Family Time – A Precious Gift

 

Dawn at Sea

We recently returned from a Caribbean cruise, one of many we’ve taken over the years, this one on the Celebrity Apex.  For seven months we anticipated this and poof, in seven days it was over.  The ship went to ports we’ve been to before, and it is a newer ship, larger than most we’ve been on, with all the glitz we try to avoid.   As a one week Caribbean cruise at this time of the year, it was filled with people who were there simply to have fun and eat and drink a lot.  The cruise catered to that crowd in their choice of entertainment, massive buffets, booming music in the pool area, and the constant encroachment of announcements.

 

My description cannot even approach the definitive work on such a cruise which was deliciously captured by David Foster Wallace’s experiences on a 7 day Celebrity Caribbean cruise in 1996’s Harpers Magazine, “Shipping Out; On the (nearly lethal) comforts of a luxury cruise.”

 

Although written almost thirty years earlier, its satirical truths and hilarious observations have stood up to the test of time and ought to be required reading, all 24 pages. Here are just a few of the breakouts from the article as teasers:

I have seen naked a lot of people I’d prefer not to have seen nearly naked.

On a cruise your capacities for choice, error, regret, and despair will be removed.

You don’t ever hear the ship’s big engines, but you can feel an oddly soothing spinal throb.

The atmosphere onboard the ship is sybaritic and nearly insanity-producing.

Not until Lobster Night did I understand the Roman phenomenon of vomitorium.

The vacuum toilet seems to hurl your waste into some kind of septic exile.

 

So why go?  It was the one week our “kids” could accompany us for a family vacation, Jonathan and his wife Tracie, and Chris and his partner, Megan.  We booked a table in one of the ship’s restaurants where leisurely dinners were permitted if not encouraged.  We also sometimes met up in the morning or for lunch. 

 

My usual routine was to get on the track at sunrise, get in a few laps of power walking (I still call it that although I’ve slowed as I’ve aged), frequently meeting Chris there, and then quietly having some coffee, bringing some to Ann as she got dressed for breakfast.

 

They did some port sightseeing, while we usually stayed on the ship, appreciating the quiet time, especially in the spa solarium.  There we enjoyed soft spa music, a dip in the Jacuzzi for 15-20 minutes and then spent the rest of the morning lounging in comfy deck chairs reading our books.  I finished one novel, more on that in a later entry.  No direct sun in the solarium, so no need to lather up with sun screen.  We either had the no calorie spa lunch that is served in small bite sized portions or splurged one day on a hamburger and fries.  Those days were brief respites of blissful peacefulness.

 

None of us went to the so called entertainment in the evenings, opting instead to extend our dinners for as long as we wanted.  The point was to be together and not to sit in a theatre watching their brand of shows.  The piped in music onboard was excruciating, catering to a much younger crowd.  But it was a week where we could really relax, be lazy and enjoy being with both sons and their spouses. 

 

All those years raising our “boys,” Chris and Jonathan, now a distant memory but watching them interact with each other as if they were still kids.  I tried to get a candid shot of them as they fooled around, and here I post one as well as one of when they were really kids watching TV on our bed.  Can it be, all those years?  But we’re happy they have a relationship as there is an eleven year age difference and different mothers as well, although Ann is “Mom” to Chris.  We raised him during the angst of his teenage years.

 

A bit of serendipity led us to get off the ship in the Cayman Islands.  Over the years this blog with its (now) massive amount of information and family history, has attracted many people who have been touched by connections closer to us than six degrees of separation.  I get emails from them and follow up.

 

Two months ago I received one from Melanie, a woman who had been researching some family history online and found an entry in my blog and believed we shared some common ancestry.  We do indeed.  Her grandmother was the daughter of my grandfather’s sister.  And I was at her grandmother’s wedding when I was ten years old, hardly remembering any of it, but I had photographs of the wedding which my father left in his files; I eventually scanned those and I was able to email some to her.  You can imagine her shock and delight.

 

Tendering to the Caymans

But the story doesn’t end there.  I soon learned that she lived in, of all places, the Cayman Islands, with her husband and son.  The light bulb went off; that was one of the ports the ship was going to so I suggested we get together and she was delighted.  We had to tender to the port and it’s a busy place but we finally were able to connect and have lunch overlooking the Georgetown harbor.  Thanks to AI I was able to pin down our exact relationship: Melanie is my 2^nd Cousin, once removed. 

 

There is more serendipity.  Our ship arrived there on March 7 which was her 49^th birthday.  As Melanie said, “how cool is that?”  Now about our meeting, I’ll turn this over to Ann who had emailed a friend the following (Ann is a very spontaneous, emotive and sometimes funny writer): “You know when you’re going to meet someone brand new, you know nothing about, you never know what to expect.  They could be dull as dishwater and you’re rolling your eyes in 10 minutes praying for an early escape.  Or as in today, you are met by someone totally precious and in fact, so utterly delightful that I wish we had known her years ago.  It was her birthday and I brought her a gift Bob made for her especially, a photo of her grandmother’s wedding.  Framed, wrapped and with a card delivered to her in a beautiful bag, useful for a million things.”  I could not have said it better and more entertainingly than that.

 

I had an ulterior motive visiting the Caymans though.  I had heard it is a decent place to live and here was a full time resident (her husband’s job led them there and coincidentally she works now in publishing which was my working moniker as well) and the opportunity to hear her story and who knows if the unthinkable happens this coming November, perhaps a place for us to consider.  As I suspected, this is easier to ask than to do; it works for them as they are young (with an 11 year old son), employed, and don’t have the health challenges that we octogenarians have.  

 

The Cayman Islands is a self-governing British Overseas Territory and as such enjoys some of the benefits.  I was especially impressed by the low crime rate, the relative safety of living there, and the fact that firearms are forbidden. People there don’t have to worry about mass shootings in the shopping centers, the schools, in the houses of worship.  Imagine that?  Must the last bastions of civilization be on remote islands?

 

In any case, our fantasy of moving to escape the insanity of our self-destructive polarized politics had to be put to rest, but it is reassuring we know someone as lovely as Melanie is and who is part of our extended family.

 

After seeing her, we only had two nights left on the cruise and Ann and I had booked our only tour and that was of the ship itself the next day.  Since 9/11 the bridge and the engineering parts of ship tours were mostly off limits but with a small group, a security check and an armed guard, the tour included the heartbeat and the brains of the ship.  That is what I wanted to see.

 

First we toured other parts of the ship, the galley, provision lockers, laundry, waste management, and what they amusingly refer to as I95 which is a corridor, strictly for the crew, with their staterooms, restaurant,
rest areas which runs the complete length of the ship on deck 2.  Unfortunately, photographs were strictly prohibited (particularly in the engineering room and bridge), but I managed to sneak one of the liquor storage room, nearly depleted towards the end of the cruise, as were the food provisions.  The quartermaster logistics for these functions must be mind boggling. 

 

 

By the time we arrived at the engineering control room we had walked miles, including stairs, and then standing around, but that destination and the bridge were worth the fatigue.  The engineering officer gave a presentation including flow charts of how the five engines are coordinated (usually the ship cruises with only two), and how redundancies are built into the propulsion system, including two additional engines on deck 15 in case the engine room is flooded. 

 

Crew are in the engineering room watching television monitors of all the engines and gauges for the equipment, the seawater reverse osmosis water maker systems (which makes delicious water in my opinion), the bow and stern thrusters, and the highly effective stabilizers.  In fact, for my taste, they were too effective as most of the time one hardly knew of any movement underway. 

 

This is in stark contrast to the first ocean crossing we made in 1977 on the QE2.  Ships in those days were built for speed with 29 knots a typical cruising speed, with a top cruising speed of 32.5 knots.  The trade off was a less beamy ship without stabilizers and the ship rocked and rolled, sometimes quite violently in a storm.  These new ships can hardly do two thirds the speed but you wouldn’t know you are moving.

 

The high point for me was a visit to the bridge which runs the full beam of the Apex with two helm chairs one might imagine Capt. Kirk and Spock sitting in, facing controls at the centerline.  Operationally, there are three different navigation stations, everything completely redundant so the ship can be controlled from the main station or stations on the port and starboard sides. 

 

What impressed me was the clean minimalism with features such as its integrated radar/GPS so powerful it can detect anything in a wide swath and its computer system able to indicate bearing, speed of any other ship and if documented its name, port, tonnage, etc., by simply putting the trackball pointer on it.  Collision avoidance features are built in. 

 

Everything one needs to run the ship are at these three compact stations.  Parts of the floor deck at the port and starboard sides are windows so one can visually watch docking while cameras show stern and the full length of port and starboard sides for tender activities, boarding pilot boat captains, etc.  But given the full expanse of the beam of the ship, there is the sense of being able to easily control the essential ship functions.  Joysticks now prevail over a ship’s wheel.

 

Although one would hardly know it, the seven day cruise covered 2,000 nautical miles.  Rarely did the ship’s speed exceed 18 knots.  Its top speed is only about 22 knots with all engines engaged.  These ships are indeed floating hotels and are not built for fast ocean crossings.

 

So we shared one last night with our kids and we disembarked for our separate destinations.  Bittersweet.   It is rare we can all be together like that for an extended time and it is a reminder that living in the moment and sharing family stories and laughter are life’s most precious gifts.

 

 

Was it But a Bad Dream?

 

I’m referring to those long months of Covid confinement and panic.  Was our fate a ventilator made in Detroit or, worse, a body bag in a refrigerator truck?  Would we ever see our loved ones again not to mention taking a trip, on a plane, or the horror of it, a ship?

 

 

It’s as if a dam broke loose and the inflationary tentacles of demand for normalcy has reached deep into the pockets of liberated consumers.  This year we too have followed the flock having been on a Jazz Cruise in January, a trip to our beloved NYC, my returning home and Ann going to Milan for 2 weeks, and then visiting our son and daughter in law on our old boat in CT in June.  We just returned from our long delayed trip to Boston to see our older son Chris and his significant other Megan.  While in Boston we hooked up with my best friend from college, Bruce, and his wife, Bonnie.  A lot was packed into just four nights and three days.

 

So this was our third round trip domestic flight in the last few months. As with the others, not a vacant seat, this one to and from Boston packed to the hilt on an extended Boeing 737-900. 

 

Landing at Logan during rush hour on a weekday presented issues, the Delta arrival gate football field lengths away from baggage claim and then cabs another football field away, with few available.  Our luck, the Sumner Tunnel/Route 1A South was closed for restoration so the less than two mile journey to the Omni Seaport Hotel moved at a snail’s pace.  But, compared to the real horror stories you hear about travel today, all was taken in stride.

 

The Omni is a relatively new hotel.  The entire Seaport section of Boston seems to be under construction.  It is a happening place.  It was a convenient spot to have a lovely dinner with Chris and Megan our second night there; spending quality time with them, the main reason for our short trip. 

 

 

The following day I was up and out early to walk the Seaport, mostly deserted but the sky and air brought back our New England days and our boating life.  It was the very noticeable change not only in temperature as well as the low humidity that commanded my attention.  Leaning against the railing of the wharf to which ferries to Provincetown were docked and loading, there was a nearly irresistible urge to buy a one way ticket and disappear onto the Cape.

 

After doing so much boating to places like Block Island, Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard and Cuttyhunk during our once-upon days, I always wanted to live, permanently, on an island.  But the Cape would do as well.  So much for unrealistic reveries.

 

 

Later, we had a leisurely lunch with my best friend from college, Bruce, and his wife Bonnie.  We are all simpatico, looking at our long lives with gratitude and now apprehension about the future for our “kids.”  They have two daughters; we have two sons.  Neither of us have grandchildren.

 

We had looked forward to Saturday with anticipation as we were about to spend the day with Chris and Megan at their home, closer to Worcester than Boston, but as it was a weekend, Chris volunteered to pick us up and return us.  We could have caught a train for most of the trip, but it ran only every two hours and no one wanted to be on a schedule.

 

That drive, much of it on the Mass. Turnpike, brought me back to the days when I used to go to an office we had in Portsmouth, NH, usually staying  over a night or two, but once I remember leaving before dawn in CT and returning around Midnight the same day, a round trip of some 400 miles.  It was easy to be young.

 

 

Ann had visited a dog boutique store in Boston as we were about to meet our “grand-dog,” Lily, who Chris and Megan recently adopted, a rescue dog: toys, chewable bones, and a collar monogrammed bandana which she had previously ordered.  She’s already spoiled enough by the love of Chris and Megan, a mature puppy with more pup than maturity.  Lovable, indeed.  As we haven’t had a dog in our lives since our beloved Treat passed about 20 years ago, we could hardly keep our hands off of her.

 

Megan had prepared a mid afternoon feast, all home-made, with yummy appetizers of hummus and tzatziki and pita bread, then chicken souvlaki, spanakopita, and a Greek salad. 

 

 

We met Megan’s father, John, and his husband, Victor, who live nearby.  John made a delicious lemon meringue dessert to round out a perfect meal.  It was a pleasant afternoon, getting to know one another, sipping wine, and enjoying a fabulous luncheon.

 

We sat outside and although it was a higher humidity late afternoon, there was also a light breeze, shade, and if I closed my eyes it had the sound and redolence of when we lived in Weston, CT so many years ago.  Being at their home we felt transported, until it was time to return to our hotel, and to pack for an early morning flight.  As this was on a Sunday, the trip which had taken us nearly an hour from Logan was a mere five minutes to return.

 

I love the location of the Seaport in relation to Logan and that area itself.  We’ll be back!  At least that’s the hope.

 

It's Summertime, Summertime, Sum Sum Summertime

 

Oh, the sweet innocence of The Jamies’ song, their one and only big hit from 1958, that opening line nicely summing up my years as a high school somnambulist. I paid dearly for my penchant to “to live and have some thrills,” as another part of the song goes.

 

Fast forward more than sixty years. In one’s retirement one would think those halcyon thoughts of carefree abandonment could be rekindled.  Now, it’s the new responsibility of merely staying healthy. “It's summertime (ba-bam-bam)” so now we plan our brief trips around the realities of trying to see out kids, both more than a thousand miles away with their spouses (we also have a grand-dog who we will meet in August). 

 

Those plans now are burdened by the overpopulated and digitized world of today.  I need not go into all the details but suffice it to say, being an octogenarian, competing for space in a world which would not be recognizable in 1958, has its challenges. However, along with its frustrations, there are some throwbacks to the civilized past. One young lady noticing we were having trouble hearing the so called loudspeaker over the airport din, volunteered to act as an interpreter.  It’s not that my hearing is bad; it’s the audio-multitasking part.  So, lest this entry becomes the sour grapes that I could easily write, I publically say thank you to the people who care.  Still, it is a crazy world.

 

We flew up to a regional airport, HPN, from our regional airport, PBI, that in itself a delicate feat given all sorts of possible delays, but managed to get there only an hour late to pick up a car I had reserved with Avis/Budget (now merged for the greater good of the shareholders) and after a half hour of waiting for my checked in advance car, all license and payment information provided on line, an uncaring employee, after clattering away at his computer, tossed me the keys to a Toyota 4-Runner although I had rented a mid-sized car, not a truck. “Take it or leave it” he said.  “It’s the only vehicles for rent from anyone.”

 

So, we gathered our luggage and pole vaulted into our truck after finally finding in a parking lot to which we had to drag our suitcases and off we went on the old Merritt Parkway, always under construction and always stop and go traffic finally arriving at our hotel, one that is near our old boat now owned and beautifully maintained by our son Jonathan and daughter-in-law Tracie. We’ve stayed at this Marriott on and off for 25 years, seeking it out as a hurricane haven when we were living on the boat ourselves each summer. But the hotel has regressed with smaller rooms, no shelving and a refrigerator that never worked. Needless to say, it was packed with no options.

 

Our older son Chris and his significant other Megan drove down the next day from the Boston area to stay at the same hotel and finally, our little family was able to get together, one of the high points of the trip for us.

 

Captain Jonathan had a nice surprise ready for us all the next day, engines revved for a cruise, casting off the lines as soon as we all boarded.  The weather had been threatening and we were not expecting it.

 Here he is on the Bridge above.

 

We passed the house in which we lived before moving to Florida, exactly in the center of this photograph, the two-story home.

 

 

After the weekend, all took leave except for Jonathan who works remotely and ourselves who were hoping to recapture more of our old boating life.  Sitting on the boat in the harbor it was if no time had passed other than we are now just visitors. Those thoughts went through me as I sat looking out, Ann on the couch reading, her ponytail flowing over the cushion (the refrains of The Big Bopper repeat in my head still, “Chantilly lace and a pretty face / And a ponytail hangin' down / A wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk / Make the world go 'round.”) 

 

With no one down at the docks, it is eerily quiet. There is now a persistent east wind bringing in clouds, some cool temperatures, and an occasional light shower.  The door to the boat is open and I ingest the cool humid flow.  This easterly wind induces random slapping of waves on the hull and the chines, the only sounds I hear, continuous, and if I sat here forever, and the wind never shifted, that slapping would be in a one to one relation with eternity.  Reveries now shift to reality.

 Aside from visiting our family, having some excellent meals, we were able to see our old boating friends, Ray and Sue.  All of us in some way have had our health issues, probably Ray and me with the most serious ones, indebted to our wives for keeping us going. 

 

 

And Ann managed to see our close friend, Betty, for lunch and reminisce about their 50 year friendship.  I had hired Betty as a copyeditor way back in the early 1970s but for the last twenty five years she has free lanced as one of the leading and most sought after copy editors in scientific publishing.  That was not her academic background, but it just came naturally to her.

 

The week flew by and before we knew it, we were back on the jammed Merritt Parkway, returning to White Plains Airport, and although I promised not to bitch, I must scratch this one.  Finally getting our truck back into the lot, and having lunch at the airport (which used to have a very nice restaurant but now catering to bar hoppers and fast foodians), we reluctantly went into the “pen” to get through TSA.  This airport has a holding area, as if you are cattle, totally disorganized, and dependent on prior connections / aircraft. 

 

 

Happily for us, our fully booked JB A320 flight arrived on time from Orlando and, a miracle, they called for boarding the aircraft on time. People were sitting or lying all over the floor it was so packed.  Grateful for this little gift, we stood, and got on line.  After committing ourselves, an announcement was made that they had no pilot for the plane.  But he was taking a limousine from JFK to HPN so 175 people had to wait for his arrival and hope his vehicle isn’t involved in a traffic issue.  Altogether crazy but given other horror stories of traveling post Covid, we are grateful, and, in particular, to see our “kids” no matter what.

 

So come on and change your ways

It's summertime (ba-bam-bam)