The arms dealer

You meet such interesting people on board a cruise ship. 80 members of the Sundance Film Festival boarded in Aruba yesterday. They will be screening new films in the ship’s movie theater all week. I’ve met several cardiologists, dentists and oral surgeons, horse farmers, psychologists, and my personal favorite, the arms dealer – yes, as in “I buy and sell weapons systems internationally”. Yikes!

Tonight was formal night and time for the escargot and frog legs (neither for me), and my favorite dessert, the Grand Marnier souffle. Needless to say, any plans for using these past few weeks to get in shape for Nepal stayed on shore the first time we hit Tortola 14 days ago! I’m certain I will need serious liposuction on all limbs (or a large wheelbarrow) by the time this cruise is over. Thank goodness Delta charges only for extra checked luggage and not for extra body weight!

Everyone does dress pretty spiffy on formal night. Most men actually wear their own personal tuxedo and the ladies wear lots of sparkles (on their dresses and on their throats, ears , fingers and wrists). Here are some pictures from dinner tonight.

(Oh, I got an invitation to join Captain Zander for cocktails in his cabin tomorrow evening, as well. I’m certain that same invitation went out to all 600 of his close personal friends on board.) He is German, and I visited with him in his very own language earlier this evening during a meet and greet for repeat Crystal cruisers. One lady who has 113 cruises was introduced and celebrated, and another lady who is currently on the sister ship, Serenity, is now on her 233rd Crystal cruise (these ladies must have more money that Bill Gates!). One woman on board our ship now is here for nine months. I suppose when I need to go to an assisted living home, this is where I want to come - room, board, entertainment, medical care, including drugs, constant personal attention – definitely not a bad deal!

I think I’m ready to come home. My tan is just about brown enough and I miss my furry felines. I’ve already begun to think about all the paperwork and get-into-shape work I have to do when I get home – but I’ll be home, in my own little bed, with my own little cats and my own fireplace and my own greek yogurt and cole slaw and baked chicken and no Grand Marnier soufflé, no peanut butter and chocolate milk shakes with warm oatmeal raisin cookies and no freshly baked croissants or scones with Austrian strawberry jam and fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

One of the 5th Dimension gets on tomorrow to do his show tomorrow evening. Tony nominated, his bio says. Ought to be good, but everything here is just that way anyway.

A contented cat (or cow)

Great contentment, like great art, I suppose, is difficult to describe. You just know it when you see it. Yesterday was one of those days - a pacific ocean worthy of its peaceful name, a line of dolphins jumping through our wake waves, just the slightest of breezes and a warm sunny sky. Nothing to do but to soak it all in.

The day before was all canal all day long. We had a speaker/historian on board who droned on from 7am until well past 6pm, usually informative, but not a very good public speaker. His cadence would have put pit bulls to sleep. I did learn a lot from him, however, especially about the widening that is in progress now. We saw lots of deforestation and lots of dredging taking place. And I counted over 20 ships waiting to enter the canal from the west. Lots of tankers and auto carriers this time, not quite so many container ships.

Entering the first lock.....

One lane over, the lock doors opening....

Lots of deforestation....sad.

I was very surprised how large Panama City has become - a gorgeous skyline!

I’m attempting to rearrange my daily schedule for the cruise back to Miami by taking part in the late seating for dinner. Those of you who know me well will understand why this is such a departure for me – second seating for dinner begins at 830pm and I usually begin yawning at 9pm, so this ought to prove interesting.

Yes, genuine Hermes!

There can be too much of a good thing.

Last night’s escargot and frog legs were too French, the béarnaise sauce on the ribeye the night before was too rich, the cashmere sweaters and the St John knits in the onboard gift shop are too expensive, and the rum raisin ice cream with warm white chocolate macadamia cookies is too delicious. There can be too much Burberry plaid, too many Rolex watches and hair that is coiffed just too perfectly. The swimming pool water is too salty, the Jacuzzi too hot and the Perrier too carbonated. The cabin stewardess is too quick to replace any damp towels, the deck staff are too mindful of your preferences in drinks and this ship’s Master is too visible. The movie theater seats are too comfortable, the movies too new and the popcorn too fresh. The blackjack table is too welcoming, the ocean is too turquoise and the sun is too bright.

And I miss my cats!

The St Lucia Excess

There’s enough Kindle-ing on this ship to set the place on fire! I cannot image how the Bookbinders Guild of America, if there is such an animal, will make a profit this year. I think I am the only person on board who is actually reading a real book. Everyone else seems to have their nose firmly fixated seven inches from an electronic pad, pausing every few seconds to press a little button to “turn” the page.

Somehow, I still thoroughly enjoy actually holding a real book, balancing the weight of the hard cover heft, feeling the page between my thumb and forefinger. I have finished three books the past four days – The Commoner (Mom, you would like this one), a thinly veiled fictionalized account of the commoner who married into the Japanese royal family; The Help (Brenda, this one made me think of you), a thought-provoking story about privileged young white women and the “help” who actually raised them; and finally, “All We Ever Wanted Was Everything”, a novel about a wealthy woman whose husband divorces her the day of his IPO. Now I’ve started in on the serious reading, the first titled The End of Influence, What happens when other countries have all the money”. The prologue alone gives a pause for thought. Thank goodness I have Kurt in the family to explain the whole mess to me!

The ambassador hosts on board, there are three, absolutely remind me of those men from the movie Out To Sea! Most gratifying to watch, however, are those couples who have been married a while, who obviously love the music, and who engage in that quiet, calm, dance-of-a-lifetime-of-memories. Lovely. Inspiring. Wistful.

Speaking of dance, the ballet of the buffets continues each day. Yesterday was the Neptune Buffet – a compilation of every delicious food ever served on any cruise ship. The only think I’m ready to admit is that I have not stepped into an elevator, yet, but climb stairs every day (that hike from 5 to 11 is not getting any easier, why is that?). I am not ready to admit that I have exercised any part of my body except my jaw muscles. How is it that we become so lazy and care-less on board a cruise ship?

Caviar by the ton....

Sushi for every possible tiny taste bud....

Think of all the lobster scurry-ing around, tail-less.....

and of all those crab on crutches........

We are anchored off St Lucia today, three other ships already at the pier in Castries when we arrived at 8am this morning. I didn’t go into town today, I’m saving myself for next time I pass through here (in about 10 days). I can only look at so many island t-shirts or so many women offering to braid my hair or so many boxes of Authentic Caribbean Rum Cake. We have a day at sea tomorrow and I’ll be playing mah-jongg in the afternoon (no bridge yet – these folks take their bridge waaaay too seriously). Then comes Aruba – maybe I’ll price watches for Steve there, maybe not.....

Life on the lazy line continues…..

Happy Birthday to Me

Just like peanut butter and jelly, peaches and cream, and boiled shrimp and hush puppies, no two words go together quite as wonderfully as cruises and food. My birthday has been no exception. Although I have been following my planned itinerary of salad and yogurt on this cruise, I completely fell off my good intentioned wagon today -- and it's not my fault. I awoke to find a Happy Birthday banner strung across my cabin door and an inviation to breakfast in the Crystal Dining Room. What followed was culinary extravagance. Those of you who know me well will appreciate the fact that I actually chewed things I normally eschew.


This would be my peach nectar, cointreau, and champagne Bellini, the mini bagel with smoked salmon and wasabi cream cheese, the waffle cone with lemon cottage cheese and marinated strawberries, the small doughnut filled with cointreau flavored vanilla custard and the raspberry and chocolate corflake crunch. Appetizer course!






This would be the creamed spinach and creme fraiche with caviar that was the side dish and topping for.........











the truffle omelet, the grilled beef filet tournedo and the little brioche and prosciutto "Monte Cristo" sandwich.

Yes --- breakfast!









Needless to say, I was much too full to think of having lunch....so I just had dessert for lunch! Lemon curd with meringue, creme brulee with blueberries and strawberry, fresh berries, kiwi sponge cake with mandarin oranges and a vanilla custard swan shaped cream puff......and another Bellini.







After "lunch", I returned to my cabin to find a birthday card from the Symphony's Master (not called the Captain, I've learned) and this request to join some crew at dinner.


I'm resting up.......

Life is good. Tomorrow is another day to think about returning to my diet!

January 23, 2010 – Leaving Miami

"Dorothy is not in Kansas anymore"

Got on Delta and sat in the very front row. Nice seatmates who were going on a five day Royal Caribbean Cruise (I was marginally sad for them, knowing what I had in from of me!) Once in Miami, I was personally met by a Crystal Cruises person who knew me by name (her name was Sabine), she retrieved my luggage and we were off to the transfer bus. It was only half full (rumor has it the ship is only 65% full – about 650 guests and 535 crew ). Our ship was a quick 20 minutes away. Check in happened right away and we were guided to the boarding tunnel. The real world is behind you and the Emerald City of Oz appears before you. 3 minutes later I was on my way to my room, guided by a ship's officer, My cabin is 8056 on deck 8 - queensize bed, duvet, bathtub and shower, fancy bowls on cabinets as sinks, Aveda hair products, flat screen TV with channels from Japan, China, Germany and Italy (along with CNN and Fox News), the fridge is filled with Diet Coke, Diet Sprint and water. I have a bowl of pears and apples here, along with some fresh flowers.

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She's a beauty! While the afternoon slid buy, I stopped in at the Palm Court for a spot of tea, steeped in a small silver pot and poured into a Villeroy and Boch cup and saucer. No scones, clotted cream or small salmon sandwiches for me. Then comes dinner at 6 at a table for 8. I have folks from Mystic, Connecticut and Toronto and Phoenix at my dinner table and it’s the first Crystal Cruise for them – poor babies. I had grilled shrimp with a grilled salad, followed by a veal chop with grilled zucchini and Portobello mushrooms. Dessert was a sugar free mango pannacotta with strawberry slices. Delish all.

The entry foyer, complete with waterfall and piano player tickling his ivories.

Tea time table setting in the Palm Court.

My last order of business for today was to get the computer attached to their internet, Feel free to email me at my normal thudbear account. So far, everything is just fabulous. I have already received a $500 credit to my onboard credit from Crystal and another credit as a birthday gift from Dad and Joan, I’m using the Edmonds’ money to pay for the kayak adventure in Tortola. I took a few pictures today. I hope you enjoy them all as the days go buy.

So far, I think I would be the arm candy for most of the men on board. Average age is probably 80-85. There is one group of about 7 gals who are celebrating one of them having a 50th birthday and another pair of gals who are celebrating the divorce of one of them,. Me, I’m just celebrating how lucky I am that my physical and fiscal health is such that I have the opportunity to do this in the first place! Life is good!

Interesting reading matter on this ship!

I’m off to check out my bed pillow menu. After testing about 10 different pillows, we get to select the one we like best, I wonder if they have those pillows that are shaped like a man………

Acclimating nicely to a wider comfort zone

During the majority of my adulthood, roughing it meant the non-concierge level of the Ritz Carlton. Safely married, gainfully employed, relatively successfully balancing professional life with motherhood, I happily languished under down duvets in balcony cabins on luxury cruise ships. My husband and son, however, were always much more adventurous - the father active with ski patrol and volunteer emergency medical care; the son in soccer, baseball, marching band. Both, individually, willingly, left their “comfort zones” to complete multiple weeks at Outward Bound. I could not imagine anything more absurd.
























My son graduated college and, ever intrepid, drove 3000 miles away (what does that say about my mothering skills?) to begin his first real job off our payroll. I continued my life of minor luxury and major comfort, exchanging gifts like pricey vintage port, personal cooking lessons with noted chefs, and trans-Atlantic cruises with my loving husband.






















I was jerked out of that comfort zone at 11:36 one morning in June 2005. Sudden disasters are called disasters because that’s just what they are. Life crumbled, literally and figuratively. I remember asking my friend Elaine, the first person to my house, “what will I do now”, realizing even then that I meant more than “how do I handle this immediate crisis”. I already knew I did not have the tools to begin to cope with anything outside my comfort zone.























What I’ve discovered since then, however, and exactly because I no longer had that comfort zone, is that I was no longer encircled by my routine conventional comfort fences. Broken through, I have now been swimming with dolphins and sting rays, camped on the Sahara in Bedouin tents and risen at 5:00 am to ride a camel to the top of the dune to view the sunrise, climbed Machu Picchu, and just five days ago, I, willingly, hiked to the bottom of a deep gorge, climbed over river boulders, and slid down a waterfall on my butt. Talk about outside your comfort zone!






















Being forced to play the cards we are dealt – financial crisis, medical emergency, personal disaster – sometimes allows us to free ourselves of what we thought were comfort zones. Listening to that still, small voice telling you “no, you don’t want to do that” may or may not always be beneficial. I suppose the true test of mettle is understanding when to know difference.

A Matter of Honor

He was born in Koenigsberg, Prussia (now Kaliningrad, Russia), in 1896; his father, a strict Prussian General. By 1915, he had found his way to Marburg University to follow a less violent branch of the family tree by studying medicine. He joined Hasso-Nassovia, a Protestant fraternity, and via the fraternity, was introduced to the finer points of Mensurfechten - fencing in a small, confined space.

The fencers were allowed to wear protective eyepieces, a chest guard and a heavy scarf. Each wielding a heavy saber-like Schlager, two fraternity "brothers" faced each other and took turns at slash and parry, aiming for the only unprotected body part - the face. They were not allowed to flinch or move further away than arm's reach. They fought like this until first blood was drawn. The resulting facial scars were worn as a badge of honor, a symbol of higher education, Protestant religion and courage in adversity.

He eventually became a pediatrician and, in part because of his very visible scars and what everyone knew they meant, was embraced by those in horrendous power in 1930s Berlin. The scars, they knew, were proof that he was a true German, a Protestant, an educated Aryan.

I have only recently embarked on researching more of my grandfather's history during that war. What I've uncovered has sometimes been less than flattering and has sometimes bordered on troubling. His own memoirs end with statements of personal remorse and contrition.

My lesson? While it may be reputation building at the time, surviving the seemingly noble duel does not always guarantee character. We are always a work in progress. Sometimes conscience and responsibility are the very best lesson to teach.

Life changes in the instant

I continue to love a man who appreciated Mahler and Bon Jovi, relished world travel and his own basement "cave", but who was also a quiet, good and decent human being. He was a fighter pilot who flew 126 missions over North Vietnam and who continued to love to fly vintage aircraft and teach flying, almost daily, long after he retired from active military duty.

He and a 30 year veteran captain of an international air carrier lifted off in a vintage plane a few years ago. I'm told it was a long, slow take-off roll that hot, humid midday. They cleared the first set of trees at the end of the grass strip, but did not clear the thirty foot dead pecan tree. Both died on impact. We had been married 28 years.

I clearly remember brushing our teeth together that morning, discussing what we were doing that day. I had a routine doctors appointment. He was so excited about his morning flight in that WWII plane and the student pilot he was to instruct later that day. I also clearly remember standing alone in my living room that afternoon as I watched the local breaking news about the crash and the promise for "film at 11".

I have never had one moment of anger. Grief, yes, regret, yes, but always about little personal details and never about his flying. I thinking that most wives of these adventurous spirits feel the same way. We love them and want them to be and do what fills their hearts.

Our son, then 25, spoke at his dad's service. He was amazed at the standing room only crowd that numbered over 500, amazed at the number of people his father had impacted even though, throughout his own life, his dad had not seemed to be anything special - just a regular dad who loved to fly. He let us all know that his only wish was to grow to be a man his father would have been proud of.

Don't be sad for those of us who remain. We glory in his life well lived. We should all be so lucky!

It was just her cup of tea (my first attempt at fiction)

She boarded the old steam powered train in Siliguri and settled in to her seat by the window, the once plush green velvet cushion now frayed and resembling a poorly constructed bale of wheat. She knew what lay ahead and prepared for the long nine hour journey, secreting her weathered satchel behind the small of her back. The climb began in earnestness near Sukna, the old steam locomotive laboring over the steep gradient and around the treachorous traverses.

May, she knew, was the very best month to be visiting Darjeeling again. The air would be clear and the chilling, biting cold would have subsided by now. The rich soil and hilly terrain of the tiny Narbada Majhua Tea Estate would be bustling with activity, the pickers selecting only the finest two leaves and buds from each of the young bushes so that the Muscatel flavor of the best tea in the world would become more pronounced with the spring flush.

She allowed herself a small snack of Aloo Dum, delighting in the sharp sensation of the chili peppers on her lips, quickly followed by that smooth suggestion of perfectly boiled new potatoes. Sleep followed.

The bleak sound of tapping on the outside of her window, woke her from her slumber. She had known Phulmani Ramesh for most of the young girl’s 19 years on the tea plantation, first as a toddler, following her mother in the tea fields, and then nurturing her formative years by teaching her how a real lady conducted herself. Phulmani was now a beautiful young woman, who quickly scooped up her belongings and brightly escorted her to the waiting taxi.

It would be a short drive to Narbada Majhua, the road passing over Tiger Hill, with its stunning view of the Himalaya range. They played their usual game of “name that mountain” – Lhotse, Makalu, Everest, Khangchendzonga, Kabru, Janu – as they rounded that last corner to arrive at the main house. The best cup of tea in the world would be waiting. The perfect brew was one level teaspoon of pure Darjeeling tea in her favorite Wedgewood cup, with the spring water, seconds after a furious boil, poured over the fragrant little leaves and buds. Exactly four minutes of glorious flavor melding later, the tiniest bit of milk and sugar added, and she was sipping heaven.