Like everyone else, there are a few things I hope to do or see "someday". There are gradients and sub-categories within my list. For example, if I ever just happen to find myself in Egypt, I would certainly like to visit the pyramids. Seeing the Great Pyramid with my own eyes would be spectacular but not as important as finding another horse so Ginger will have someone to boss around other than me (and Terrie the farrier).
One burning desire harbored since childhood is entirely possible though unlikely: bring a horse into the house. Ginger may not be the best candidate for this project. It will have to be a horse in the future. Through the miracle of television, I once saw two old cowboys who owned a Cadillac convertible. They opened the back door and their white, full sized horse stepped into the back seat and sat down on his haunches. Then, all three of them went for a ride. I also saw a couple who reinforced the floors of their home so their full sized gelding could come in to eat spaghetti (with tomato sauce) from a plate at the dinner table. My desires are much less flamboyant than horses riding in convertibles or horses eating Italian.
There are a few things that look impossible at this point in my life. My knees probably would not hold up if I tried to ski in the mountains of Colorado. Unless someone invents the skiing equivalent of the "Hoveround", I likely waited too long to check this off the list. But then again, somewhere, sometime I read about a man who owned a coon dog, the best one he ever owned. The dog was too old to run any more, too old to hunt. The man fed the dog a big helping of his moonshine then took the old hound out hunting one glorious last time. I have never tasted moonshine so I could scratch two items off the list at once: moonshine and skiing. I may want to fact check that moonshine story. It might be a hillbilly myth. (Can we still say "hillbilly"?)
At this point in my life, well past the midway point, even if I live to be almost 98 or almost 100 like my dear grandmothers, there are some things I have to accept as impossible this time around. I will never, ever be able to sing like Janis Joplin, but then, neither can anyone else. I also will not be getting high with Hunter S. Thompson - unless he managed to bargain his way into Heaven with a stash. But, hey, that gives me a brilliant idea: weed in my pocket when I take the skiing moonshine trip. There is a high probability that I could kill three birds with one stone, so to speak.