, what the heaven, go ahead but don't tarry there.' Wish I could tell you about things here but words cannot explain.
Better get back as Big Guy said he stretched a point to let me in the first time, so I had better not press my luck. I'll probably be seeing you (some sooner than you think). Wishing you a very Merry Christmas. Chet Fitch.
As it turns out, Chet had been planning this for 20 years, with his barber, so I imagine God had an idea he wanted to do it, and let him break the rules just the one time. Chet even told his barber "You must be tired of waiting to mail those cards. I think you'll probably be able to mail them this year."
A week later, Chet took up residence in Heaven.
Talk about foresight.
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