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C. Triumph
Northern thoughts -- aboard the Carnival Triumph, late September, 2009.
Lido Cafeteria aft, off the Jersey shore. 8:30PM.
A lone sea buoy can be seen flashing in the dark. Things not done must now wait for
our return. A cup of coffee as my companion, I consciously empty my mind of concern
to make way for new experiences.
6:40AM, Sunday, Lido deck.
Hours are landlubbers. Now at sea, my days are divided by cups of coffee into unequal
segments. The earth slowly turns, bringing forth a new day as our ship welcomes the sun.
This is the first of six complete sans souci days. The sea is calm and the winds gentle,
befitting the day’s consecration.
Sunday afternoon, Salem.
Three story houses built from wind, from ships cargoes and from the courage of seamen
glide past our tour bus. Their top windows, less lofty than those below, appear to squint
as they look at us. I wonder if they, children of another century, have difficulty in
focusing on today’s world.
Breakfast coffee, Lido deck, Monday morning, 7AM.
The Maine shore glides past as we near Portland. Early morning sun highlights lobster
pot buoys on a light blue, gently rippled sea surface. Abeam, the first green channel
marker is temporarily shadowed by our stack as we pass. A lone lobster boat sees to the
day’s business of tending strings of pots. The light at the harbor’s mouth winks
knowingly at us. Later, some will visit it and snap memories destined to be forgotten in
dusty drawers.
Tuesday, Lido, 10:15PM.
Children’s laughter sparkles brightly about the pool and the hot tubs. Outside, the
North Atlantic has already begun its slow descent into winter. My cup of coffee,
cradled in my hands, reminds my senses of the warmth of summer past. We head
further east into the vast night ocean.
Presto!
There’s a magic show tonight. The illusionist causes beautiful girls to disappear as
deftly as that great thief Time has vanished my many years. The girls will reappear.
Thursday, the North Atlantic, Lido deck, 7AM.
A day without scurry. Our next port won’t appear off the bow until tomorrow at
daybreak. A few early risers walk about and talk about simple things. There’s no hint
that we’re near the scene of the ‘perfect storm’ and the deep final berth of the Titanic.
Wave height is about a half foot. We cruise at mid-teen knots through water of deep
grey, hinted green.
Friday, Lido, 8AM.
Sunlight, coffee and toast -- penance for chocolate melting cake too freely indulged.
Retribution lies hidden with each pleasure like a spider poised at the rim of its dew-
strung web. Morning toast and coffee -- a remembrance of weight gained.
Routines.
At home each morning at 5:45AM I begin a scan of various news services on my
computer, shaking my head over the latest brutalities. I’ve been away now for 7 days.
I’m not sure how I should deal with the world going its way without my awareness. I
briefly consider a change when once again ashore and ahome. We forge strong shackles
though. It’s easier to return to the known, quietly closing the doors leading to other
realities.
Oh!
It’s only now, near the end of the cruise, that I’ve noticed the chair seat cushions in the
sports bar -- baseballs, basketballs and soccer balls. How many other details have I
overlooked on this ship or in my life?
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