Get a move on

Just so you know how this turns out, I am writing this from the balcony of a little B&B in Mondello, overlooking a blue-green Mediterranean while the morning sun spills over the hills in nearby Palermo. I’m nibbling on a bit of left-over lobster tortellini I couldn’t finish at the restaurant last night. But the story itself happened a week ago on a cool autumn day at our home near Katoomba in the Blue Mountains.

Get a move on

I sat by the window with my cup of coffee, speculating. My 63rd birthday was coming up in four days.

It would have been a minor event except for the online survey I had filled in yesterday (sent out by my electronic greeting card supplier, of all things). The survey had gone fine until the last question, which had asked me to specify my age category. The last choice on the list was “Over 63”. After my initial indignation (“What kind of a number is 63 to have heading up a category?!”), I had fallen into a low grade panic that had stayed with me since. You’d better get a move on, a demanding voice in my head kept whispering.

So this morning I had sat down with my cup of coffee, intent on planning a celebration that would quiet the urgent get-a-move-on voice. Obviously that meant a travel celebration, appropriate as travel was a thing I was most enjoying since my retirement a year ago.

Spike, my husband of 30 years who was having a bit of a sleep in, would go along with anything. He loved an adventure as much as I did. And although he hadn’t realised it, he was in the last category too.

I turned it around in my head for awhile and finally moved to the computer and called up Google World. I stared at big orange Australia filling the screen in front of me. The cat jumped into my lap, demanding a bit of attention. I stroked it idly while I contemplated the Kimberlies, Broome, Margaret River. All wonderful choices and all on the wish list. But the get-a-move-on voice was pushing me further afield.

I used my mouse and thoughtfully spun the globe.

Malaysia. Hmmm.

India. Nepal.

The Middle East?

An African safari!

France – always a favourite destination. Spain, never been there. Italy. Hmmmm – Italy. My heart tripped a little.

Another rotation took me to the Americas. No, not this time. Galapagos Islands. Without a doubt, near the top of the list. Imagine snorkelling in those sublime waters with those wonderful creatures. I lost myself in the Galapagos for an hour while I trolled Google Maps and Wikipedia.

The cat sat patiently on the floor beside me.

You know, it didn’t really matter where. The world was so full of wonder and beauty and adventure that it really didn’t matter.

In the end, the mouse wandered back to Europe, and began to home in on Italy. It paused near Tuscany, Umbria. Ahhhh, Palermo. Sunshine, antiquity, Mediterranean waters. I mean, why not, when you’re making the big move into the last category. Spike would fuss a bit about the money but he knew as well as I did that we had enough.

I turned to the cat. “All right, it’s been decided. Palermo it is. You’re going to the neighbours for a couple weeks.” The cat turned its back to me.

“Spike? Come on, get up. We’ve got things to do, places to go.”