Beach Photos

long beach run

                                                                  It has been the usual golf/ tennis/ swim orgy (thomas calls it the country club Olympics) with  attempts at jogging in preparation for my race in August. God help me.
Above was taken on a morning run (which turned into a walk because that seemed somehow less tiring)...the golf course is on top of the red cliffs. The ocean water is very cold, but somehow I love it. The Brigham girls say it is like having an ice cream cone, and I agree completely-you come out feeling happier than when you went in.

Unfortunately, as in years past, T has hurt his back due to golf and lack of the usual team of massage specialists from California. He is getting Portuguese Xrays as we speak.

Below was taken at a typical beach bar/restaurant where we went after a small bout with Weltschmerz the other evening. (the Portuguese are not very cheerful people and it can be contagious)..Thomas thinks the beginning of Ramadan  drifted across the seas from Morocco and put us in a somber mood.
Luckily for us we are German, so beer was prescribed and administered; this helped somewhat. But what really helps is this odd, but welcome German tradition of drinking hot coffee with cake at 5 30 or 6 pm (?). Can't get them off of it...no matter how hot or how late it is, coffee and cake muss sein. I defy you to be blue when you are being forced to eat cake.
 
We fly to Dubai on Wednesday; Africa a day later for the full Brigham/Wehlen bonanza. If nothing else, it should make for good blogging. (The blogging takes such a nose dive when MMB exits the picture doesn't it? )

Thomas at beach shack bar

Upon waking

Photos

Cloudy et moi

post sequin war joy (tipsy upside down selfie)

Luctonians Rugby

Leaving NYC

 Post journey musings to follow...we are happily in London with family...Viking exhibit at British museum; soccer and Lebanese feast chez Brigham; science museum; Portugal tomorrow.

How it all began..MMB seeing this in SF

Shows the scale of the ship

Me and Padle boys (portugal in background hogging court)

Bill is in red.

Sequin Showdown

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The following story is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

F Wehlen

I certify under the laws of Bismark, that the following is a true recollection of events of the 17^th of June aboard the Queen Mary’s eastbound crossing.

Thomas Wehlen

Last night was our last formal night, but somehow the next table didn’t get the word. No matter: they looked great-cocktail suit and coat and tie. It’s plenty.

I pulled out an old favorite purchased under the watchful eye of KMH; a silver sequin number from the cheap floor at Neiman’s. It isn’t high quality, but in the right light, it looks kind of dazzly-cheap trick really.

Anyway my mother and I walk in, and Thomas says Lester and his buddy say something like:

Wow!! There sure are a lot of good-looking young ladies on this cruise!! We breeze by.

MMB takes up her post surveying the crowd, where much to our chagrin amid repeated requests to stop, she makes running commentary on everyone who enters the room.

Well SHE looks thinner in the movies…!!!”  OOOO there is that famous director! I don’t really understand his movies; I prefer romance.. Oh!! look at that woman from New York!! …Did you get a load of that diamond Star of David??

Then:  OH where is Mrs. Lester going? Why do you suppose she is leaving dinner early?  Do you think she is going to that movie? Ellie, where is Mrs. Lester going?!!

Mother, please; focus on your shrimp sampler.

After about 30 minutes, Mrs. Lester returns. Only this time she is wearing a gold sequin stunner. She waves at us; my mother swoons. SHE changed!!! Well isn’t that interesting??!! Ellie why do you think she changed??

We have pieced together the following scenario: 87 year old “Cloudy” she insisted I call her by her first name; think of a name that begins with “S” and means the opposite of Cloudy. So apparently Cloudy was not going to take second place lying down. No little chicky in silver sequins and a few pilates lessons was going to distract the men at her table. No Siree. So she hoisted herself from her beef Wellington, grabbed her walker, woke up her maid, and said

“Get up; we are going nuclear.” Presumably the maid said…”but Mrs Lester..you can’t mean….”

“I mean exactly that: The gold sequin dress from Lester’s 90^th.”

Game over. What cards do I have left to play?  I’m out of dresses; I can’t outspend her, my marriage is less than one third the length of hers; and her son is the ambassador to a small European country while mine is still, occasionally, picking his nose.

I waved my napkin in surrender. She marched over and told my mother to take our picture. Mano a Mano. Silver sequins vs gold.

Then she told her to take another.

If there is one thing this Blog hopes to convey, it is this: 

It ain’t over til it’s over. Remember that ladies: Do not, I repeat do not, go quietly into the night.

We have a date every evening with Thomas’ man crush: The dashing –if a bit creaky Englishman who is either sneaking into the first class hot tub area, or owns half of England. You know what they say: there is so little difference between the highest and the lowest classes. (They both hate publicity, and they both swear a lot). Anyway, he arrives on time in his Luctonians rugby hat and explains that he is basically kicked out of the room while his wife gets “tarted up”. He has been married 50 years and as he says, sometime you have to just take it. His major disappointment in Mrs Luctonia is that she is so un sporty. He took her for a walk while they were dating, up some hill; and she passed the test; then got him to the altar and basically hasn’t broken  a sweat since. Sigh.

He seems to be on some sort of crusade…he has written and delivered a letter to the captain regarding some outrage neither Thomas nor I can seem to remember, even though he keeps telling us. I mean, we want to be on his side (I call him Che Guevara) but when one is in the first class hot tub overlooking the Atlantic with cocktail in hand, it is so hard to get upset.

So there he stands, regaling us with tales from his home town..something laughably English like Hertfordshire upon Spooning Moor. He finds the drinks at the meet the Captain evening ridiculous, a “tease” so he has to get two from each bartender, saying one is for the wife, then pours them together. He has lots of stats: one woman received flowers for spending 1500 days (not a typo) on one or another Cunard ship. Another woman brilliantly figured out that for the same price as a retirement home, she could live on the QE2. So she did…little old lady, living aboard til she dropped dead, presumably in a flower arranging class.

We are due to reach Bishop’s rock at 4: 30 this afternoon. This signals the end of the Great Circle Track, and the beginning of the English Channel.

:(

I have pictures of everyone..but will post tonight…xx

A Few Photos...

The birthday boy the day after, blowing things out of his straw at our table. (says best thing about being 93; he's allowed.)

Portugal before the game. :) After he didn't speak for 2 days :)

MMB Stalking English prey at new table

Handsome with his problem child

The QM2 Library; my favorite place on ship, but one can never get a seat it is so popular.

F in the scenic elevator. Heaven!

Happy Birthday Lester!!

So Lester from Miami/next table turned 94 surrounded by his wife, two friends, and a large portion of duck a l’Orange. MMB served as a sort of tolerated paparazzo –rushing to the table and instructing him to take of his bib and smile. It will make a better picture!
We had given her the pep talk as we walked in: she was not actually invited to his party so she should not act like it. But God made introverts and extroverts and then he made the category my mother belongs to: the vampire extroverts-the ones that feed on human contact like those bats in Mexico feed on us. She simply can’t walk past a party. After she photographed the family, Lester made the fatal error of asking her for a kiss in honor of his birthday. From that point on M was off leash. She pulled out a move of  Olympic level of difficulty: the mid distance laugh/lean. When she heard them laugh at something, she would lean over in the direction of their table and laugh. HAHAHAHA. It is very effective, because no one at the table knows who was talking to her; but they assume someone was. So her foot is in the door. Then of course she got their business card so she could send them a photograph of themselves and those poor ducks.
I have always felt that the Queen’s grill was filled with such nice people. They seem abnormally happy and solicitous of each other. And we figured out why that is: older people come on the QM2, and so we see only the marriages that have lasted; only people who still like each other would agree to come on an Atlantic crossing. (If you get in a fight you can’t go home). So the dining room is like some alien planet of married people holding chairs out for each other, and laughing at each other’s jokes. One of my favorites is my former paddle tennis partner Bill. He and his wife came on a crossing for their honeymoon; they had bunk beds and were below the water line, so no window. Then they flew home. That was it. Now he is in the Queens Grill because, as he said, I figured I should give her a proper crossing one of these days. Mrs. Bill looks at him adoringly. Oh BILL…

Thomas and I are seriously talking about taking this baby to Europe n December. Rough seas almost guaranteed. One of my favorite people on board is a very English public school type who wanders the deck in foul weather gear and a wool hat that says something like: Luctican Rugby 1908-2008 One hundred years. He claims to be in an inside facing cabin…very upper crusty cheapskate and/or the second son in land of primogeniture. Anyway he says his friend takes it almost exclusively in the winter because it is so empty: many people stay in their cabins due to seasickness or fear of falling over. He announces cheerfully that great deals are to be had! HT is encouraging us to do this. He has even taken to taunting by saying that we would probably be too scared. Oh once he was in his cabin in a huge storm and at 3 a.m. the loudspeaker goes on: Code Bravo Code Bravo (which is code for the shit hitting the fan. All hands on deck.) so he stays and listens to this until he hears the captains voice-out of breath from running in saying FALSE ALARM! Sorry. My bad. Then it goes off again: CODE BRAVO CODE BRAVO. Then the obvious sound of the captain stuffing a towel over the microphone. Can’t get it to stop any other way.
Told Thomas if there is a storm that big, I’m sleeping in front of HT’s cabin. In a dry suit.

This morning I had a genuine Queen Mary miracle. A Marycle. It was a glorious morning, sun shining, coffee in hand, strolling the decks.  The only thing missing was some wildlife to look at, so I said God? Would it kill you to send a shark past? I have never seen a shark fin from the Queen Mary. I kid you not-I looked down one minute later and saw a small fin. I looked again and it was something small…then it jumped, then another one jumped: baby dolphins. Of course then I clasped my hands together in prayer and said:
God? I believe I asked for a SHARK!!!! (kidding, kidding don’t strike me down. ) But an evolved person would say that on the QM2 you don’t always get what you asked for; sometimes you get something better. 

Dangerously close to land now: only one black tie and one informal night left.

God might be German....

Boarding

Mueller has just scored a hat trick against Portugal; someone named Pepe is out of the next game; Thomas won the golf both yesterday and today. Martin Kaymer won the US open; an orgy of facts about nautical miles and longitude and wind speed came showering down through the PA system like manna from heaven; a salve to Teutons of all ages. (From Turkey’s mouth to the captains ears).

As if that weren’t enough, the frozen yogurt machine is now churning out a mixture of chocolate and vanilla that is so symmetrical as to make cholesterol watchers weep. Seriously, we have not seen the machines work this well since 04.

Here is what we know:
We are a healthy 1800 nautical miles from Bishop’s rock and dreaded land.
Winds are 25 knots, which translates to Force 6.
Last night while we slept they were gale force, which is force 8 (We miss everything!!)
The Beaufort scale is named for admiral Beaufort and is a scale from 0-12; calm to hurricane. His scale of wind and wave height has been in use since the Royal navy adopted it in the mid 19^th century.
We are now in the Great Circle Track, which is the shortest distance between two points on the globe. But because it is so far north it’s too risky with the icebergs to go before now.
On the Bridge a couple named Mr and Mrs Rorke were asked to sound the ships horn. They are on their way back to England after their boat/HOME sank in the middle of the Atlantic. They lost everything but their lives and their Jack Russell terrier; this will be the first time they have seen their family since the tragedy. Now you cannot dangle a story like that in front of my mother and me and not expect us the clamor for more. I intend to find them before land. In the meantime you can google the story-it’s something.
As I am sure you are all aware, today is Lester from the next table’s 94^th birthday. My mother is very excited. She also thinks they are from New York and only winter in Florida because her friends do that; even though they keep saying they live year round in Miami.  “It’s so nice to have a bit of both don’t you think?”
In order to fit it all in, I have decided to focus on the major food groups only (vodka, crepes suzette and tea sandwiches). Actually today I am not going to imbibe at all because I need to get cracking on the chocolates that are piling up in the room and we have found that wine and truly enormous amount of sugar do not lend oneself to a good sleep. It’s screwing up my naps.  (This ship is all about prioritizing and planning). Nap vs. hot tub; vodka vs. wine; tea vs. large lunch. You can’t have it all.
F went to a movie last night and missed the crepes. At breakfast he resembled a small crack head in the early stages of withdrawal. HT (handsome Turk) materialized at the table with notebook preparing to take the crepes count for tonight. I half jokingly said: no more crepes! And F, in something between a screech and a shriek said:
“DON’T I GET ANY CREPES???!!!!!”.  HT asked him politely if he watched the football game: NO!!!!!
A quick review of the recipe might be in order here: coat a copper pan deep with sugar; then add butter; lemon juice; orange zest; and a lot of booze. Don’t be shy about the booze: loosen the wrist. People are watching.
Douse crepes in this mixture. Put vanilla ice cream on the side.
I have always breezed off the alcohol aspect of this with the comforting and totally unscientific assurance of the booze being “burned off”. But is it really? I mean the fervor these things inspire; it’s well beyond the loyalty to a chocolate donut. I tried to share one with my mother and she stabbed at me with her fork. Thomas has stopped mentioning cholesterol. The children we have invited on board have opted to miss movies, video games, soccer matches, anything that might make them miss the crepes. I can’t think of what it could be unless alcohol and sugar hold some kind of appeal.

 

Dressing room selfie before blow dry

Captured by paparazzi

First Photos....more when internet is faster

HT picking a table for us

the rhino hunter

excited for first dinner

rhino

Photos Soon!

The internet is so slow this year; it is about 5 minutes a picture..but I'm on it. 

Pray for Germany; they play Portugal today.
Maybe God can do what the lesbians could not.

Rough Seas

Day 2
So the weather is pretty good or bad depending on your definition of bad weather. Winds are very high..(30 knots-yay); almost no one but us is walking around out on deck. Thomas returned slightly depressed because he could not get a ping pong table or a fro yo. This is about as bad as it gets. The Portuguese nemesis continues to dominate and insult.
Thomas and I started off the day awkwardly; we woke way too early and since it feels like Christmas every morning, we could not help but open the curtains and start drinking coffee. It was obvious at breakfast however that a pivot was in order: and we needed to go right back to bed and sleep.  I have written about this before, but there is simply nothing like a nap in bad weather on the Queen Mary. One is rocked gently to the sound of howling wind; wind beyond the protective layer of one’s cabin. It is heaven.  
At lunch, Handsome said he heard that we had slept badly, and had taken a nap. He also mentioned I looked like I had partied all night when I arrived at breakfast. (!) My mother complained to him she was slightly seasick; Frederick pre ordered the crepes; Thomas complained that on the other crossings they would report longitude and latitude and most importantly, the weather. This trip we are getting nothing he says. Handsome takes out a notebook to record this request; nodding uh huh; Yes yes..longitude, wave height..yes yes and then says..”number of fish in the sea…” LOL God he is funny. He gets so into the spirit of making fun of Germans and their little needs. I announced to my family that I wished they would all shut up because their needs were taking time away from his adoring glances and compliments directed my way. Thomas said he appreciated that, but felt we could share him since he, Thomas, asked for so little. MMB ignored me totally and prattled on about the birthday party plans for Lester, her new best friend from the next table. I have fantasies of dumping them all so I can ask Handsome Turk more about rogue waves and death onboard. Here are some statistics:
Number of people who have jumped:
1; a German into the Mediterranean. They saw the little table pushed to the edge of the rail, and there was a note at home. He was 70 or so; they looked for him for a couple of hours.
Number of people murdered onboard:
1; With a hammer in the engine room. Staff member.



Thomas and I were discussing what happens if one of us gets dementia and T says he would like me to send him to the Boden See (in Switzerland; pronounced Boden zay) so he can “drool while looking at the alps and the lake”.

I said no f ing way: I am not putting my demented life partner on a plane for the Boden See. I will put him in front of a blow up pool and tell him it is a Swiss lake. Hand him a Toblerone. Dress him the way I want to finally.
F weighed in saying the 13 year old’s version of  “Maybe we should respect his wishes”. I told him to shut up. We are not respecting giving Poppy away.
Then it occurred to me we should just live on the Queen Mary. Not to get too braggy, but we are Gold level members…meaning we have done between two and seven cruises. One more and we are platinum. The next level is diamond, which of course is our dream. No one is sure what that means exactly; But it says it on your room card! Best of all, you could come visit! Meet us in port! Help me explain to Thomas why the waves in the lake are so big.

F has lost in round two in ping pong. Thomas is in the golf simulator. The frozen yogurt machine still does not make a proper swirl of chocolate and vanilla, my mother is taking a nap; resting up for the musical tonight. I don’t believe she is actually in the musical, but ya never know.

The wind is howling outside my deck, and the ship is creaking: whispering that canapés and cocktails will be delivered soon; but first I should get a tea sandwich and some earl grey, and stop in at the fruit carving exhibition to laugh at the elderly English.  

And then, before I get ready for my evening, I should get in the hot tub and toast the wild seas that have allowed me to live for another day.

Day !

--> 150 people a year are hit by New York subways; 50 are killed  F. Wehlen

Greeting Blogyalists!
First full day at sea.  Apparently we have gone about 280 nautical miles; around two thousand to go. I cannot tell you the sanguine feeling that prompts in the Wehlen family. So much ocean still to cross!
A special shout out is herewith given to Miss Amy R of San Francisco, CA for pointing out that Alaska and Hawaii became states in the late fifties and the painting was before that, so JJ 's painting is in fact worth 20 million clams and not $9.99 as the Germans claimed. I had mused this very point at the museum, but was roundly booed down by husband. Well anyway we were the belle of the ball at the math museum...history shmistory. Also Amy gets kudos for emailing me at sea. I do get emails people, just not texts. 
Where was I? 
Oh here in our little Utopia there is one thing that is thoroughly un American. At home it appears most of us are winners; distinctly above average in every way. Here on the QM2, we are losers. This was pointed out to us by the new, extremely handsome, tattooed, Portuguese sports director when he gave his opening remarks. He said we would all play against the sports directors and we would all lose. He actually said that: “You will have absolutely no chance”. Luckily English people do not take offense. In fact they couldn’t agree more: “…quite right…we are worthless, really”. He also eschewed the more traditional sports director greeting that says This Is ALL going to be fun!! And went with a: Actually this is more of a try out. We are not sure you deserve to be up here at all vibe. It was unnerving.  And we were nervous enough already after a tense elevator ride with a person wearing a t shirt with tennis rackets on it; if clothes make the athlete, we were screwed.
Here was the group: one pasty faced American man; three cave chested Englishmen; one of whom was the guy from the elevator. Me. Frederick. We have to wait because the two sports directors are on the court whacking it back and forth. They are very good...they keep playing. We keep waiting...Why should they stop? We are worthless, they are good. They want to finish.
MMB is there ready for rhinos and keeps saying (why get off a winning joke) I’M FROM SPORTS ILLUSTRATED!! hhahahaha. A word must be said about her outfit. Visualize a person on safari, but just off of a cruise ship, headed for the Alps. If she were in a sentence she would be a mixed metaphor: 
blue and white striped nautical sweater; safari vest filled with camera equipment; Swiss handkerchief around the neck with little edelweiss on it. But of course on a cruise ship she looks normal. She is more than that; she is a sort of retired super hero/comedienne/femme fatale. She entered breakfast and Tchaikovsky was playing and she literally did a little ballet number…pirouetted down the aisle to the guffaws of the English pensioners. Keep in mind this is without benefit of caffeine or alcohol..just joie de boat vivre.

Where was I?

Yes ok so long story short, every team goes down to the mighty Portuguese man and English girl side kick. The wind is 20 knots; we are whiffing balls; we are crashing into the sides; it is hideous. Through it all the Portuguese guy laughs, taunts, ridicules, gloats and generally behaves like a bully from an after school special. And we take it. I lamely try to organize the assembled and start cheering for the “guests” by chanting GUESTS GUESTS !!!..but the English are just so slow to rise up against their tormentors. Then, because my mother and I seem to be having a good time, two very attractive, young, American probably lesbians or at least girls trying something their mothers would not approve of come up. They sense fun. What is this? Paddle tennis tournament. Who’s winning? Mean directors. And then right into the fray they go GUESTS GUESTS GUESTS!! USA USA USA. How I love them!! The Portuguese guy gets a load of the hot women and because he is an idiot thinks he has a shot at them. So he says, you want to play? And she says I don’t know how..and I put a racket in her hand and push her out there. Well I am here to tell you the drama began. My countrywoman had clearly spent a lot of time with the boys (she was dressed as one) and she was not going to go quietly into the night. She lept, she crouched, she stole balls from Edwin the guy from the elevator who is probably in a paddle tennis guild, she taunted the Portuguese guy back,  we cheered, my mother shot photos, it was ecstasy!

Then she lost. I’m telling you those guys were good.

Just when we thought is was finally, mercifully over…Thomas arrives on deck and I say: we have another player! One more! And the Lesbians are saying USA USA until I tell themGERMANY GERMANY! I am sure you see where this is going: the arc of the story towards justice and redemption and a tennis ball shoved down the Portuguese guy’s mouth. Thomas grabbing a racket and making it all right with the world.

No. They lost too. Then Thomas went to a golf tournament and came in second (!?) and he said Mr. Portugal was even worse with the taunting there…Some guy named Hugh kept being yelled at, and even worse Portugal pronounced it “Hug”, finally Hug said: can you please call me Hugh while you are calling me worthless? And Portugal said Who!!! You call that a golf swing??!!!

People from Various countries were interviewed about who they thought would win the world cup. All of them, except one answered : Brazil wins; and one’s own country will come in second. Only people from the United States, whose coach says they might not win one game, answered: US wins all. They had no opinion on second place.   T. Wehlen

I have spent too much time on sports so far…We have weather!!! Big rolling happening. One girl was barfing over the side of the ship. But keep in mind that everyone else was having a perfectly grand time, and I was jogging (Brighams do not get sea sick). Truthfully she might have been hung over.
My mother is going to lectures and winning friends. Ping Pong starts today. I will go see Tilda and famed director Wes Anderson give a talk before the showing of some film. Black and White ball last night. Black tie again tonight. England lost. Turkish man resplendent in white tie last night made my mother announce I bet you are POPULAR!!! And took his picture again and again.

Oh met a couple from next table and MMB finds out the man is turning 94 on Monday. Wife is 87 and looks fab. I really want to find out when she had the face lifts because she looks 67. Anyway she is in a walker because she broke her leg; it is close to 11 pm and they are just leaving dinner; they seem weary. She says, in her large diamond necklace and very nice dress: “We are ancient.” Then she sighs and stops pushing her walker and asks us:  Where is the ball? Deck one or two?

Dance on Girl,  Dance on.


(Pictures will come, but the weather is bad and it is mid day so internet is too slow..but I promise!) 

Nerds take Manhattan!

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If you yelled for eight years you would have enough sound energy to heat a cup of coffee. 

F. Wehlen

I am writing to you from the high seas (YIPPEE); but first a few words on beloved New York.

This year we went for hard core contemporary art, including two works by De Maria: an apartment filled with dirt inside a soho walk up,  an installation of fluorescent lights going up a stairway, (terrible..truly uninspired, but the boys liked walking up the very steep stairs), and an attempt to see an enormous sculpture made out of sugar in Brooklyn.  We spun by the Whitney where F counted the Jasper Johns' American flag painting, and announced in German there were only 48 stars. This was a disappointment..I mean it is worth  20 million bucks. There was a German tourist behind us who laughed his head off and this. Nothing like a German art critic...I mean really..get the number of states right. 

The dirt was our favorite-it said no pictures but little known Wehlen fact: Thomas is not a rule follower. Unlike the rest of us, who cannot break a rule no matter how tiny and absurd, Thomas makes his own way based on his judgment and mood. Frederick and I in near constant Greek chorus of “you can’t do that!!” but of course we are delighted by his rebelliousness…I mean how daring..a photograph of dirt that “the artist request you not take” .  We loved the dirt; it smelled good-in a dirt kind of way- and was a bit like staring at the ocean. I was glad the DIA people paid the artist to do it. It represented everything I know about life: nothing means anything and yet everything does.

We also paid a visit to the Math museum where Thomas went toe to toe with pimply  teenager volunteers who wore shirts the color of cheap mustard. F entertained himself on the “rides” but was all kid about it..not really wanting to stand around discussing constant diameter concepts (balls are not the only shapes that have them) when there were mazes to walk through.

It occurred to me that Thomas is the Brad Pitt of the math whiz crowd. I don’t mean to brag, but with his BMI and posture he rather dazzles in the windowless basement of a math museum.

We saw Heather and Alexia; and it was lovely to be around people one has known so very long. Thomas and I had a little tiff about the beds when I arrived two days after him (we had been put in a room with two tiny twin beds and I maintained that if Elle Macpherson had been due to arrive instead of me, he would have fixed those beds faster.) Thomas said, not insincerely: But you ARE Elle Macpherson! Heather agreed that it was a punishable marriage offense that he had been so obviously, shamelessly content to sleep alone in a monk’s bed..but also agreed that after so many years of sleeping with me herself, she could attest that my adorable way of dropping an arm on peoples' faces while asleep, or flipping up in the air, did lend oneself to fantasies of sleeping alone. Point is there is nothing like a friend you have known long enough to give an informed opinion on that.

If you hit a pedestrian at 40 miles per hour, they would have a 70% chance of dying; if you hit them at 30 miles per hour, they have an 80% chance of living.

That is why the speed limit is 30 miles per hour.

New York Taxi Television as heard by F. Wehlen

But now we are on the ship!!! Still love it, still race up the gangway, still delight in every little thing. When we got inside we raced to a secret back elevator and walked the three fights up to our deck, because the main elevators are too crowded the first moments. MMB was game, chasing after us with her purse, her camera bag and her camera that looked like she was chasing rhinos. OH! speaking of big game, Tilda Swinton is here..and I can report that movie stars look better than we do in person (skin, hair, clothes all good) also they have very young boyfriends with whom they are having a simply marvelous time.

Three exciting things have happened:  the leave taking was into a storm..or kind of a storm..lots of wind and rain; F and I might be partners in the paddle tennis (Thomas thinks this is “unfair” to the old people. I hate it when he gets moral about giving up free coupons); and I skipped the security review where one is directed not to abandon ship at the first alarm. Loyal bloggers will know after 6 crossings, that this is merely the signal to get your life jacket and warm clothing..not to jump off.

Finally, the handsome Turk is still at his post at the Queen's grill; and after all these times he greeted us like he was  genuinely happy: I Can’t believe it!!! I was wondering where you were!!! Then fussed over us, offering a table he swore was better that our old one.

He still looks like a gangster , and best of all, will make crepes suzette at our table tonight. I told Thomas it is pretty much the perfect relationship: every evening he acts as if we are having dinner by candlelight alone; then lights large dangerous flames of dessert by the table.

Then I go to bed and wake up to do it all over again. 

The next Super bowl, the 50th,  will be not be called Super Bowl "L" as the Romans would have it; but Superbowl 50. L sounds too much like Loser. 

F. Wehlen