Wants

I want red hair.

I want a digital camera.

I want to lie on the couch for three hours and read for pleasure without feeling guilty about not working.

I want to lose weight, but not if it means giving up chocolate Heath Bar ice cream.

I want to have one day completely to myself.

I want to learn how to fly. I also want to learn how to pilot a plane. These are not the same wants.

I want to still want to have sex with Tab when we are grandparents.

I want a week's worth of nights with eight hours of sleep.

I want to play the flute again.

I want to try hangliding.

I want a Palm Pilot.

I want one whole day in which I don't have to play referee in my sons' fights.

I want to see Antarctica.

I want to have read Proust. I do not want to read Proust.

I want to learn to waltz.

I want the weather to warm up soon so Bogdan, the good looking Ukrainian guy next door, will wash his car shirtless.

I want a Birman cat.

I want my sons to still be close to each other when they are grown.

I want to travel through time the way Si Morley does in Time and Again by Jack Finney.

I want a cable modem.

I want a house with a big backyard for the boys to play in, pear trees out front, and room enough for all our books.

I want a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich like Nana used to make for me.

I want to fly first class.

I want a blue Volkswagon Beetle.

I want a black dress with a constellation of tiny rhinestones just like the one I didn't buy fifteen years because it cost more than my month's rent.

I want everyone in my house to be nice to each other for a day.

I want to sip a margarita at that tiny restaurant on Olivera Street we visited ten years ago.

I want to live in San Franciso. I also want to live down the street from my mother in Maine.

I want to lie on the beach and not worry about ultraviolet rays.

I want to go out to dinner with Tab at the Blue Danube.

I want the Riverside Chaucer.

I want to give my sons a happy childhood.

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