One of the reigning passions of my life has been travel.
Since I was eighteen, I’ve seen much of France, Italy, Greece, Great Britain, glimpses of Mexico, China, Japan, India, Israel, Spain, Tanzania, Peru, Ireland, Russia, Thailand, Singapore, Myanmar, Oman, countries along the Rhine and Danube…
I haven’t seen every state in this great nation. None of the Scandinavian, North African, Slavic countries, nothing in the Australian orbit, rest of South America. All were on my bucket list.
I refer to my bucket list in the past tense because a few days ago, I was besieged by…inconvenienced by…stood up straight there and then and said to myself, Okay. Done. I can’t travel any more.
No that’s not true. I could. Dearly want to. I’d expected that next spring we’d go to Berlin (which I want to see) and to Kiel (which Bill wants to see—his grandmother was born there), then… We decided not to do it on a tour but take trains and hire a guide in each city.
But I was kicking against the traces. My husband has wanted to hang up his traveling shoes for some time. I paid it no mind….knew in my heart I was selfish. Bill is gallant about his macular degeneration, but he really cannot see paintings any more—museums are no longer his favorite places…
As you likely know, the time does come in one’s life when you’re obliged to be a grown-up. Stop being the greedy kid.
Actually, effects of ten months at the gym three times a week and walking one mile six/seven days of the week have been remarkably strengthening, centering (balance), added endurance to our cores. The one element neither of us can improve is plumbing. Nothing more than a nuisance, but a weighty nuisance it is. Wrecking ball.
Further, as has been pointed out to us by younger family members, nearly every time we’ve taken a trip, one of us has come home ill. That’s a disagreeable fact we no longer can look away from.
The other day a friend bopped over to London for a week, came home with a sack from Ottolenghi’s shop for me. Oh I want to do that!
It kills me I’ll never see the pyramids. Listen to jazz at a club in Havana. See the restored Notre Dame.
That’s all there is to it.
A big But.
Santa Cruz is marvelous marvelous. We have an extraordinary life here. Abundant blessings. And we will take quick trips to various parts of this country to visit family.
It’s just hard being a grown-up.
OK. So you take all the money you will save by not flying all over the world. And you make a plan to eat dinner at every truly extraordinary restaurant in a 200 mile radius. (Or maybe just 100 miles. There are a lot.) Spend the night and have breakfast. You take yourself to San Francisco or Los Angeles to hear their philharmonic orchestras, and spend the night in an elegant hotel with all the amenities. You find a nightclub whose music you like and you dance all night. You take a “Sideways” (the movie) multi-day trip to wine country and taste them all. I’m sure the pyramids are spectacular, but really–they are a stack of rocks. Food and wine and music and dance are so much more exhilarating, don’t you think? If you need a driver, just ask.
You are ever the source of solutions, dear Deborah! Marvelous! Let’s begin with dinner
at Vim several nights a week, you with us…
I was so mundane, thinking of re-doing the kitchen.
Onward! Warmest thanks.