Good Morning.
The movie The Bucket List with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman got terrible reviews, but I have watched it three or four times because I watch almost anything with Jack Nicholson or Morgan Freeman. In this particular film, two old boys being
treated for cancer share a hospital room and decide to do a lot of stuff in the year they have remaining. Flying around the globe in a jet owned by billionaire Edward Cole, Nicholson's character, they drive race cars, go skydiving, take a safari, and visit the Taj Mahal, the pyramids, and Hong Kong, where Carter Chambers, Freeman's character, realizes, after turning down the favors of a prostitute, that he is still in love with his wife and wants to go home. Cole, estranged from his daughter, pays her a visit and meets his granddaughter. Eventually the remains of the two gentlemen are buried in coffee cans atop Mount Everest.
There's an attempt to balance the indulgences of living high on the hog for several months with the discovery of their better selves by these two, but Roger Ebert, himself a cancer patient, was disgusted with virtually every second of the movie. He made the considerable point that terminally ill people being subjected to powerful drugs with terrible side effects are not likely to go gallivanting around the world when they can barely walk across a room without assistance or keep their latest meal down. Nevertheless, most people who saw the film paused to think about what they'd like to do, money no object, while they're well enough to do it.
Some would do dumb, scary things like wrestle an alligator but virtually everyone would travel and travel in style. None of this bumping along in an old bus in a third-world country or being tented in mosquito netting in a place with no running water. No sampling fried bugs for dinner or drinking wine made from mushrooms. I have never been a fan of cruising anywhere on a floating hotel, but I would certainly do the Delta Queen on the Mississippi or a barge with exquisite French food on the Loire. I'd spend the month of October every year in New England but at an inn with a fireplace in every room and plenty of big towels. The only inconvenience I would agree to suffer during my travels would be a bit of chilly weather while I was watching the penguins up at the North Pole. I like penguins because they walk funny.
As for doing something nice, I would build mini-parks in every neighborhood, rich or poor, with flowers and benches, a dog area, and a playhouse for younger visitors. I saw a TV program last weekend where a husband and wife team build playhouses for a living, but these ain't your regular, come-in-a-box-with-hardware-and-instructions houses. These are magical, fully-
furnished structures worthy of a fairy tale and these are the residences I would build. This is because even though I am an American, I am a goofy one who would rather live in a cottage than a castle. I am moving next week to a little gem of a place with old cabinets and bad closets that don't concern me at all, but I need to do something about the towels. They are foolish and small.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
Comments