Skywalking

I know a man, eighty-something. Since we met a couple of years ago at the Y he has had a fascination with skydiving. He finally took the leap (pun intended. Like that?) on his birthday last summer.

My philosophy is: why take a perfectly stable aircraft and walk out of it on purpose?

And why it it called sky DIVING? It gives me visions of hurtling through space and landing, best scenario, in a treetop. Why not sky FLOATING? or sky WALKING? Perhaps the nome de change would make me feel a bit more comfortable.

Never mind, you can't convince me this is a good thing to add to my bucket list.  My lists, published and private, include stuff like whitewater rafting, tubing, sailboat rides and floating in a hot air balloon. Some of the items are romantic, dancing on the beach in the moonlight with the man I love. Sipping mimosas at brunch, Kayaking in the lagoons on a summer morning . You'll notice none of the above include a death-by-jumping-out-of-airplane.

Here I am, a couple of years after the first bucket list. Still no mimosas or dancing in the moonlight, no sailboat or hot air balloon. Sigh...I will be sixty two in a few months...if not now, then when? After all, I am no spring chicken--more like a tough old roaster.

Grow up, I've been told.  I tried that once. I didn't like it. This time, I will grow up my way.  I think of Bob taking his life in his hands, trusting to brief instruction and a piece of cloth and string. He is twenty years my senior. He wasn't afraid to try something new, yet here I am full of wanting to try, but too frightened to take a chance!

By the time our class reunion comes in 2014, if I go at all, I will go with my bucket list--99% of it crossed off.

I'm a little scared of my long scroll of pursuits. Some are next to impossible because I have to depend on someone else to make them happen. Some are expensive. Give it up, they say when I tell them what I plan. Or they tell me I'm crazy.

Time will tell.

Maybe I should reconsider sky walking.