It was late summer of 2012. My mother was dying, Carter was facing open heart surgery and the great recession lingered on. The future was very uncertain. We would sit on the deck or veranda, as I called it, late in the afternoon, early evening. We would watch the planes over head, flying off to exotic places. We knew certain planes by the sounds of their engines. That’s the flight to Dubai. That one to London. The conversation was somber that evening, pondering the immediate future. When the British Air flight came over, we both looked up to gaze at the 747 as it lumbered across the sky. I asked Carter if he would like to be on that plane. Without hesitation, he said yes. Thinking quickly to myself, I thought, maybe not London, but somewhere else in Europe. I had always wanted to take Carter to Spain, I always wanted to return. So I said to him, how about Barcelona? Sure he said, assuming I was kidding. I researched flights and hotels the next day, and went out and got a Barcelona guide book. I planned the trip and gave the book to Carter. What’s this? We’re going, it will be your 80th birthday present. I spent my entire summer earning on that trip, and had the most amazing time. My mother would pass away before the trip, but she was happy for me and wished me great adventures. I am not always that spontaneous, but sometimes you really do have to just go for it and live life like it is your last day on earth.