My brother has been questioning one of the items on my bucket list – sky diving. I guess the only explanation is that there aren’t too many things left on my bucket list that I can still do. Little Joe is dead so he’s probably not going to fall in love with me and marry me. I am never going to write the great American novel as I now realize I am much too lazy to put that much effort into doing it. And I am definitely not going to be Miss America, even in that title’s diminished status. So, having gotten an eagle tattoo, there are only three things left on the list. I want to drive the Alcan, get a parrot tattooed on my other shoulder and jump out of a plane. I have no idea how all those things are in anyway connected in my psyche, but I learned back in the sixties while on an acid trip that looking too deeply into my psyche was not a healthy thing to do.