At breakfast, Ed and I talked about travel. I had mumbled something about not wanting to spend the rest of my days weeding (even as I then proceeded to weed for a good chunk of the day -- it is such good exercise!). I felt that tug of wanting to explore. And I asked him if he was satisfied with having visited only a handful of the European and Asian and African countries. Wasn't there another spot on the planet he would be curious to see?
We listed all the places we'd been to together. Four continents, eighteen countries. He says it's enough. I try to tempt him, but for him, the effort of getting elsewhere is just too great. The trade off is not worth it. And then he asks:
Tell me, if I said to you that you could not take photos or blog or write about your travels, would you still be excited to go far away?
I quickly responded that I've been crazily traveling (and insatiably wanting to travel) ever since I first went off on my own at age 18, way before blogging or writing became such a constant in my life. But I had to admit that I have always traveled with a camera suspended around my neck. Always. If you took that away from me, I'd feel lost.
As is his way, Ed pushed me to plan trips where both -- writing and photography -- would figure prominently. (In other words, "not just Paris.") To not give in to the constraints of age.
He's right. All I need is for this Covid pandemic to magically go away.
In other news -- for the first time since I've lived here, I told Ed today to take his lunch elsewhere. Like maybe the sheep shed where I would not have to smell it or see it.
He's been itching to try frying up one of those puff balls that sprouts right about now in various places in the yard. You know the kind: big, more than half a foot in diameter, growing in some shady spot. He did his research and insists they are safe to eat. At least during a brief window of maturity, before they start turning a poisonous brown. I asked him if his research consisted of watching youtube videos of goofy guys frying up everything from bugs to weeds. He rolled his eyes, snitched a bar of butter and retreated to the shed.
I am happy to report that two hours later, he is still alive and well, though some toxins do take their sweet time before they do you in. Ed claims the puff ball was tasty and chewy and a little like eating fried tofu. That says it all, don't you think?
I worked in the flower beds. Weeding, until I could weed no more. But during this seemingly boring set of hours, I thought about travel. And photography. And writing. And how cool it will be when it all comes together again for me, even as my once-occasional-traveling-companion is likely to stay home and eat reheated pizza while I explore the next new place and the one after.
