Every six months I visit my doctor for a procedure. It takes a while for the drugs to kick in, so we chat for a few minutes beforehand each time. He’s an elderly man; I have no idea how old, but he’s definitely past retirement age. He’s been a doctor his entire adult life.
Today we talked about Paris. He’s never really traveled before; he and his wife have more or less stayed in the area or spent time with his kids over the years. Ventures outside the country have been rare, and vacations with just the two of them virtually nonexistent. So, he’s realized a couple of things. The first is that he’s traveled and vacationed very little. The second is that he doesn’t have that much time left to do these things before becoming dead, senile, or immobile.
He and his wife are going to Paris. They’re staying in a hotel that I’ve stayed in, and they’re going to spend a few days in the Loire Valley as well. I offered a few suggestions for the area and we got into a rather involved discussion about how his cell phone would (or wouldn’t) work in Paris. It was a good chat.
He said to come back in six months, and as I was walking out, instructed me to get a haircut, because I look like a hippie.