If today was my last day on earth...

I'd eat a lot of potato chips

Queen Elizabeth’s death got me thinking.

So much pomp and circumstance. So much preparation. The plan was called Operation London Bridge. It had its own Wikipedia page.

While the world was making elaborate plans, I wonder what the Queen was doing and thinking as her final days approached.

I normally write about small things in life and the joy that they bring me by noticing them.

Today, I am taking a risk and moving out of my comfort zone to share something a little deeper.

What if today was my last day on earth? What would I do?

I’d start my day the same way I always do. The alarm goes off. I put it on snooze, and I say out loud to the alarm clock, “ten more minutes.” Not sure why I feel accountable to the alarm clock. I guess it makes me feel better.

After ten more minutes, my alarm goes off again. Then, I roll over, hug my beloved, get out of bed, trip over the dog sleeping on the floor (as you may recall, he is very big), and race the cats downstairs. Our two little felines are always very hungry in the morning.

Then I make my coffee. I hate black coffee. I’ve always had it black, because of the extra calories from sugar and cream. On my last day on earth, I would splurge and sweeten it with a huge scoop of pralines and cream ice cream.

I’d get a chocolate croissant to go with my coffee.

I’d cancel every zoom meeting I have for the day as well as all of the recurring ones. Obviously, I won’t be there for those in the future.

I’d water my succulent plants. They will be fine for about ten days without me. By then, hopefully, one of my kids would adopt them.

I’d put on a bikini that hasn’t fit me in years and jump in my next-door neighbor’s swimming pool. They put it in this summer, and it has been tempting me all season long.

After my swim, I’d clean off in our outdoor shower (which is one of my favorite things in the world). I’d get dressed, but I wouldn’t bother with the skin cream regimen. After today, my wrinkles won’t matter.

I’d text the kids and tell them to call me. If I called and left them a voice mail, it would be weeks before they heard it.

I’d give the dog one of his favorite bones, stuffed with almond butter (he is allergic to peanut butter). The cats could have as much chicken as they want.

I’d eat pizza for lunch. With a chaser of potato chips.

I’d go for a long walk with my beloved.

I’d page through all of my old-fashioned printed photo albums and then scroll my google photo library.

I’d eat pizza for dinner. With a chaser of fried chicken.

I’d open that ridiculously expensive bottle of wine we bought after we had too much to drink at that tasting in Napa. I’d pour a generous serving into my favorite wine glass. I’d open another bag of potato chips.

Then I would write letters.

To my oldest son, I would say thank you for helping me see the world honestly through a thoughtful artist’s eyes. To question what is on the surface and feel comfortable with conflicting perspectives. I’d urge him to ease up on himself and accept that the world isn’t perfect. I’d encourage him to follow his dreams, and the waves, wherever in the world that they take him. And I’d remind him to check in on his grandmother from time to time.

To my youngest son, I would say thank you for inspiring me to do things that I didn’t think I could do. He moved to a city where he knew no one and started his life with only dreams and IKEA furniture to support him. That was enough to encourage me to leave the security of a comfortable job to try out a start-up. I would thank him for opening my ears to the joys of classical music and my eyes to the wonders of crossword puzzles and other word games. And I’d remind him to check in on his grandmother from time to time.

To my sister, I’d recall the years when we shared a bedroom and made up stories about our imaginary friends. I’d tell her how proud I was to be her sister, and how much I appreciated her support and encouragement over the years. I’d thank her for showing me how to stand up for myself, and how to use my voice when I thought I could make a difference. I’d apologize for bringing her son the water-squirting fire engine for his birthday decades ago in the middle of a freezing spell in January (I didn’t have kids yet and didn’t realize the mess I was making).

To my brother, I would thank him for constantly bringing a smile to my face. For always letting me lean on him when I was feeling a bit wobbly. For making me feel included and appreciated for who I am - even though I was a bit different than the rest of the family. For the random phone calls when he “was driving by”. I’d give him a list of TV shows to watch while he was exercising on his Peleton. I’d remind him to take care of himself because so many people depend so deeply on him.

To my mother, I would say that I was sorry I had to leave before she did. But I needed her to keep an eye on the people we both love. I’d tell her that she has always been an inspiration to me. Especially since we lost my dad. Her positive attitude, her willingness to try new things, to travel (even on the train), and always being there for me on facetime at the end of a trying day. Even though I didn’t always agree with her, she gave me strength, a foundation, and the support I needed to become the person I wanted to be.

To my beloved, I would leave a big smiley face drawing on a yellow stickie with a heart around it. I would thank him for the little things - like filling the ice cube tray with the oversize ice cubes every day so we always had fresh ones. For teaching me to say “I’m well” instead of “I’m good” when people ask me “How are you?”. For pushing me to get two screens for my computer and for helping me finally switch back to my iPhone. Then I would thank him for believing in me, and in us, and making my years with him the best ones of my life.

After folding each note and putting it in a crisp white envelope, my heart would sink.

I would realize that there were so many more people who have touched my life. Who have made me laugh, cry, scream, reflect, roll my eyes and smile. My step daughters, my siblings-in-laws, my work colleagues, my college friends (who I would send my zoom link so that they could still meet without me), my nieces and nephews, my neighbors, my friends, my readers like you.

And then I would realize that today is not my last day on earth. That this is just a a blog post.

I still have time to put ice cream in my coffee, eat potato chips and fried chicken, and swim in my neighbor’s pool. I can snooze ten more minutes in the morning and hang out with all of the wonderful people in my life.

I can live in the present and enjoy every day to its fullest. And that is what I am going to try to do.

So…dear reader, what are you going to do?