To See the World...
Like mrdreamjeans mentioned in one of his entries a few days ago, I mailed my application to renew my passport on April 7, and today -- exactly 10 days later -- my new one arrived, crisp and clean and unblemished. I hope to change its state of wear in the near future! In any event, now seems to be a good time to apply/reapply for a passport, folks. The turn-around expectation is 2 months, but the Department of State apparently has its game on right now, so expediting fees would be a waste of precious moolah.
This is my fourth passport, and, because canceled ones are returned with the new and ratified ones, I was able to play the "age parade," lining them opened to the exposed photos in a row, and sighing heavily at the nasty progression. I was so young in the first one -- 22 or 23 -- and I looked like a 12 year old prepubescent girl. Of course, the upside is that I am here to make the comparison at all.
I pulled out David's old passports, and looked at his last official photograph, his face frozen in time, forever a youthful 35.
I did not want to do all this without him.
David had always maintained that we would not go gently into that dark night, but neither would we rage at it -- rather, we would together celebrate the aging process as part of "The Great Adventure," as he deemed it. So when the day came that one of us was assigned a prescription to treat high blood pressure or glaucoma or some other age-related malady, we would pop open a bottle of champagne and toast to the new era we were about to embark upon. He actually made aging seem fun and exciting and certainly nothing to dread. Of course, we were young and healthy (so we both assumed, anyway, mercifully unknowing of what lay ahead), and becoming a senior citizen was so far away that it felt more like a nebulous concept than anything actually grounded in reality.
In an attempt to honor his memory, I purchased a bottle of Dom Perignon, which I could little afford, when last October I had to start taking Crestor for my high cholesterol. I tried to recall David's enthusiasm for the occasion, but, my heart in my throat, I was unable to open it up.
The Passport Photo Parade this afternoon has changed that. So I am currently sipping and typing, typing and sipping.
You know what? Dom Perignon is kinda' gross.
This is my fourth passport, and, because canceled ones are returned with the new and ratified ones, I was able to play the "age parade," lining them opened to the exposed photos in a row, and sighing heavily at the nasty progression. I was so young in the first one -- 22 or 23 -- and I looked like a 12 year old prepubescent girl. Of course, the upside is that I am here to make the comparison at all.
I pulled out David's old passports, and looked at his last official photograph, his face frozen in time, forever a youthful 35.
I did not want to do all this without him.
David had always maintained that we would not go gently into that dark night, but neither would we rage at it -- rather, we would together celebrate the aging process as part of "The Great Adventure," as he deemed it. So when the day came that one of us was assigned a prescription to treat high blood pressure or glaucoma or some other age-related malady, we would pop open a bottle of champagne and toast to the new era we were about to embark upon. He actually made aging seem fun and exciting and certainly nothing to dread. Of course, we were young and healthy (so we both assumed, anyway, mercifully unknowing of what lay ahead), and becoming a senior citizen was so far away that it felt more like a nebulous concept than anything actually grounded in reality.
In an attempt to honor his memory, I purchased a bottle of Dom Perignon, which I could little afford, when last October I had to start taking Crestor for my high cholesterol. I tried to recall David's enthusiasm for the occasion, but, my heart in my throat, I was unable to open it up.
The Passport Photo Parade this afternoon has changed that. So I am currently sipping and typing, typing and sipping.
You know what? Dom Perignon is kinda' gross.