Nature teaches us how to die

Before we quit we must submit. That at least is our plan.  In an unanticipated move this morning we suddenly began discussing a new way of doing things; specifically, flying (instead of driving) to Hilton Head Island next year. The thesis is that my progressive decline is undermining my driving. Even if it were not categorically true at the moment, it is a prediction we feel should be addressed judiciously.  Not only for the obvious safety reasons; but also to adopt a more simplified way of doing things without the burden of worry.  Besides – as we have also reasoned – it might constitute a welcome change.  Frankly, drivng back and forth to and from South Carolina and Florida for over the past decade has lost some of its allure. We’ve seen the Blue Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley, as well as the A1A from top (Jacksonville Beach) to bottom (Key West) and a good deal on the Gulf coast as well (though admittedly we have yet to accomplish Route 66).

This transformation of thought comes upon the distillation of other customs.  We’ve pretty much decided that we can bear the deprivation of direct sunlight (which was especially threatening in the Florida Keys where the average daily temperature under perfectly clear skies was 86°F and above). Of course such magnificent weather is not to be diminished but the healthful realty is less persuasive particularly when there is a history of cancer in the family. Meanwhile we’ve opted for Hilton Head Island as our preferred resort because of its familiarity and sanctioned benefits (cycling on the beach, nearby estimable eateries, trusted estate agent, seclusion, proximity and the like).

This is not to say we’re hopelessly commited to tiresome routine.  We’ve canvassed the possibility of travel by train.  We’ve booked a Caribbean cruise. And the year 2026 is currently wide open.  In the meantime we’re contenting ourselves with local excursions and visits to our erstwhile favourite haunts. The other notable feature which is likewise progressively overtaking us is the old business of “home sweet home”; namely, a growing avowal of burgeoning domesticity. It is a commonalty among many older people, no doubt a product of having to confess the less desirable factors of aging which themselves impose unanticipated burdens and thus obstruction to travel. But before we become completely sedentary we thought it useful and accommodating to change not so much what we do as how we do it. It has as well never fully escaped me that too often we’re tempted to ignore the rare opportunities at our door without having to elude the environment. Plus we have friends who are moving to Nova Scotia where they’re building a new home.  We hope on occasion to employ that momentousness as a means of vicarious pleasure as we share with them their fortuitous evolution au bord de la mer.