DON’T WAVE YET

I have an itch, an itch that needs scratching. The maitre d’ looks at me, looks behind me, sees a young, laughing couple. This time I beat him to the punch, ‘Just One,’ I say. My table is not too isolated nor in the core of round ones for eight, bubbling with life. I don’t expect the Waldorf, perfect service. This place is usually good enough for me.

My children and ten year old grandson have tried to encourage me for two years to get away, fly to Paris, go on to Italy, Greece, be adventuresome. I’ve said I would so many times and have made no move. They haven’t mentioned it once this entire week. Tonight’s ‘Just One’ was bloody. It sliced into my brain so my ears could hear better. I think, am not sure, but I have made a startling decision to go away, see some of that big, wide world I’ve missed before I get my first Social Security check.

Between nibbles of my Caesar salad and crispy flat bread, my waiter reaches for my not quite finished salad. Gently, I tap his hand. ‘Uh, uh, I’m not finished.’ He apologizes, makes room for my entree, puts down my Veal Cutlet Alfredo with fried zuccini. I am in an awkward position. The Frommer’s Guide Book I bought at Barnes and Noble for $15 bucksis on my lap, waiting for me to scan the Pacific. Darn it. I’ll have to start it at home. For a moment I consider spilling a little Alfredo sauce on the cover to avoid returning the book. The moment passes. Nobody is rushing me. Dessert and coffee may sweeten my mind.

Frommer and I meet. Where might I like to go? Quickly I eliminate hot, sunny beaches, sun screen clogging my pores, Mai Tais and mahi mahi. Pages 100 to 140, Hawaii, Fiji, Tonga are out. Page 141 is Australia. Hmnn, that may be nice. I do love the barbies, the accents, what I hear is fantastic friendliness. The kangaroos and crocodiles I can skip. The big, beautiful harbor with the Opera House glaring white piques a little shiver up my spine. It’s my book and if I bend page corner’s down it’s nobody’s business. With fast pangs of guilt, I turn down the corner of page 141.

First thing in the morning I call my daughter about my tentative plan. Of course, she is thrilled, gives me her travel agent’s info. At ten I call for an appointment with Minnie Glick. Minnie is a surprise. She isn’t a fat, aging Jewish mother looking for something to do and earn a few dollars while doing it. She is stunning, tall, chic, knowledgeable and sunny as the beaches I don’t want to visit. ‘Call Me Min, everybody does,’ and that flows from my tongue. ‘Sandy is fine with me. I don’t need the Mrs. anymore.’

Arrangements are made so quickly there is hardly time to buy some new cruise clothes, to double check my charge account balances, add to my checking account, put a hold on mail delivery. Min comes with me and my daughter to acquaint me with the Harmony’s layout and to meet the Captain, Chief Purser, arrange for late dinner, get a safety deposit box. My cabin is mid section, 8 decks above water level, close, but not too close to the elevator. ‘Min, wish you were coming with me. All the officers know you. I’d be a queen.’ The ship shakes, rattles as the funnels sound three times ‘all ashore who are going ashore.’ The 12 piece band is on deck. Drinks are free, American and Australian flags are flying everywhere. A stranger grabs my body, smiles broadly and twirls me around and around.

‘Dinner at eight, please James. Madam will not be dining.’ The old song saddens me. I walk steadily on and say aloud, ‘Oh, yes she will.’ A couple walk by, look at me as if I’m already sea sick and walk on. The head steward takes me to my table and I am shocked to find the Captain and the Purser already seated, leaving space for me between them. Champagne flows. I send air wave signals to my daughter, ‘This is great, Honey. It’s gonna get greater.’

Every day is busy or not, as I choose it to be. We sail for a week into Sydney’s harbor. The opera house is like the snow house I tried to build so long ago, except it is pure, clean white. The Chief Purser and I have met every evening at one bar or another, strictly platonic, at least on my side. We chat, have a glass of wine and then go arm and arm into dinner. Let the couples and the single lady who never enters any conversations, think what they want.

After dinner the captain makes an announcement that goes into every room, suite, hall, bar. ‘Fellow Passengers, we will shortly be entering the Tasman Sea, said to be one of the roughest in the world. I can assure you I have taken ships thru here many times, and can vouch for what is going to happen. Ladies, wear lower heels, hold the railings along the walls, stairs. I suggest you take sea sickness pills now. The dining room empties faster than usual. The Purser and I are not ready to retire so we go down to Deck E for a last glass of wine with some pop corn, pretzels. We are the only customers.

We take our wine to the opposite end of the long and handsome room. Large, heavy leather seats surround the baby grand piano. The ship begins to sway, sway longer, harder. The leather chairs start to roll to the other end of the room, bang into the bar. The Purser and I laugh but know it isn’t funny. We head towards the glass door. A crashing noise behind us tells us to look out. The piano is going to crush us on its mad dash to the keel. The door is inches away. We think we are safe. It swings open, hard fast. The piano hits it and we are tossed into the hall. We do not stop to look back at the damage. I am not the least bit sea sick or frightened, the Purser is both. He asks me how I can be so calm. My only thought is if the Captain isn’t worried neither am I. I am politely and quickly left at my cabin. Inside I see the waves crashing into my veranda. The fruit that should be on the cocktail table is bruised and rolling around the floor. The Captain announces we are bucking 30 foot waves but are in no danger. I am foolishly unworried. Each time a wave hits my veranda, I watch its refuse slide back into the sea. Any one could be the one to break the glass door but my luck stays good..

It doesn’t take long for me to get into bed, close my eyes and go with the flow. I wake at 7, pick up the fruit, call the maid to clean up the broken bowl, dress and go outside into bright sunshine, take two turns around the deck and go in for breakfast. All the chairs are tied together. Hinged table edges have kept the Sweet n’ Low, sugar, salt, from falling to the floor. Not one single passenger comes in for breakfast. The Maitre d’ sits down with me and has a lovely spread brought out for both of us. I eat with gusto. I make a ship to shore call that I learn too late, cost me $200, but what the hell I am Unsinkable, have been thru such fantastic excitement, I have to tell my daughter how glad I am she pushed me.

I am now living before I die, instead of the other way around.