Things To Do Before I Die

The recent movie "The Bucket List" seems to have inspired bloggers everywhere to create their own Bucket Lists, lists of things they want to accomplish in their lifetimes.  Some are fairly shallow (spend a weekend at the Playboy Mansion, some profound (save a life), some amusing (ride a camel - I have to admit that's one of mine too).  I imagine most of us have lists of varying lengths which we have come up with in the course of our lives, whether formally written down or just in our heads.  I've had various versions which have changed as I have changed, and as I have accomplished things.  When I was very young one of my ambitions was to ride in a taxi, which I accomplished on my one and only visit to New York City as a nine-year-old.  Of course I've taken countless taxis since, but I can still remember the excitement of the firs time I ticked something off my "list".

So here, in no particular order, is my current "Bucket List":

• Cruise down the Nile - I'm planning this for my 50th birthday
• Become self-sufficient
• Grow a vegetable garden
• Learn to play the lute
• Visit Murano Island in Venice and buy some Venetian glass
• Meet my birthmother
• Ride a camel/elephant
• Visit Petra in Jordan
• Volunteer for an archaeological dig
• Learn to dance
• Climb to basecamp on Mt Everest (I know my limitations)

And a few things I've ticked off:

• Ride in a taxi
• Live in England
• Spend a night in a museum
• Live in the Napa Valley again
• Find my birthmother (although I haven't met her yet)
• Visit Paris

I'd love to hear what's on your lists.

One for Evie

Rat Song

BY MARGARET ATWOOD

When you hear me singing

you get the rifle down

and the flashlight, aiming for my brain,

but you always miss

and when you set out the poison

I piss on it

to warn the others.

You think: That one’s too clever,

she’s dangerous, because

I don’t stick around to be slaughtered

and you think I’m ugly too

despite my fur and pretty teeth

and my six nipples and snake tail.

All I want is love, you stupid

humanist. See if you can.

Right, I’m a parasite, I live off your

leavings, gristle and rancid fat,

I take without asking

and make nests in your cupboards

out of your suits and underwear.

You’d do the same if you could,

if you could afford to share

my crystal hatreds.

It’s your throat I want, my mate

trapped in your throat.

Though you try to drown him

with your greasy person voice,

he is hiding / between your syllables

I can hear him singing.

Home, Sweet Home?

We are finally here and starting to settle back in, and it feels really strange.  The house is smaller (and shabbier) than I remember and I'm racking up items on my to-do list (mostly small repairs and lots of painting).  There's a leak in the bathroom sink, all the sealant around the tub has turned black, the tenants left heaps of junk in the backyard, it's cold, and grey, and the pretty snow is gone.

But...I'm home.  My house. My home.  So there's lots of work to do - I expected that.  So it's small (cozy) - I can adjust to that again.  So it's a little shabbier - paint's cheap and therapeutic.  And, I've got new carpet! Installed by someone else, so I got to come home to it all done and ready.  

We are also having fun pulling boxes out of storage and rediscovering things ("why did I pack that up and not just throw it away?").  I feel like an archaeologist.  It's a small but significant joy to find a favourite tea towel or wooden spoon. 

So, back to the unpacking and excavation.