Making hay while the sun shines

The Fourth of July is upon me, and I'm unprepared.  No personal fireworks this year, although I may show up for the city's display tonight, viewed from the north shore of Lake Union.  No July 4 family gathering and picnic, although I just returned Sunday from a wonderful gathering of the clan in Idaho.  

Facebook pulled up a photo that I'd posted four years ago, reminding me of a highly entertaining Fourth with friends in San Diego, which leaves me feeling a bit alone and isolated.  Although the Fourth has never been that major of a holiday in my family -- not since the magnificent gunpowder explosions of my childhood.

No, this year the Fourth mainly serves to remind me that we're already edging past the half-way mark of 2023.  How did we ever get here so quickly?

It doesn't feel as though I've had that many adventures so far this year, although by the standards of most folks I've done pretty well.  January on Maui; February riding Amtrak from Los Angeles to Chicago; April out of season on a resort in the North Cascades; last week, hiking, rafting, and visiting with family in central Idaho.  

And, especially, two weeks in May in Italy -- the Cinque Terre, Florence, and Rome.

Enough for most of us -- including me, during most of my lifetime.  But not quite enough for me now, as the realization gradually creeps over me that the future is not inexhaustible.  My future.  If I want to do something, I'd better do it soon.  Despite my claim that I'll live to at least 110. 

All of which leads up to my revelation that the month of September will be spent outside the country, in something of a modified version of September 2022.

I depart for Scotland on August 27, where I'll meet up with my friends Jim and Dorothy, and with Jim's brother and sister, for another Scotland trek.  This time, we'll be  hiking the Rob Roy trail from Drymen (near Loch Lomond) to Pitlochry (in central Scotland).  This is another of a number of unguided hikes I've done in Britain, beginning with my hike along the entire length of Hadrian's Wall in 2010. 

As with all these British hikes, the same company has already reserved accommodations for us each night, and has arranged to have our baggage transported from one B&B or small inn to the next while we are on the trail, carrying only a light daypack.  It's a genteel way to backpack, traveling through a genteel countryside -- somewhat different from the more rugged hikes of my younger years, storming through wilderness and carrying our food and tents on our backs.  But then, I'm a more genteel sort than I was in younger years!

We'll be hiking for eight days, with nine nights accommodations reserved.  Hiking in Britain is always fun, the scenery and history are fascinating, and the diversity of the sleeping arrangements, with hearty breakfasts included, is always exciting.

At the conclusion of the hike in Pitlochry, Jim and Dorothy will return home, but their brother and sister and I will travel by train to London, where we'll stay a night and then catch a plane to Milan the next morning.  In Milan, we'll meet up with John and Anne's respective spouses, hang out for a couple of nights in the city, and then proceed north to Lake Como.

Yes, this will be my third consecutive year on Lake Como, staying each year at the same wonderful rental house, right on the western shore of the lake, about five miles north of Menaggio.  The five of us -- all of us repeating our Como stay together last year -- will stay for a week.  Then for the second week, I'll be joined by my sister and by my brother and his wife.  Just the four of us, for a Sibling Vacation on Lake Como.

These two experiences -- Scotland and Lake Como -- should make up for any supposed lack of excitement during the half of the year just completed.

If not, I may spend a week in Thailand in October, visiting a nephew and his family.  That's another story, a possibility not yet decided upon.  But, as Hillel the Elder famously asked, "If not now, when?"

Each day a leaf falls withered from the tree
Whose leaves make up the life of thee and me,
⁠The leaves are counted and the last is there—
Ready to fall before thy destiny.

--Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam