Seize the day

A few days ago Marie and I went up in hot air balloon for our wedding anniversary. That’s 14 years together (7 before and 7 after getting married), and amazingly neither one of us is fed up yet. Anyway, I’d worried for weeks that I wouldn’t be able to get into the basket, and my fears were not allayed when I saw it: sides about chest high, with only three small footholds going up. As it happened, getting in was okay since everyone scrambled madly together, it was getting out at the end that proved the problem as that was done carefully one person at a time to avoid the thing taking off again. I know probably few people notice it, but when you’re stiff and feeble and can’t swing your bloody leg high enough to get it over the top, you just feel that the whole world is looking at you and wondering what your problem is. But it was worth it, I have to admit. The air was clear and there was a good wind so we got to go quite a long way, and before we landed the pilot (as they insisted on calling him) did some trick flying and dipped the bottom of the basket in the middle of a large lake!

Which leads me to revisit the carbon footprint issue: Marie objects to me leaving my PC on stand by when I’m not in the room, thinks it is quite unnecessary to flush unless there is ‘matter’ in the bowl and would prefer me to turn the lights out when I blink, but is happy to book a completely frivolous balloon flight and tickets for a round-trip through much of Southeast Asia. There seems to be a logical disconnect there, but she argues the plan is to do things (what ever they might be) sooner rather than later, before the disease potentially stops me from going along. Not a bad plan, but it does seem to ignore the need for sitting about and staring at the wall – one of my favourite activities (also before PD), and there do happen to be several walls around the house that need close examination before I’m done.

It is a question, I guess, of where quality of life comes from. Last week I mentioned good food, which reminds me of my stepfather – my mother consumed two husbands, and I use the term 'consumed' deliberately – who always said that as long as he could enjoy a cup of tea, life was worth living. I, on the other hand, lost my sense of smell many years ago, so to me tea is just a warm, sweet drink. In fact, there’s little need for a tea bag at all. Not really worth hanging around in this mortal coil for. I would have pork pie over tea any day if only Marie would let me, the evil harridan.

BTW, I’m dropping the sleeping pills because the side effects are just too miserable. These may become a source of future jokes (‘remember back when I could walk – oh, the things I got up to’), but right now I’m not looking forward to the return of sleepless nights. Ho hum. Is there honey left for tea?