Wish List

On the front page of the Weekend Arts section of last Friday’s Times appeared an article with the headline “A Single Pleasure Ere Summer Fades.” So often, the author writes, we let the summer slip away without managing to do anything for our own pleasure – reading that book we meant to read, for example, or seeing that film we wanted to see.

That opening paragraph made me feel rather pleased with myself because I had done at least two of the things I had meant to do for my own pleasure this summer. I had visited the Cone Sisters' exhibit at the Jewish Museum, which presents a judicious sampling from their fabulous art collections, on loan from the Baltimore Museum of Art, and I had seen Woody Allen’s latest film, Midnight in Paris, a delightful jeu d’esprit and a love letter to Paris. But since it’s unbecoming to be pleased with oneself, I soon turned my thoughts to the more serious issue of not letting the rest of my life slip by without doing a few more thing for my own pleasure.

If I were a serious person, I would find pleasure in writing another book, volunteering at a local hospital, or otherwise contributing to the general welfare, miniscule as my contribution might be. I used to be a serious person, but I figure that at my stage of development I’m entitled to seek pleasure where pleasure is to be found.

Would I find pleasure in learning Spanish, so that I could eavesdrop on conversations in the subway? Indeed, I would be pleased to know Spanish but not so pleased to work at acquiring it. What about renewing my knowledge of French, which was kicked in the head when I learned Hebrew? Then I could read Remembrance of Things Past in the original. It’s clear I’m a deeply unserious person to propose something so unlikely. I’m reminded of Johnson’s remark about whether some object was worth seeing. Yes, it was worth seeing, he said, but not worth going to see. Self-improvement is not going to get very far with me, I’m afraid.

So here’s a more realistic list of things I’d like to do for my own pleasure in the time that’s left to me. I’d like to see the pyramids, not only those in Egypt but also those in Mexico and Central America. And while I’m at it, I’d like to take one of those four-day cruises down the Nile, stopping along the way to view antiquities. This is, admittedly, a self-indulgent list and if I never manage to check off any of them, I won’t feel terribly deprived. After all, I’ve already walked on the Great Wall of China, viewed the Taj Mahal by moonlight, and watched, from the deck of a slow boat to China, the sunrise over the Pacific.

Exotic travel is all very well and good, but what I most want is domestic. I’d like to bring both my children’s families together for a visit. Our son and his family live in Los Angeles, whereas our daughter and her family live in Brooklyn. The logistical issues in bringing them together are formidable. But when these issues are resolved, our children's and grandchildren's reunion gives me the most pleasure of all. When they are together, I can kvell in the presence of my descendants and once again act as pater familias. That I have combined Yiddish and Latin in one sentence testifies to the strength of my emotion.

So that’s what I hope won’t slip away in the years (I hope) ahead of me. In the meantime, I’ll see more films, visit museums more often, lean something new, and meet my friends for lunch.

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