Archive for August, 2011

Day 30 of planning and tweaking…and splainin’

Monday, August 8th, 2011

Everyone assumes that if I was going to do a two-week Panama coast-to-coast cruise, I would do it with my wife.

Let me explain this as well as I can…she wasn’t interested in how I was doing it for all the years I pushed for it. Frankly, I just wanted an inside cabin and I would eat buffet food for two weeks. I was not picky.

She wanted nothing to do with cruising at all. It involves eight “sea days,” for one…in the volatile part of the spring. I don’t think this a big deal, but it kept coming up and it kept coming up.

So, a few years ago, Pilar said she was fine if I found somebody else to do it with. And me, taking that literally, sent out an e-mail to about 200 people just asking if “anybody” wanted to split the costs of going through the Panama Canal with me. I only got one bite…my wife.

She looked at the e-mail list and started naming people that under no circumstances I was going to live with on a cruise ship for two weeks (female), or that she trusted would actually bring me home alive (male). So it was back to the drawing boards…and waiting another year.

The next time, I had her approve a list of people that I could ask to do it with me. And I got her to approve a budget.

Nothing. I couldn’t find anyone.

Because of work and travel and stuff, a couple of more years went by, and I said, “How about if you go on a cruise and see that you really have nothing to worry about because of how little time you spend in the room and when you do, even after a week, they get on your nerves.

This was basically the “Hey, you won’t even want to spend two weeks with me when you see the whole set up, and understand more about how cruising works because there is so much else to do. Let’s go to Alaska.” She agreed, and the next year (July 2011), we did it.

Only I ran into three snags by the end of that trip:

(1) We got an upgrade to a two-bedroom suite that was HUGE. So much for living together with three of us in close quarters. We even had a butler and steak for breakfast every morning with a private pool. That, THAT, is not how I picture cruising. But that wasn’t my big problem…

(2) She saw how small the regular staterooms were and got freaked out that I would ever share that size of a room with any other woman, no matter how many beds it had. So I needed a new tact and needed to negotiated more and fast. While she still liked the cruise and also had an opinion…and I could buy a downpayment in the lobby for Panama at the cut rate.

(3)…well…before we get to three…

I asked her: “Would you ever go on a two-week cruise either in April or September with me the next two years?”

“No.”

“Can I go on a two-week cruise in the next two years because it’s been bugging me for more than 20 years and I really want to do it?”

(Insert many quick things that make me a good husband because I never do them, and husbands of people we know have for a lot sillier reasons.)

“Yes.”

“Should I just go by myself?”

“No, that wouldn’t make sense for safety.”

(Breakthrough moment.) (Hiding being internally suddenly giddy.)

“So can I ask anyone that you know, male or female, to go with me?”

“As long as you have two rooms and it’s the same as what we’re in now.”

BINGO!!!!!!

That was the last Friday night of our Alaska cruise.

Now, I have this idea that people who climb mountains or run marathons have this complete sense of purpose when they “break through the wall” of exhaustion vs. purpose. I had that for the next 48 hours.

Now, here’s the thing…I needed to get this figured out and sealed quickly, because you can’t get the cool rate once your cruise is over. I knew more about who I didn’t want to ask than who I did. So I started doing mad e-mails to my friends, pleading a case again. The problem was, I did them all from my cell phone to save money, and for 36 hours, I had no idea none of the e-mails had gone through until we got to Victoria for four hours.

DOH!

I needed somebody Pilar wouldn’t flip out about, but who wanted to do it — I mean was really motivated for it because, ummm, it is a pretty epic trip — and who I was pretty sure I’d known long enough that we could like each other and hate each other and it wouldn’t ever matter much during the two weeks because there was a bigger purpose.

So, I’m sitting there in a coffee shop on a Saturday late afternoon, thinking “Who?” I have about an hour left, knowing that if I don’t have something soon, my Panama Canal trip is at six to eight years away. (I am not exaggerating on that.) I could taste coffee in Cartegena. But NOBODY was responding as I started trying to send a second batch of e-mails.

And, here was the thing: I couldn’t just mass e-mail because I was in pretty please mode! I needed to personalize this and really almost beg.

I pretty much gave up.

So I logged onto FB just to see what had happened in the week I had been gone…

And this is how stupid I am. Or how non-FB I am. Or was. Or something. DOH! DUH! FB! I have friends on FB!

Fifteen minutes before I really needed to be walking super fast to the dock from The Empress for the last leg to Seattle…

So I made a very quick list in my head of which people were my FB friends that I would bet on having a good time for two weeks sharing a cabin one cruise through the Panama Canal. (I am a super lucky guy, because, basically, almost everyone of my 40-some-odd friends was on that list. Sorry sister-in-law and et al that are either pregnant  or have kids less than one, etc.) Once I had the list figured out…

I started staring at the screen. I was the only one on FB. I decided I was going to just ask as they pop up in order.

And I did. First my brother-in-law…whom I have cruised with before. No dice. “Too long.”

Second, my friend Brian. “No, I have to be around for the kids and school.”

Five minutes to go…

Kim’s name popped up. So I am thinking…

I’ve know her 20+ years. I like her. We have fought in the past. We have a weird synergy of shared pasts. She’s friends with Pilar on FB. We probably would like the same things on shore. She drinks so there is none of that caring about how many beers I have when we’re at sea. She’s probably smarter than I am.

I mostly just had Canal Fever. I was being infected by the same thing that has crawled into the heads of French engineers, American Presidents, West Indians, Panamanians…I just wanted to get through the damned canal. Screw all the reasoning. I was fighting my own ismuth and I have been since I was 10…

So, I asked.

She said yes.

(3) I DID NOT SEE THAT ONE COMING WITH TWO MINUTES TO GO! Shit.

Kim and I finalized all the pleasantries and then I was, uh, to say the least, panicked. I needed to get a room for the cruise so when I told Pilar back on board I had a plan and it fit all of her criteria, and now I am going to go swim laps in the pool because I’m so happy…see you in Seattle…and don’t ask me any more questions and I really am trying to look like it’s no big deal…

Here’s something I hadn’t thought of until this very moment

There were no rooms with two bedrooms available for that cruise at the moment.

OMG! None. Well, there was, but it was like $25,000 or something.

Shit. Again.

So I am briskly walking back to the Norwegian Pearl. I can see it getting closer and closer.

My legs are kind of rubbery. I know Kim’s good for it. And I have a simple part of the criteria I can’t deliver on at the moment for Pilar, but I pretty much had someone who was going to do it with me and help pay. Whattodowhattodowhattodo…

I am not very proud of this next thing. And I hope everyone that reads this understands it takes a big man to admit it. I came up with a plan to stall. And maybe lie just a little, tiny bit.

I hate the fact I did this. The next thing I told Pilar was technically not true when I told it to her back on the ship: “It’s all set and it meets your criteria exactly.”

And maybe the other two or three times I said it in the last month while I called every day waiting for someone to cancel.

The thing is, I had an out in my head…maybe…if a two-bedroom didn’t show up soon: I would just cut Kim to the wind and eat my airfare to Miami out of my personal budget. (Sorry, Kim, but that’s what was the plan in my head walking up the gangplank….er, ramp, to the ship.)

I feel bad about that…but sometimes you can’t be literal. And you get Canal Fever and you start thinking of a plan before you walk up to the dock…

Here was what I thought I’d do…

(1) Tell Pilar that it was all set that we would have the exact same cabin with two bedrooms. (Now (a) I had no freaking idea how much that would cost or (b) if one would even become available.)

(2) Get the airplane tickets to Miami bought and paid for because, for both Pilar and Kim, I could make the “good money after bad” argument if the cabin I got wasn’t up to par for either of them.

(3) Get some cabin that had a whole bunch of beds and some privacy. Any cabin that sounded like it was big. (Seriously, I am walking to the dock and this is my plan. Feverish. I was seeing tsetse flies.)

(4) Buy the first two bedroom cabin I can get my hands on when it happens.

(That was a month ago. The next installment will be about reactions to the overall plan in the meantime.)

But I am true to my word…finally, Saturday night, a two-bedroom suite became available and I got it. The only little white lie I ever told to Pilar was that I had the room a month before I had the room. It just took a month longer. But I apologized profusely and came clean about that, too. I think I will be forgiven…I wouldn’t be doing this if my wife didn’t know, over the course of the last 20 years, I push the envelop at times. About a lot of stuff.)

Canal Fever. It has made men do stupid things for almost 150 years.

 

 

Friday Night Lights…

Saturday, August 6th, 2011

The high school football team I played for, the Bethel Braves (Spanaway, WA), are playing the Permian Panthers on Friday night September 2 in Odessa, TX.

I want to go. I have never seen the movie or an episode of the TV show. But I read the book 20 years ago…and I played for the team that’s playing them, and I am kind of primed up at the thought.

 

You might be my Chevy Citation

Monday, August 1st, 2011

You know how you get a question out of the blue and you just answer it like there is some impulse to give an answer?

The classic for me was when someone asked me what my first car was and I said, without much hesitation, a 1966 Chrysler 300.

It solved the question and sounded reasonable. But it always nagged me because I know, it’s not really true. It was a 1979 Chevy Citation. I even knew it when I said it, but it disposed of the question.

So I was talking to a friend recently that I met through work and we were talking about Facebook and business contacts and friends. This woman is about half my age (aren’t they all) and she was curious about who I thought my “best friends” really were.

“When did you feel like you were meeting your best friends?”

(Can I just do an aside here…this woman born in the 1990s was talking to me like I was born in the 1940s or something. I’m not THAT old to be giving sage advice or anything. Grrrrr…)

I gave a 1966 Chrysler 300 answer and said, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?” I LOVE that quote. She was not familiar, by the look on her face.

And I kind of do believe the quote sometimes. Like I think my 1966 Chrysler was my first real car; even though I know it’s not. It just easily quotes a simple pop culture answer, only “Stand By Me” references to an early 20-something ain’t pop culture.

But here’s the thing when I was thinking about it, as it nagged me: I do still have my 1966 Chrysler since I was 14 and I love it. I invest it in now. I tune it and tweak it and take it from place to place in my life. I have done that for 25+ years. But other cars have come along.

Now I was really thinking about this…this is all happening while she is thinking we are having a mild and casual conversation and I am wondering about the meaning of life.

When do I feel like I was meeting my best friends?

“Was it in high school or college or later?” she continued.

She was asking a fairly deep question there about growing up and aging and life that deserved some super deep answer. Or something better than me popping off a quote from Richard Dreyfus in a Spielberg movie about nostalgia and a dead body.

So I dug deep into a combination of memories:

I once asked my dad who his best friend was. And he said “Any of the ones that I like and can trust. Easier to just be equal.”

I know I was in elementary school because we were sitting in the parking lot in his Rambler after class at the junior high.

And, I thought of my grandpa who always got asked which of his thousands of cars was his favorite, and he always said, even to famous people, “They are like my grandchildren…I can’t just pick one.”

So, I thought, I was was being kind of sage when I said, “Aren’t you more grownup than needing a best friend?”

NAILED IT!

It didn’t really answer the question, per se, but it was a pretty pithy, suave answer. (I thought.)

On the inside…I was thinking about the fact that I have a piece of every car I have ever owned somewhere as a souvenir and I take them around in boxes and I have incredible memories about them all. I love my friends more than my cars…but the same holds true to everyone I have ever called a friend. I have a little piece of it all the time. They’re all my best friends.

I was thinking I had tossed it back perfectly…

And then she said…

“Well, isn’t your wife your best friend?”

Shit.

That’s a good comeback you smart-assed little whipper snapper.

(Pause for a moment where I realized I was pretty much having a marriage-type discussion and I didn’t even realize it. Crap. Yes…sweat is on the brow. I am trapped. I think the room is getting smaller. Rapid breathing and the water line is getting very high all of the sudden.)

It’s a great point, though.

My wife is not my “best friend,” if I really think about it. She’s something more important and on a super bigger duper scale than friendship. She’s my, ummm…wife. My spouse. We are not friends. We’ve been together more than 20 years…but we’re not friends we’re “us.”

Now my mind is racing. And the super pressure is on because, during this completely inappropriate work conversation other people are getting big ears. Remember…this ALL happened in about two minutes and I am so twisted by my own mid-life issues I can’t even remember what the original question was all about in the first place!

The co-worker smiled and said: “You really do love all your friends don’t you. You and your grandfather were a lot alike. But you love your family more. And your wife is different because she is more special.”

(Can we be on a sidebar conference here: There are arguments to be made about this and that in his 80+ years. For the record.)

I just nodded, though, and we went on with our business.