Someplace between SF and LA

 

 

 I’m not sure if ‘bored out of my skull’ is exactly correct, though I am pretty bored.

Maybe I’ll jump ship in Columbia and either spend a day or two or see if Alaska Airlines will allow a change. Two full days at sea only to pass through Miami on the way home sounds akin to torture to me today.

I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.

Today as I stated vigorously is a sea day. Which equates to a sleep in day. I didn’t sleep in, but I did take my own sweet ass’ed time getting showered and into today’s duds. The casual restaurant seemed to call to me for a simple plate of eggs and toast. I stayed away for even thinking of croissants. Gimme a basic piece of wheat bread and no butter.

Well that killed 40 minutes. Now what? If I continue to read at the rate I am going on this trip I’ll be out of books before Costa Rica. I am reading “The Thursday Murder Club” it is a fun read and funny too. I think there is a television series (maybe movie) that was just released on Netflix. So I have to ration my literary consumption.

Last night’s diary said everything I wanted to say. So no iPad.

Watching downloaded videos seems inappropriate for the daytime on a cruise.

There is that black bag that holds my cross stitch. I brought it along as a last resort. This might just be that resort.

The temperature on deck might be fine, but with a 20 mph moving wind and the sea sucking any heat out of the air, I’ll have to find that glass atrium I’ve seen advertised. A floor to ceiling wall of curved glass facing the bow sounds much better than an darkened empty bar.

Up five flights of stairs from my room rests this piece of Eden. I wimped out and pressed the UP arrow on the bank of eight elevators and waited along with a small crowd including a man with a white stick and an obese woman on a ‘Rascal’ scooter. The elevator arrived and was full of the same, but different, people, including another ‘Rascal’ scooter. The five flights of stairs didn’t seem so dissuading once I saw that.

At the top of the stairs the sign has arrows pointing both left and right to get to the Observation area. I took the left one and followed a long thin hall lined with passenger cabins. What a poor design choice. Imagine having one of those rooms, and having people traipsing by at all hours of the day and night. I did find the door and was lucky enough to see a lounge chair right in the front overlooking the sea ahead. Some old coot was in the lounge next to it, so instead of plunking right down on it, I asked him if it was available. I think he heard me ask if I could shit in his hat, based on the look and the ‘No!’ I received.

Placing my bag on the chaise I turn around and see Starbucks and a bar. I blew off the hometown coffee and went to the bar to get a cuppa Joe, and was informed that it was down the other side from the one I had entered. half a ship later I found the coffee and a small snack bar. If I would have taken the right door instead of the left I would have not passed a single stateroom getting to the glassed wall.

With coffee in hand I went back to my cross stitch bag, hoping it was there, or the old coot hadn’t taken his own shit in it. In about 30 seconds it was clear to me that I didn’t want to sit here after all. It was facing directly into the sun and I felt as if I was sitting under a magnifying glass and I was an ant. See ya later, Mr. Happy.

I made my way back to some seats by the door I came in and alit on a nice love seat.

In the bag. Unfinished piece of work, needles, thread and pattern. Looks like everything. Except, what the fuck am I making? Where did I leave off? After turning the fabric to each of the cardinal compass points I got it to line up with the pattern, so at least that part was done. I am able to find the right dot on the paper that matches the last stitch, so I can at least begin. I still don’t remember what I am making.

My best friend loves watching the local football team on Sunday’s. Her fan of a husband passed away a decade ago, so she now has no one to watch with her. I am not a big football fan, but I like to think I am can help a friend out, so on Sunday I’ll turn on the game and cross stitch as it plays in the background half paying attention to the game. Then text back and forth as the game progresses. The last game was near the end of January. That was the last time I had needle in hand. Still I should know what I am making.

I start to thread my needle and another woman walks up and sits next to me and takes out some needlework. Hum? Okay I can sit with a semi kindred spirit. She introduces herself and asks if I am part of the needlework group. Uhh…no…. . I guess I should read the daily events sheet. The ‘Freestyle Daily’ has an entry everyday 10 am, Needle work group (self hosted) port side Observation lounge, exactly where I was sitting. Guess I am the unexpected ‘self host’. Because three other women are soon in a circle near me.

One of the ladies is a total newcomer to this. She bought a kit for the cruise. The other three have been doing fabric arts since their first allowance and a trip to the Five and Dime with their grandmother.

One woman ‘knows everything’, and has been everywhere and an opinion on it. One woman does have a lot of knowledge and has actually been everywhere. I feel the second woman and I could become ship mates. Nice to meet you ‘H’. The other two women are unknown as of yet. It seems like a good group, one I certainly didn’t start thinking I would become part of one at the beginning of the day. We now are official, same place 10 am every sea day.

After that it was wander the ship and try to find something to do. Eat, drink and move to the next location to eat and drink.

Evening time came as it does, so dinner was in order. The main dining room looked to be a good option. The dining room has a fixed menu with about 5 different items each day besides the normal fixed 5 entree’s. Tonight Paella was one of the day’s specials. I love Paella. The shellfish on top on rice cooked in a tomato and wine broth until the bottom of the rice has turned dark and crispy. That’s the bee’s knees.

I’m not sure if my sense of taste has changed, or the food on this cruise has deteriorated, but it really has been without and flavor, unless it’s salt. The rice was scooped out of a pot and the shellfish was steamed over water. The clams and mussels could have used a side of butter or clam juice or something. They were as plain as could be. Calamari should either be cooked until tender or left completely raw, not put in the same hot steam bath for 5 minutes the same as the clams. I almost miss having COVID on the ship, at least then there is an expectation of flavorless food.

Stopped by the bar that Malcolm and I always find ourselves at. I know nothing about him, except we are always at the same bar each night. I feel like we own it, or are at least ‘Cheers’ patrons. The band tonight was rocking it, and doing it well. Lots of hands flying in the air and butts wiggling on the dance floor. Malcolm is Mr. Malbec to one of the bartenders.

Tossed some dice on the way back to the room and was reminded about math, randomness and odds. I settled in for the night after that.