I didn’t read the book or see the movie but I liked the idea. I’ve been keeping a mental “bucket list” most of my life without having a title for it.
When I graduated from high school, I had to tender a wish list for the yearbook blurb. Mine was “getting a poem published in The New Yorker”. As my writing friends know, I consider myself a terrible poet, even a non-poet. But I write poetry and have most of my life. I’ve had three poems published — probably the only three poems of any quality that I’ve written in 59 years.
Another item on my bucket list is getting a tattoo. Now, I’ve held off on that one for various reasons, some probably specious and some practical. In the last decade, I’ve believed that no credible tattoo artist would work on me, because I’m on bloodthinners. But my shared-daughter Tshandra White recently told me that I can probably get one. She takes bloodthinners and has gotten tattoos while on them. So, “getting a tattoo” remains on my bucket list.
It would be a small angel entwined in a long-stemmed rose. The placement would be somewhere that one would need permission to view. Very inconspicuous. As small as possible without making it indiscernible. Delicate.
Another item which has been on my bucket list for decades is owning a passport. Oh, yes, I know I can have one in four to six weeks with minimal effort and expense. But the item stands only as a symbol. The desire behind the symbol: needing a passport. Having a trip out of the U.S.A. on the radar, that is. That has not happened in 59 years, and now that the need for the trip to Lourdes that my favorite curmudgeon and I planned has sadly vanished, I don’t see it happening.
So the most radical item on my list remains the tattoo. I don’t know if I will ever get it. Arguments pro and con raged on Facebook overnight due to my simple post, “I still want a tattoo.” I might simply continue to fantasize about it. Or I might design the tattoo and have someone paint a piece of art for my wall in the design. Or, who knows, I might just get one done, on a few inches of Irish white skin which only those to whom I grant leave will see.
So keep watching my face for a Mona Lisa smile; if you see it, you’ll know that I’ve crossed an item off my bucket list.