I don't remember a single day in my entire childhood that I ever felt we weren't living on a budget.
"For a rainy day ..."
or
"You never know ..."
... were phrases offered to me instead of "Let's go to Mexico!"
My family did travel a lot, but our method for doing so was a camper wedged on top of my dad's old Ford pick-up. There was no AC in the back, (the camper part), no television, no music, nothing but the endless, stream of billboards whizzing by.
It wasn't so bad in the early '70s when the billboards were plentiful and entertaining, but by the late '70s, highway beautification had stepped in, and all we had to look forward to was another 60 miles of trees before the next rest stop.
I became a champion day-dreamer.
To this day, I have a fear of driving long distances without a co-pilot because I may go into "the zone" the second I hit a nice long stretch of open road.
I asked my folks a lot when growing up, if we could travel in higher style, to better places, or if I could just stay the fuck home and sun-bathe in the yard while they high-tailed up the highway, but Mom was relentless. She wanted us to see the country, and she wanted to do it all within some magical budget that she revealed to no one, but that was always there hovering over us like a green cloud.
Mom spoke fluent French and had a love of all things French. She had a pen-pal for 50 years in France whom she hadn't seen since college. We'd been to Montreal (cause you can drive there) countless times, but she'd never been to France or anywhere else off the North American continent.
I remember the time when, after all the kids were out of the house and life was quiet, my mother surveyed her retirement accounts, my dad's pension plan, the savings, the real estate investments and what was left for the kids and decided it was ok to let loose.
"Now I'm gonna have some fun," she told us. She had a stroke that year and died 5 years later.
"I will not postpone my life!" was the message I kept with me after she died.
But I forgot.
I got busy.
I spent years obsessing about my future, trying to create some kind of a nest egg for myself, trying to do something to make myself feel safe in this world.
I traveled a lot but rarely out of the tri-state area.
Then September 11th happened.
After months of feeling as though I could not leave New York City for any reason, because to do so would mean walking out on a loved one in trouble, I slowly started putting the pieces back together. But the puzzle had changed. I wasn't who I'd been anymore. I was someone new. Most of us were.
I looked at the new me with bewilderment. I'm still looking.
"I will not postpone my life" morphed into "Today I will live life."
I went to London and spent a week walking around in the rain, discovering the city by foot.
I took chances.
I let my guard down for the right people.
I jumped instead of tiptoeing.
All this is leading up to my crazy spontaneous trip to Spain.
I've never been to Spain. I don't speak Spanish. I hate to fly. I am frightened of going to new places. I am frightened of different countries. I am frightened.
I'm practical. I book trips well in advance. I get the best prices.
Not this time. It's a last-minute trip. Well, at least for me. I got a good price but not a great one, and I'm flying 4 times in one week. I fly into Madrid and after a few days go to Ibiza, spend some time there and then to Barcelona for 4 days.
It's not very me, but it is who I want to be.
More daring, more fun, more willing to embrace newness and change.
I head my mother's message and my new September 11th mantra, and they play off each other.
"I will not postpone my life. Today I will live life."
They have bonded into some kind of melody that plays in my head often. The lyrics change but essentially mean the same thing. It's usually sung to me by a raspy voiced rock-tress like Janis Joplin or Melissa Etheridge.
Today. I will live. Today I will fly. Today I will not be afraid and if I am I will take my fear and ride it into this excellent un-written chapter of my life. My life is today.
Buenos tardes, noches, dias ... take yer pick. I'll eat some fantastico comida for you-all.
Adios! This pequito senora is off to Madrid!
