Bullet points for my future life.
Good morning from another blizzardy day in Vermont. Winter’s hard landing in November is wreaking havoc with the minds and hearts of us summer people. But what else is there to do but put our boots on for yet another precarious drive to work and keep hoping for Spring?
Perhaps I’m feeling low this particular morning because we’ve forwarded the clocks and I’m out of time regarding today’s responsibilities. As if this one hour could make a difference on all the things in my bucket list. Because that bucket list I never made? Well, as I get older, it’s making itself.
Like learning to sew and crochet. Traveling across Europe and Canada and the United States. Regularly writing significant letters to the people I love. Excelling at singing and playing the guitar and ukulele. Learning to play the harp and piano. Joining a band. Learning all the Romance languages. Finishing my wedding album, rug braiding, and autobiography projects. All of a sudden (it seems) I have bullet points for my future life, and many of them aren’t realistic. Is that a part of growing older? Does regret at time lost and/or wasted bloom and sharpen after fifty?
Yesterday our old neighbors came for lunch. After the initial flurry of chaos when both the dog and Serena needed settling, we talked our way through homemade corn chowder, brown bread and butter, and a simple green salad. They gave us a list of good movies to watch and books to read, and since we have similar tastes, that night we watched the first two parts of Fat, Salt, Acid, and Heat. Tim and I were mesmerized with the cooking and the scenery. I got so hungry that I had to stop for a banana and almond milk. I wanted to get on a plane to Italy, but someone had to take the dog out…
Remember these colors?
Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.