Make the time to blow bubbles

I have a bucket list, of sorts.
I don’t really think of the list as things I want to do before I take my last breath. That seems a bit like encouraging the dying thing; bringing it in to focus.
Most of us, after all, just pretend dying will never happen.
My list isn’t a long one–just enough entries to keep me moving forward. Some of them aren’t much of a challenge, like the sweater I have been knitting for 12 years that sits in the top of my closet and stares at me every night as I drift off to sleep, wagging its finger at me and calling me unkind names.
I convince myself that I’ll get back to the knitting tomorrow. And we all know where tomorrow ends up.
Let me see what else currently is on my list. Oh, there’s one. Stop thinking you need pets. It’s a little late for that now as my pets probably will out-live me; and they have their own to-do list that seems to include leave hair everywhere possible.
I don’t have the will to cycle across Canada or to climb to Machu Picchu in Peru, though I did do a project about the Incas when I was in Grade 5 and thought a trip to see the ancient citadel would be quite interesting.
It’s 2,430 metres above sea level. That’s quite a climb and, besides, the Incas were into human sacrifices, mostly women, and flinging them into volcanoes seemed like a good idea apparently.
I can’t abide that behaviour, so I’ll not make that journey this time round.
Here’s another good entry on my list. Try to get through a week without eating cookies. That’s going to take some mindfulness, some kind mindfulness.
Meditating has been on my list for more years than I care to confess, certainly more years than that knitting project has been underway.
I’m supposed to start each day with my hand on my chest saying, “Good morning, Wendi, I love you,” though I’d much rather say, “Good morning, Wendi, have a cookie.” But that’s just me.
I’m not sure the rules about such things as meditation are clearly defined.
I used to think I wanted to run a marathon. Turns out I don’t. Nor do I want to swim the English Channel. But I do want to learn to speak Ojibway or Cree, though I’m not sure how to go about that (more research is required).
Another entry is to learn deaf sign language. One of my mother’s sisters was deaf, born without an auditory nerve. We all learned to talk on our hands, spelling out each word, which was slow but we were all very good at it and we could talk to my aunt with relative ease.
I’d like to learn the official American Sign Language.
There are a few things that aren’t on my list that probably should be, such as parting with all my old running shoes. I keep them to cut the grass in or to paint in.
Unfortunately, I have enough derelict running shoes to see me through to the next millennium. In fact, I could cut the inventory safely in half and still be well-prepared for cutting the lawn.
Kick the kakuro habit would free up a whole lot of time, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon. And learning to do the two-finger whistle always has been on my list since I was old enough to call my dog (I’m still hopeful).
I keep my book of lists at hand so that I can write in it any time a brilliant idea comes to mind. I’m sure I’ll fill up the pages until time runs out.
Play hopscotch. Build a tree fort and blow bubbles with my grandchildren. . . .