A friend of mine died a few days ago. RD had not been in good health for some time, but none the less it was shocking news. We were supposed to meet for lunch last summer in Des Moines, but he cancelled. His health dictated he return home earlier than scheduled. RD was a teacher and coach who spent his entire career in the same high school. He will be remembered by hundreds for his contributions to the community.
This is not the first time I experienced the loss of a friend, nor will it be the last. We 'baby boomers' are rapidly approaching that age when we turn first to the obits before reading the news or the sports page. But this is not intended to be a downer of a blog. Instead, my purpose is to challenge you, no matter at what stage of life you find yourself, to live each day as if it might be the last.
I never intended to do the things I've done or go the places I've gone. My life's plan mirrored that of my parents. Get a job, marry, have a couple of kids and go on vacation for a couple of weeks a year. Wow, I veered off that path and left those in the dust.
I won't chronicle for you the jobs I had or the places I lived. Instead I want to tell a story from two summers ago. My big German friend Jons and I were sitting on one of the narrow streets in my village on the Mediterranean at nine on a wonderful evening. Our discussion of world politics was interrupted when we had to move our camping chairs in order to let a car pass. This is not an unusual occurrence, but this was not an ordinary car. This was a yellow and black taxi. In most cities this would not be odd, but in Marseillan the taxis are just cars with lights on top. Our curiosity aroused, we approached the driver. To our surprise he had driven the fare from Barcelona and was returning to his city that night.
Jons looked at me and smiled. Two minutes later we were in the cab and on our way to Spain. The only thing we grabbed was a six pack of beer. No clothes. No extra money. No plan.
Barcelona is a three-hour drive and we arrived near the beach area at one. I had my credit cards and a little cash, and we made our way from bar to bar. Jons is twenty years younger than I am and he was still the oldest by far in any of the stops. The young Spaniards treated us like celebrities, and we bought few if any rounds. At four the bars closed, and we were hungry. In my younger years, Taco Bell filled the need for late night grazing. A sign pointed to a Macs and we celebrated as if it were an oasis in the desert.
Only the drive through was open and we were not driving. When we got to the window they would not serve us...only if driving a car or on a bicycle. Undeterred we went to the car behind us and somehow convinced the driver who spoke no English or French but sympathized with two obviously drunken foreigners to purchase our very happy meals.
A big Mac would never taste that good again. Sitting on the beach at five in the morning with the glow of Barcelona behind and the waves gently breaking will always be a memory I'll cherish. Jons opted for the sand and I chose a stone beach lounger and we awoke two hours later to rain pelting down. At that point nothing could dampen our enthusiasm.
My story ends there but my hunger for living doesn't. I travel alone now and I'm learning to enjoy the freedom. A year ago, I flew to Lisbon, Portugal for a week. At the end of April I fly to Rome. Next year my plan is Athens. At my age I never plan any further ahead than that.