Today we finally managed to make some progress in booking things for the trip. Since I hate things being disorganized, and have travelled more with Sherry, who’s like me, this getting to less than a week before flying out and having nowhere to stay or anything to drive bothered me.
Of course, Andrew considers hostels in which toilets seats are optional in the (possibly shared) bathrooms acceptable lodging standards, and is of the attitude that you’re good to go pretty much anywhere as long as you have a credit card and a passport. I’m hoping the combination of us brings balance to The Force…
As I made bookings and tallied costs the nagging in my brain that I can’t really afford this trip grew louder. We’re going anyway. Of course, I have all the usual bills to pay, and need a new bed, and Christmas is coming, etc… What can I say, I suck at fiscal responsibility. My talents lie elsewhere.
Also today, though, I went to my aunt’s funeral. I stood in the vestibule where a number of us cousins had been seated, as all the pews were full, and watched everyone file slowly out of the church on the way to the cemetery. It was a shock to the system, all those familiar faces. Because they’re getting old.
Hell, they ARE old. My uncle — whose wife we buried today — is two years shy of 80. My Mom is the youngest in her family, and she’s over 60. Even cousins who I consider to be within the range of “my age” were looking awfully middle-aged. My God.
I remember a span of a couple of years a while back when it seemed my parents attended funeral after funeral. They were for her aunts and uncles, those who’d reached their 80s and 90s. My turn will come, too, when I find myself reaching into the closet for what has become my de facto church-going garb and conservative heels.
And then this morning I stood in the sunshine, surrounded by relatives and maple trees, and my brain replayed a conversation that took place around my parents’ kitchen table three weeks ago. The very same aunt and uncle were talking about assorted travel destinations in the US with my parents, and had planned to head south to a couple of them within the next little while. They were on a jaunt to northern Ontario when my aunt died.
Needless to say, with that conversation echoing in my head, as I watched the casket being lowered into the grave, a great many things felt both final and confining.
So yeah, my Visa isn’t getting paid off in full any time soon. But I’m no longer young enough to wrap myself in an illusion of immortality. “You don’t know how much time you’ve got” applies to me and mine now. (And, hell, I’m worth far more dead than alive — take that, debts.)
Can I go on this trip? Are we physically capable? Do I want to find out if Andrew and I are good travel partners? Do I want to eat an obscene amount of sushi and breathe mountain air and browse little shops and see friends?
Yes. Good, then go.