I can’t speak for Pa, but I knew it would be this way.
A year ago, two years ago, when I was dreaming, thinking, beginning to plan, even then I knew I would only scratch the surface.
Those who say, “you can’t take it with you” are right of course. As are those who say, “you can’t see it all,” even in a lifetime. Whoever has?
Phileas Fogg, what did he hope for?
Surely he knew he’d only have a bird’s eye view.
Pa and I, we’ve been given twice the time, and yet it’s not enough. There’s not a place we’ve been that we wouldn’t have stayed longer or wished we’d seen more.
People write, “oh you must see . . . “ Yes we should. And sometimes we do, but more often we can’t.
Father Time is always lurking, cajoling, dragging us along.
And the muses,
they whisper, “if you stay, what will you miss?”
It’s a challenge, this balancing.
You stay here, so you can’t stay there. You see this, and you miss that.
But that’s life of course.
Take the last 48 hours.
On the road from Monemvasia, we drove into the mountains,
or seem it seemed.
But we couldn't touch them.
And the other road,
how nice it would have been to follow it.
In Nafplio, where’s there’s so much,
we just got a taste.
And the old man,
has he seen it all?
But we did stay up to see the lights on the harbor,
and wake early to see the sun rise
on the old castle
and the valley below.
But we moved on. More decisions.
This way,
or that?
And we took the one on the left, and the world opened up,
and we discovered Aylos BacíEIoS,
and stopped for coffee,
and stayed for breakfast,
and met Selio and his nephew, Theos.
But there are other roads,
and had we taken another and not this one,
we wouldn’t have discovered the Canal at Korinthos,
and learned of its architect and engineer, Istvan Turr.
But we couldn’t stay in Corinth, as the Suzuki had to be returned.
And we wanted to get to Athens,
and scratch the surface there.
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