It's no secret that I like to travel. Road trips, day trips, excursions, museum visits, ferry rides, bike rides, let's go. You can't spell 'walkies' around me cause I'll be at the door with or without leash ready to go, go, go.

I've been to many places, more than some, less than others. But largely because I'll say "yes." That's how London happened last fall. When my friend fjm said she was looking for a cat sitter at her London home I leapt. The obvious people to invite were and e_bourne as traveling to England, to London was one of things we talked about in the hospital and through our recovery. We also talked about other places. Elizabeth and I have always wanted to see Egypt. I adore Rome and know they'd love the wonders of Pompeii. Paris for oh so many reasons--a Renaissance hotel built on the ruins of a medieval abbey built on the ruins of a roman temple and baths, build on the ruins of Celtic temples built on who knows what. The Louvre alone is worth a week, a month. So when the chance for London came we said yes. I invited others to join us, but it's hard to make schedules work when times are lean and money tight. I know that scarlettina would have come if the job wasn't so uncertain. My friends Sebastian and Joey were much in the same boat. So it was just the three of us and it worked out well. We wanted to see much of the same things and my iPhone worked for maps, pub locations, and more. Starbucks are terrific places for free wifi--not just in the USA and England but even in Aruba!

I'm so glad we went. We lost Mark in February. His loss has left a hole in my heart and mind that's not mending. I move away from asking why. And try to think, what's next. Where shall I go? Elizabeth has said she'll let me know when she's ready to travel again. I'd happily go just about anywhere with her--possibly not to a knitters retreat but she has plenty of comrades in needles and knots for that.

Next year I'll be 50. I've come very close to the edge several times in my life. Cancer, the bike accident, surgery, assaults, but I've come through each and it looks like I will see 50. I've had much taken away from me by those events. I'll not be a Mom, I'm no longer a wife, I seem to have lost the ability to write along with my memories, maths, and other skills. I worry about how I'll take care of myself in the future. But I also know that life is short. Sudden unexpected things happen. So I try include people in everything. I share, I seize the day. And I go places. There is great joy in riding my bike. Not just the physical pleasure but the freedom of being under your own control and power. The freedom to move at a different pace. The freedom to work a little harder in a body that, eventually, enjoys that movement, craves it. I don't know that I'll ever be able to run again--falling is no fun--but I can ride my bike.

I want to travel. I want to get rid of most everything that's holding me back and I want to visit all the continents. I want to see the pyramids, elephants in the wild, I want to swim in the oceans--even the cold ones. I want to have a cup of tea and watch birds, or seals, or lizards, or ponies.

In other words. Peripatetic woman wants out.

I think that will be the year 2013. If I spend this year working. Getting rid of things and doing some traveling. Then next year, next year, I'll see the world.

I dreamt last night that Ishmael traveled with me. He rode in a box on the back of my bike and in a carrier on my back. Not really practical. But if the cat in my dreams can do it well, perhaps I can. TBI Girl, Peripatetic Woman, Shelly, Shusher of Lions. That's me. Right?

Want to go someplace?
Anon

Sea kayaking. Me and a jellyfish.

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Ishmael likes to bring me things. Usually it's a toy of some sort. He's got a feather on a fishing rod that he's very fond of, wee catnip mousies, catnip bananas, and bouncie balls.

This morning as I was making tea he trotted into the kitchen and instead of greeting me he poked around the bag of peanuts that I keep for crows. Eventually I thought, "that's odd" and moved the peanut bag. There was a wee frightened mouse. After a chase, Ishmael and I cornered the sleekit creature in a pile of books whereupon I trapped it in an empty Starbucks ice tea cup.

He did not seem too much worse for wear.

So I walked him across the street to a little park and let him go in the ivy. He scurried off and disappeared.

Ishmael spent some time searching in vain and is now running amuck around the apartment.

A mighty hunter indeed.
Anon

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I am not blonde. I had brown hair for most of my life except when I was swimming AAU when my hair was green from the chlorine. Now my hair is grey. I try to disguise the grey by adding highlights rather than just dying the whole mess.

See? Me on a pony in Oklahoma.

Me and my brother in Tacoma in the 70s

And...

Me, my brother, and Katie, the Irish Setter puppy.

Also for the record. Resenting someone for their hair color or height is akin to resenting someone for being Jewish, Asian or whatever. Get over it.
Anon

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