It’s ABBA month, at least in my car. I don’t have a CD changer or Pandora radio or anything but a simple one-CD player. And mostly, I’m too lazy to change it. So a single CD plays over and over until I finally get sick of it or, more likely, Les is riding with me and insists it be changed as it begins its continuous loop.
In reality, it’s not ABBA singing; it’s the cast of the Mamma Mia movie. It’s a fabulous summer CD I can play with the windows open and my hands banging on the steering wheel as I sing. Loudly. And with my head bouncing. Yeah, I’m sure it’s not a pretty sight. And frankly, I don’t . . . care. It makes me happy.
There’s one song, though, that on each repeat threatens to bring that “odd melancholy feeling.”
In the song “Slipping Through My Fingers” comes this verse:
What happened to the wonderful adventures,
The places I had planned for us to go?
Well some of that we did,
But most we didn’t,
And why I just don’t know.
How many of those wished-for adventures have I had in my life—all waiting for someday. But someday rarely comes.
Here are some of the “someday” adventures that never materialized at our house:
- A trip to DisneyWorld with our daughters
- Return trips to places with wonderful memories—England, New Orleans, Peaks Island, New Mexico, Chicago
- The chance to follow in Anne of Green Gables footsteps on Prince Edward Island
- Visiting missionary friends in Kenya, Alaska, the Bahamas, Bolivia, Guatemala, England, Japan, Italy . . .
- A billion trips to discover new territories—the Pacific Northwest, France, Australia, San Francisco
- Riding the train across Canada, complete with sleeper car berths
Even some of the things we have done have only happened because others refused to accept our “someday.” Merrilee planned an eight-day trip to New Orleans, complete with 21 outstanding meals, booked the plane tickets, and insisted Les take time away from the church so we could go. Terry gave us her time-share in Williamsburg for a specific week so we couldn’t push the trip off. (Some of our other trips—Chicago, New Mexico, Florida, Colorado—occurred only because of conferences we were a part of.)
Someday things don’t have to be big trips to be pushed off into never-done land. We lived in Lancaster City for seven years, less than a mile from President Buchanan’s home and never visited. We’ve had friends travel to Lancaster to see it, but for us, it was always on the “someday” list. Last year, after being back in the county again for five years, we finally made it happen.
Because I work for Ten Thousand Villages, I get a copy of the Discover Lancaster Hospitality Coupon book that provides free or discounted admission to tourist hotspots during May and June. Each year I get the booklet and mark which activities we want to take advantage of—someday—things like free or half-price shows or dinners or admission to a museum. June’s ended; we didn’t get to any of the shows, free or otherwise. We did manage to stop in for a free jar of jam (but not the free pastry or ice cream). All because we never scheduled the dates. The visits were going to happen “someday.”
A perk of my work at Dutch Wonderland is that Les and I can get into HersheyPark for free, as many times as we want, all summer. Last year we got there once. We haven’t gone at all yet this year. We plan to go someday.
But someday never comes.
What comes is this day. A date on the calendar. A day to protect. A day to budget for. A day to make plans about.
The ABBA/Mama Mia song is entitled “Slipping Through My Fingers.” And so “someday” does.
What’s been on your someday list?
How will you schedule and plan for them so they don’t slip through your fingers?