Things of which I have been afraid in the last few days:

• Water filling my snorkel mask, and I drown.
• Water somehow getting into my air tank, and then I drown.
• Old-timey sailor sea-zombies pulling me to a watery grave.
• I resurface too quickly and my lungs explode like a pair of mating puffer fish on a line.
• Sharks.

Awestruck moments in the last few days:

• I can breathe underwater.
• Everything is so blue.
• CHOOO-KAAAHH… CHOOO-KAAHH… This is what Darth Vader sounds like when he breathes under the motherf***ing water.
• This is just like a flying dream.
• I am a bionic turbo-mutant (half woman! half machine!) who defies the laws of physics with my awesome breathing powers!!
• No one can reach me by phone.

So far, I’ve only practiced in the pool, but right now I’m on a flight to St. Lucia where I’m getting my Open Water Dive Certification for my birthday. I decided to get certified and take the trip about seven days ago, when a girlfriend said, “Do you want to go diving with me in St. Lucia?” And then I said, “Yes.”

For the record, I am also afraid of zombie sharks.

This is part of my Life List project to Taste 1,000 fruits. I’m inching my way toward 100.

This year, my sister Raina started a little farm in Sonoma County and we visited this weekend. There wasn’t enough room in the fridge for all the veggies she sent home with me, so I’ve been putting up sauces and soups and eating too much salad for the last few days.

That photo up top is a lemon cucumber, one about as big as a man’s fist. It’s pretty, but apparently too old to be delicious. You want ones that are whiter and more the size of an apricot. I’m not generally a fan of cucumbers, but these are so crisp and light, not nearly as dense or tough as the supermarket variety. They taste like slightly savory cucumber water.

My sister planted Huckleberries out of curiosity, having never tried them. They have a similar consistency to blueberries, but they’re juicier, tart, and refreshing.

Raina described them as tasting like cucumbers to her, and these did have that aftertaste. I liked the flavor, but there was a richness to it. I didn’t really want more than one. Does anyone know how to prepare these in a way that makes them more appealing? I bet they’d make amazing jam.

I’ve always wanted to drive cross country, and I’ve started collecting a little list of places to see along the way. Here’s one for you:

If you find yourself in Petaluma, California, especially if it’s cold out, consider stopping for a drink at the Washoe House.

The place has been around since 1859, and used to be a stop on the stagecoach line. Patrons have been tacking dollar bills to the walls for decades, so the bars walls are almost ruffled. It looks like the world’s most expensive parade float turned inside out.

I can spend hours reading the notes on the bills over an Irish Coffee.

How about you? What would you add to a stranger’s road trip map?

When I worked in publishing, I loved my commute. I enjoyed the solitude, the chance to listen to people and observe them without having to interact. In the evening, I switched off my brain so I could navigate the subway, being pressed by strangers on all sides. And when I stepped on the escalator, I played a personal lottery, hoping I might emerge from the heat and pressure of the subway and hear a violin in the station above.

Violins in the subway have always been a private pleasure. There’s something about the contrast of being so close to people you can smell the animal on them, and then the absolute civility of a string instrument. Those juxtapositions are the best thing about living in a city. They give you incentive to be grateful.

For years, I’ve wanted to give an extravagant tip to a violin-playing busker. I added it to my Life List and started plotting. I imagined standing out of view and handing small bills to other commuters, asking them to tip the busker on their way out of the station. I thought it would be fun to use two-dollar bills, so the busker would feel appreciated, but also know something was up. Of course, I wanted to film it for the site, so all of you could see it unfold, maybe take some photos of the violinist too.

I told Bryan about my plan a couple years ago, and he surprised me with a stack of crisp two-dollar bills from the bank. I started thinking more seriously about logistics. I’d need some friends — someone to film, someone to pass out bills while I took photos. We’d need to head out at rush hour so there were sufficient passersby to help us tip, and to provide cover. It might take a few days, because we’d have to ride the subway around in search of a violinist, and violinists are a little elusive in San Francisco. Maybe it would take a week.

You can see where I’m going. In my head I was taking a simple pleasure, a moment distinguished by its serendipity, and turning it into a three-person, week-long slog. The plan was pretty in theory, but it was built to surprise and delight everyone but me.

This past year I’ve had to put my Life List on hold, but a few weeks ago I happened to be on the subway by myself for the first time in a long while. I stepped onto the escalator, and listened with my heart in my mouth.

There he was.

So I wrote him a check.

And I dropped it in his violin case before I headed upstairs.

The Mighty Summit and Camp Mighty are coming up, both events we’ve built around the concept of Life Lists. It finally feels like the right time to get back in the game. So here goes.

Give $100 to a violin playing busker? Check.

Summer feels like unfurling a little bit. Dusting off the list.

What do you want to do with your summer?