My Bucket List


 I first used the term

I finally got a round tuit.

"Bucket List" in a

post back in November.

The post, "The Wright Stuff", was about my decision, after a visit to Dr. Woo's office, to finally visit the Guggenheim,
something I've wanted to do forever. Having lived in New York all my life, there was absolutely no reason why I hadn't fulfilled this particular, non-demanding dream before. It was just one of those things I kept telling myself I would do when I got around to it. Since Dr. Woo's office is pretty much around the corner from the museum, I couldn't come up with an excuse not to go. Anyway, as you know, I had a blast. But going to an iconic art museum virtually in my own back yard was a piece of cake. So I started to ponder what I really wanted to do before shuffling off this mortal coil. I mean the hard stuff, the stuff that heretofore I really had viable excuses for not doing. The first thing that popped into my head was the most obvious: I've always, always, wanted to travel. I'd read magazines or watch TV and see some really magnificent sites and say to myself, "self, you're gonna die before ever seeing any of those places". The excuses (or as my shrink would have put it, the "resisitances") were always around and handy: I was working. I was tired. I was married. I was single. I was broke. That was my favorite. Being broke is a great excuse for not doing a lot of things, because it's actually a valid reason. Truth be told, however, if you want something badly enough, you find a way to make it happen. It took my almost fatal run-in with pneumonia for me to realize that if I ever actually want to see any of these exotic locals, I better get a move on. So I started researching where to go on my first exciting excursion. I'd already been to Israel twice and while I absolutely adore being there and intend to go back (hopefully more than once), this trip was going to be different. The only other faraway lands I'd been to were Mexico about 100 years ago and Rochelle Park, New Jersey. I decided I wanted to go to Europe. Being the happy-and-peppy guy that I am, my first thought was not Paris or London, where I could marvel at the Eiffel Tower or Buckingham Palace. Oh, on, those would be too pedestrian for an intellectual like me. I wanted to go to Auschwitz! Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Krackow; now there's a line-up of places where I could see as many Jewish cemeteries as my little demented heart desired. I figured if I doubled up on the Zoloft while I was there, I'd be okay. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) I couldn't find anyone who was doing a guided tour of Eastern Europe this year. I called Rabbi Pesach Krohn and Rabbi Berel Wein. Rabbi Krohn hurt himself last time he was in Israel and isn't going anywhere for a while and Rabbi Wein is going to Africa. Last time I checked, Africa wasn't part of Europe. It's also outrageously expensive. So I went back to the proverbial drawing board. Well, I finally found a tour that was perfect for me. Can you guess where I'm going? Stay tuned!