Ship Notes and Other Musings

 

Ship Notes and Other Musings

Noel Laflin

December 2021

 

Ship Notes

Friday, December 17th 

It's a little after high noon, and somewhere to the west of us is Cuba, although it can't be seen at present.

I know all of this as the captain just finished his daily announcement summation via loudspeaker. 

We've traveled over two thousand nautical miles, he informs us, during this Caribbean adventure, and still have far to go before reaching our final destination in Florida, board a plane and fly another three thousand miles to get home. That's nearly nine thousand miles roundtrip altogether, via air and sea. In contrast, on a typical day at home, I may drive a total of eight miles to Irvine Park and back. So, this is a change in pace, not to mention transportation and scenery - but a fine change at that.

All of this flows through my simple mind as I also consider the fact that this doesn't seem like the week before Christmas as the weather is warm and tropical. I am only reminded of the upcoming event when we pass brightly decorated Christmas trees scattered throughout the many decks inside, as well as the giant gingerbread village that appeared magically at the base of the grand staircase a few days ago. Sea elves were busy in the gallery as we cruised the first week apparently.

But outside here on this comfortable lounge chair, I only feel the warm sultry wind ruffling the pages of my well-worn book, (it's one by Tolkien, in case you are wondering) and listen to the constant soothing sound of the deep blue Caribbean ocean rolling by. But unlike a Stevenson nautical adventure (another fine read while at sea), there's not a single pirate ship in sight.

And according to the captain, the Island of Cuba is out there somewhere too. But like Long John Silver's mysterious island, it also remains elusive.

The thought of Cuba almost makes me wish I had a cigar, or, even better, an ill-gotten barnacle-encrusted chest filled with ancient Spanish gold doubloons.

I suppose I'll just settle for a run and Coke instead, as that is more easily had. 

The birds and squirrels don't come by and serve those in Irvine Park, let alone cigars and pieces of eight - but I wish they did.

I fully intend to talk to them about it when we get home.

 

 

Ship Notes

Saturday, December 18th

The magician and his pretty assistant are in a corner buffet booth chowing down on a late morning breakfast. I know her, the magician's assistant, despite the lack of glittering skirts, etc., here in casual land at this hour, as she wears no mask in order to eat.  It takes a moment to  initially recognize, however, the man we had seen on stage making magic just the night before; masked he is just now, dressed in common attire (minus black frock and ruffles), his plate magically levitating with food. But once seated and unveiled, the full face reveal is obvious. It's the magic man.

The conjuring pair are thick as thieves, speaking in quiet Spanish, hands and arms gesturing, a table knife being repeatedly thrust between extended, parted fingers -  a tweaking of an act in the making, no doubt. All the while the magician's plate of food is performing its own disappearing act.

But, even though I may not be the world's quickest study, I can still figure out that vanishing culinary trick easily enough as I have been performing that very same eating prestige all my life.

 

Ship Departed

Sunday, December 19

We spent our last day in Florida touring Tampa University, that wonderful old hotel (all eleven million bricks of it, according to a former instructor turned tour guide). The invasion of Cuba, which would lead to the Spanish American war was hatched by old men in rocking chairs on this very walkway, or so our retired philosophy instructor also told us.

JFK spent four days in town, including having lunch in the stately old structure, before flying off to Dallas in November, 1963. The town went crazy in celebration while the young president was here. There's even a famous statue of the man on campus, where he addressed adoring crowds. The statue now looks out onto Kennedy Blvd.

Hours later we flew from Tampa to Dallas, as we had a stopover there. Thoughts of yesteryear weighed mightily on my mind somehow.

 

Tampa Airport

December 19, 2021

We're in the Tampa airport waiting for our flight home, and I can't help but notice that there are a fair number of children boarding planes with their folks.

Then it dawns on me that it's the week before Christmas and folks, both young and old, are traveling every which way across the country to be with family. I hope Santa finds all of these youngsters, wherever they land.

When I was ten, our family traveled by train one Christmas in order to spend the holidays with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in Minnesota.

It was a fine adventure for my siblings and me.  And although there was no global health pandemic looming over our heads at the time, it had only been a month since President Kennedy was gunned down, so I do remember a different type of trepidation and sadness that initially foreshadowed that trip.

But once we were underway and eventually reunited with kinfolk, things got better.

And even Santa found his way to St. Paul that particular Christmas. So, there was that considerable consolation too, of course.

 

 

Roadside Distraction

 

Roadside Distraction

Noel Laflin

December 5, 2021

 

I have posted about this old stone cabin forlornly sitting a couple of hundred yards off the 15 Highway in Newberry Springs twice before, so forgive me for doing so again today. But I am always intrigued when I still see it standing.

Yes, that roof is looking even worse than the first time I photographed it three years ago, and there is more graffiti on the outside too, as noted here in a shot on Thursday. But damn, those old stone walls still appear strong. And those very stones most likely sat at the bottom of the massive lake that once covered this entire region some twenty thousand years ago. So everything is relative, I suppose, where timelines are concerned.

I told David that the next time we travel east, or west, we are detouring off on Harvard Rd. and drive the half mile or so that will take us up to the dilapidated structure so that we can look inside and see the damage, as well as the resilience up close.  Maybe there will be clues as to when it was built, and by whom.

Until then, the cabin remains just another mysterious, and mostly overlooked roadside distraction – but one that continues to intrigue, at least to me.

I wish the stones could talk.

 

 

Scattered Treasures

 

Scattered Treasures

Noel Laflin

11-9-21

 

I sat at my old friend's desk on the night he passed.

And although it was only in late August, it now seems like a lifetime ago.

Phone calls had to be made, and I selfishly wanted to be alone in the dark den, sitting in his chair among his things as I made those calls.

I keep this photo in my phone as a token of remembrance to both my old friend, that sad night, and fondness for some of the items on the desk. I remember taking the shot before switching over to the phone app and delivering difficult news.

It gives me comfort knowing that the small treasures placed about here and elsewhere throughout his home would eventually be given to other worthy homes.

Gandhi is with my friend's brother as the fellow who painted the picture was a great friend to both brothers and who is now also gone. 

That pretty girl in the frame is now with the pretty girl - a wonderful woman who was the light of my friend's life and cared for him like no other.

Moses holding the Ten Commandments is with a retired priest, a man who was of great comfort to my friend for nearly all his life. 

The Scout patch is with a former Scout, an old friend of my friend when we were all just kids together for several magical summers.

And I have Mr. Churchill sitting in a place of honor on my own old childhood desk, along with other treasures that will be given to more friends of my friend when next we meet up.

The snapshot is just a freeze frame - a brief moment in time - frozen, but mightily treasured.

But treasures of the heart are harder to explain.

 

Nighttime Run

 Nighttime Run

Noel Laflin

10-31-21

Some nights we dared one another to make a run the entire length, and back again, of the cemetery grounds beneath a bright full moon.

As we frequently slept out in one another's back yard on warm nights listening to tunes on a tiny transistor radio, we told ghost stories and tried to scare one another, as children love to do.

Eventually, like a pack of nervous young wolves trying to prove their worth, we'd leave the comfort of our lair and sneak through the dark neighborhood, silently scaling a neighbor's fence abutting the cemetery and run swiftly through this city of the dead.

Barefoot and breathless we finally found our way back to our sleeping bags, listening for our parents voices quietly talking indoors, catching bits and pieces of a sixties television show, willing our hearts to beat normally once more.

We resumed the telling of the same corny kid jokes, the same stupid ghost tales, and greatly embellished our recent dare, eventually falling off to sleep, one by one, awakening to dewy grass and stiff limbs in the morning.

Learning to Fly

 Learning to Fly

Noel Laflin

10-28-21

A friend of mine turns sixty-nine today, which means he’s older than me once again – even if it’s only less than by two months.

But despite that, we were still childhood best friends, first becoming so when at age three (or thereabouts), I would stand on my side of the street and yell out his name until he appeared in his doorway and wave me over to watch Superman reruns. This led to fantasies of actually thinking we could fly ourselves, just like the Man of Steel, if we tied towels about our neck, let the long fabric lay against our back to form a cape, and jump off the back of furniture in attempts to fly.

We always aimed for his folks’ couch, just in case we failed to fly, and I am here today to say just how glad we were that his folks had a soft one.

But in short order, that two-month age difference put us in different grades, a fact that bothered me greatly when he went off to kindergarten a year before I was deemed old enough to join him.  Consequently, he flew off to school and I was left at home watching Superman reruns on my own. 

My mom told me that because I was born in December, I had to wait another year before attending kindergarten. I never understood the rule, but there you have it.

So, I continued to practice my flying skills off our own living room furniture. I might have been alone now in each repeated attempt, but determined nonetheless.

I’m glad my folks had a soft couch too.

In hindsight, I now think that common sense - or more likely, the lack thereof - might have had something to do with when one was actually allowed to attend school.

However, I am still puzzled, all these years later, as to how my slightly older friend got away with it.

Seeking Mr. Emerson's Opinion

 Seeking Mr. Emerson's Opinion

Noel Laflin

10-19-21

"Nature always wears the color of the spirit."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's early morning and I'm listening to a cricket who's taken up permanent residency behind the refrigerator, a rooster crowing in a neighbor's yard, hummingbirds squabbling over territory out front in the walkway, and a flock of noisy parrots passing overhead. All the while, there's a bluebird drying its wings after a bath on the balcony.

Judging by the sight of the bluebird, Emerson obviously got the part about the colors right, but if he were around today - Mr. Emerson, that is - I'd invite him over, offer him my chair (along with a cup of coffee, of course), and ask him to describe the sounds of nature as well.

I'd sure like his take on it.

Meanwhile, I need more coffee, and whilst in the kitchen, remind the cricket to give it a rest for a bit. 

House Warming

 House Warming

Noel Laflin

10-15-21

Thirty-eight years ago today, on a warm Santa Ana wind-blown October morning, I spied a billboard just outside of Mimi’s Café over on 17th Street. It said, ‘New Homes’, with an arrow pointing northeast.

Curiosity got the better of me as I followed signs that led to a new development just at the base of Panorama Hill, way out in East Orange. It was so far out of town that roosters could be heard crowing throughout the old El Modena neighborhood.

Now, maybe there were roosters also cock-a-doodle-dooing around the St. Joes Hospital neighborhood where I was born, but as that was so long ago, and I was rather new to the world, I don't recall.

Unshaven, dressed in a ratty t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops, I toured the models and discovered one that I might just be able to afford - maybe.

Within two hours I was writing a hot check, all the while explaining to the banking rep that this retainer would be good by Wednesday, payday. He just smiled and said to postdate it.

By Tuesday, I had begged, borrowed and cajoled my way to come up with the down payment, and then persuaded my boss to write a preposterous letter saying that I would be due a bonus at the end of the year. The bank informed me that I needed said bonus to swing the deal. The boss agreed to write the letter on the condition that he be invited to the housewarming. He also reminded me that there really was NO bonus coming my way at the end of the year.

I gladly agreed to his conditions.

Escrow closed in twenty-six days and I suddenly found myself with a new home, and a thirty-year mortgage.

This was a fine starter home, I reassured myself; one might actually stay here for the next three-to-five years.

Although that turned out not to be the case, as I continue to gladly extend my stay, the boss did come to the housewarming.

Also, as promised, there was no bonus – other than the crowing of roosters, and the discovery of lots and lots of birds that also call this urban neck of the woods home.

Consequently, we all happily share it together.

I mean, they were here first.

As poet E.E. Cummings once wrote,
"May my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old."