Balloon Dreams

In third grade, my entire class participated in a balloon launch. This was in the eighties and the Reagan era had us in love with the skies. I should also note that this was long before balloon launches were considered horrible affronts against the environment.

On each of our balloon strings we were to tie a half sheet of paper, with a paragraph about something in our lives we wanted to acheive. I wanted a purple balloon, but there were no purple balloons, so I hoped to get a blue one -- by the time I got one, only pink were left. I didn't want pink, but I eagerly tied my paragraph, its lines fresh off the mimeograph machine that when freshly printed always smelled strangely like mayonnaise.

My wish was that I would one day travel to Paris with my husband. We had to post a copy of the paragraph on the cinderblock wall outside our classroom. I took a lot of flack for mine as I recall. Yes, I was a wannabe jetset even at eight years old.

My husband and I haven't done it yet, but I really hope that one day soon, we will. I looked at flights and such online this morning and I am optimistic that we could afford something like that in a year or two.

It's funny though, a couple of months ago when we were discussing vacations, my husband said to me, "I never expected to be able to travel much when I got older".

*choke*

I was flummoxed!

I can never travel as much as I want (or maybe need) to. I itch after a few months to jump on a plane and get out of town. I want to see an unfamiliar city, or to stroll through a familiar one (like New York) so often it's a bit disconcerting.

And so, off I go, in search of cheap flights on the internet again...