Sleeping Tight

In order to slow the intake of calories on the ship, I have created a new dinner order: a triple order of caviar in a baked potato. It has caused quite a stir in the neighborhood. Our neighbors are this wonderful couple from New York - he, a lawyer for hedge funders, she I believe was a speech therapist/actor. This is their first time on the ship, and they are not leaving a stone unturned. The wife has the same favorite spots as I do to sit and watch the sea; the husband, like Thomas, dreams of seeing the engine room. They swill wine and pre dinner drinks at Churchillian levels, but they don’t show any signs of being affected. They are also champion food orderers while we have been shown to be the absolute weanies that we are; Osman tries daily to get us to order Lobster or Beef Wellington (not going to happen) and our sommelier cries quietly in his sleeve.

But the big news was they had a “chocolate festival” in the main open dining area. This is where anyone on the ship can eat. They started setting it up at 10:30 am and you could feel the tension rising. By the time they had finished, there were tables and tables of truffles, brownies, cupcakes, cakes, mousse. There was also a chocolate fountain in which you could dip anything be it a pineapple or a donut or your spouse. 

Back in the rarefied world of the Queens Grill, all was quiet a rather chocolate-less. I put in my lunch order and then ran back to the belly of the beast to score some chocolate for my after lunch coffee. What I saw, I really cannot describe. The tension, always high at a large buffet, had reached dangerous levels. Few people were bothering to use the utensils, some thuggish kids were blocking people from the fountain, and there were hoarders of all kinds. When Thomas went, he said someone had had a spill, and the crew had erected a little rope to keep people from stepping in it, and presumably from interfering with their work. But the mini cake table was within easy sight, so otherwise handicapped people were leaping over the barricade (he swears this is no exaggeration). 

Anyway I have about 8 truffles left; Midhun is guarding them until dinner. (he doesn’t like chocolate, otherwise I wouldn’t have given them to him.)

Tonight I am in heaven. I am tucked into my bed and the wind is picking up; we can hear the howls through our window, through our fancy, penthouse curtains. The Queen Mary is the only place on earth where Thomas gets up before me. No where else does he sleep like this….and nor do I. I inevitably wake up at first light which is too early to get up, but i can’t resist peeking out the window to look at the sun rise. Then I sleep on, and wake to an empty bed.

It is clearly a return to infant hood- this constant rocking, this sense of surrender. The Atlantic Ocean is so massive and so powerful and so mysterious and so scary and so beautiful that one has no choice but to wave the white flag. I am an ugly flea compared to its grandeur. I have nothing to offer it, no gift to give, no wisdom to impart. It does not ask for my company.

So I roll over and go back to sleep, and it is bliss.