The orange lake

Once upon a time, in THESE times, actually, there lived a sextet of friends known as the Adorable, Animated, Anthropomorphic, Athletes--or the 4-A's Club, who were  looking for summer jobs.

There's Mrs. APE, who always worried that her opposable thumbs might have a negative affect on her athletic prowess, and Mr. BEAR, who was concerned that the all the contents of those picnic baskets he consumed during hibernation might negatively affect his ability to perform.

Mrs. CAT wasn't concerned about perils on the job..she had eight more lives to spare, while Mr. DOG only took the job because he was told there'd be a ball. 

The eldest in the group, MRS. ELEPHANT, may have collected some junk in her trunk after all these years, but she never, ever, forgot...

The newest member of the sextet was MR. FOX, who was as sneaky and as slick as one would think he'd be, but he wanted everyone else in the animal kingdom to listen to him and him only, even if it meant defying his colleagues.

The 4-A's  would soon get their first assignment for the summer..life guarding at a resort with two lakes.

The first lake on the property was older. 

 The waters could occasionally be cloudy but they were mostly clear--clear, warm, inviting, and most importantly,  welcoming to all.

The second lake..well..that second lake, with it's slick, oily surface and it's orange hue, that was a whole different animal, but the bosses of the 4-A organization instructed the team to set up at whichever lake they preferred

The orange-y lake was peppered with warning signs posted  around its perimeter:  "Do Not Swim Here."

"This lake is polluted and corrupt.  Yes, we've tested it to make sure."

"Enter at Your Own Risk."

Even without the warning signs, it was general knowledge that the lake was a menace to society, inhabited by many  known predators that lurked just below the surface.

Mrs. APE explored the options and realized there was only one viable one.

She set up the lifeguard stand at the older lake. 

 She erected a table to hold a first aid kit, stacked flotation devices into a pile,  and wrapped a whistle around her neck. 

"I think..I KNOW..this will be a good job for all of us, " she said, as she slathered sun block onto her massive form. 

Mr. BEAR dove into the water, bobbed around a bit before smiling broadly, a big sunfish jutting out from his teeth, and agreed:  "Yep!  This is gonna be..ggggggrrrrEAT!!"

Mrs. CAT sound a spot in the shade and ignored everyone, while Mr. DOG dug for bones in the sand. 

 Mrs. ELEPHANT scanned the beach for all the speedo wearers, admiring their trunks.

Mr. FOX, however, does not like this set up. 

 He doesn't like it one bit. 

 In fact, he wants to go..even if he's the sole life  guard at the orange-y lake ….the rogue animal of the 4-A's group..

"But that lake is filled with bacteria! And gators and porn stars and some really fishy characters! “ cried Mrs. APE.

"We can't stop you!" chimed in Mrs. Elephant,” by if you insist on going..please..take this with you."

She handed Mr. FOX a gift wrapped in shells and seaweed.

It was long and thin, with a boxy square at the top.

Mr. FOX took the gift, hissed at his friends, and sashayed away to the second beach.

There he saw a bunch of busy beavers, an exhausted pregnant bunny with her litter that numbered in the hundreds.  He saw goats playing with their unhappy kids who couldn't read classic books  and he saw praying mantises, filled with judgement and vodka.

Mr. FOX looked up at the skies that were beginning to darken now.  He surveyed the crowd on the beach, dressed in red sunhats and blinders, despite the  graying skies that made sunglasses unnecessary.

When nobody seemed to be looking, Mr. FOX unwrapped the gift from his friends:  It was a new sign, in big bold letters that read, "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK."

Mr. FOX paused for a moment,  grabbed a piece or charcoal he found in the sand and wrote under those letters, "BUT I MYSELF WOULDN'T."

He surveyed the crowd again, and saw a mother kangaroo pouring Kool Aid from her Kangaroo Kool Aid pouch, which the little joeys enthusiastically lapped up.

He grabbed the charcoal and added, "I wouldn't... but the PAY me to."

And he drove the stoke deep into the ground.

THE END

KLA 4/23/24

Escape from Newark

Godbye, snarky, happy vacation memories.

Hello, Reality.

Sorry I'm already lying to you, Reality. 

No, I didn't unpack my various luggage compartments in a neat and organized way so they'll be ready for the next trip, as  I once promised. 

 No..I didn't sort through all the accumulated  mail (if I'm not careful, I'm going to accidentally toss that coupon for a free car wash) and no, I'm not going to separate the whites from the colors when I do laundry.  

Reality, you're lucky I'm even doing laundry to BEGIN with and even THAT'S a lie because JIM is doing everything.

The coach ride to the airport in Portland was uneventful.  The excursions director was still trying to wake up the dead by having us sing in unison, songs like "99 Bottles of Beer" and "The Wheels on the Bus" and I yell, "How about some rousing numbers from the TONY WINNING BROADWAY musical, "Hairspray?""

They didn't get it and they would never get "Hairspray" except for maybe the Aqua Net kind in an aerosol  can.

Most musicians can sight read and have a vast repertoire that includes songs written by Jews and performed by unapologetically fat heroines or gay leads that liberals will hum along to,  but these entertainers were more interested in the New Christy Minstrels, or referring to  Burt Bacharach's partner as  "Bayer."

We arrive in Portland only to be told we were too early to check in our bags.

"Can't you slide us a break?  We're with people who have dinner at four and that's why we're here so early" but nope..they wouldn't budge.

I finally get on the plane and on line  and because I'm an illiterate when it comes to technology, I had no idea what "airplane mode" actually means, so I listened to what I missed on "The View" all week until Jim had to literally rip my ear buds off, reminding me that this  very thing was covered in the finale of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and that I might have  caused a crash.

Everything was up to date in Denver,  until Jim realized we had nineteen..not ninety..minutes between flights and I was stuck in the bathroom without a phone and with my wounded knee and the new gate was “only” eight minutes away.

That's all you need to know.

We board, after shivering in the Colorado cold because, as a flight attendant informed us, " the mechanic is in  back" (whatever the hell that meant) and the row mate in our aisle tells us to be "careful of the pup," which I thought meant a divot in the carpet, but nope, he meant his adorable French Bulldog, Luna, and if SHE could hold it in for the three hour flight from Denver to Newark, so could we.

Am I repeating myself?

Sorry if I am but this next  part is new..

We were so happy! 

 The flight was early! 

 The bags were in the carousel! 

We knew exactly where to meet the driver who'd get us home at the not too unreasonable hour of just before midnight.

Yeah, it WAS weird that he hadn't texted Jim with his whereabouts and ETA, but ninety minutes later, there we were, in Newark airport, just us and the janitors, trying to decide if we should disturb the owner of the limo company or call and Uber or just flip a coin that would  decide which airport bench we were going to spend the night on.

Joe finally texts! 

 The same Joe from the Vin Diesel movie, apologizing profusely  for the delay caused by" turnpike traffic."

It's after one in the MORNING and we're both delirious and irrational but we're  finally heading home.

We make it into our driveway two hours after we were supposed to and  Joe unloaded our stuff  and was about to drive off, when he says, "is this bag yours?"

It was. 

 It was a plastic bags filled with soap that I swore I wasn't going to hoard anymore but the point is,... it was in my SUITCASE, which should have been CLOSED.

We're about to go inside when Joe, who had a knee worse than mine, I might add, runs after us and says, "is THIS yours?"

It was and it was my freakin' BRA! 

 Why was he holding my BRA???

What would he uncover next, the cooler full of contraband like frozen elk meat?

We got into bed after two..IN THE MORNING..but I couldn't sleep, because I was worried that if a BRA  wound up in Joe's LIMO, then what is still on that luggage carousel?  The airplane??  In Luna's pet carrier??

Anything could be anywhere..and I have no idea what possibly lost because I hoard everything even when I swear I no longer will.

But I'm betting  if it's lost, it's wet, even 'though it shouldn't be wet.

I have no business traveling..I'm clearly no good at it.

OK, REALITY, I know..I KNOW!!!

Get the hell off line and be productive, I KNOW!!

Proud to be an American

Friday night

The last blog. 

I sit here propped up on a comfortable pillow, wondering if I should  end on a sweet or cynical note. 

I think I’ll opt for the combo.

I will think about the fluffy alpacas and their goofy grins, a sweet note, and then I’ll think about the fact that I’m probably a little too blue state to be here, a cynical note. 

We went to our first cocktail hour today, and agreed that most of the people still alive on this cruise came here for the free flowing booze.

We played a very amateurish version of bingo and an even more uninspired game of Name That Tune.

Dinner was fine and quick enough that we snuck in  a viewing of last night’s Kimmel in the never visited  ship library.

There was a touching moment where everyone gathered in the lounge to pay tribute to veterans and to get a fairly aggressive sales pitch  on how to book our next cruise.

We all stood up to sing the star spangled banner and songs from every branch of the armed forces.

Who here has fought battles in the Navy? Air Force? Army? Marines? They asked.

As each vet got a decorated pin and applause for their service, I got didn’t squat because the only battle I’ve ever participated in  is with telemarketers.

The Idaho duo came back for their third night in a row. 

I am not criticizing  them.. they had perfectly pleasant vocal skills, but I don’t get why the cruise execs didn’t spring for a little more variety. 

Big ocean liners offer  broadway caliber productions and award worthy ventriloquists and acrobats. 

Even last spring, when we used this cruise line to tour the lower Mississippi, we had musicians playing washboards and banjos, but at least there was a different act every night.

These folks were just so… so.. unrehearsed,let’s say. They struggled setting up equipment, tuning the piano, adjusting the mics.  

Things you don’t do in a live show.

We were their first audience to be part of their new show.. they called it “requests” and warned us that they might not know anything we wrote down.

So basically, karaoke.

Last summer, we visited Ogunquit Maine,  the first time in eighteen years.

It’s a town of rainbow flags and designer dogs and people who belt out feminist anthems like “What’s Up” when gathered around the wonderful piano bar called The Front Porch.

You’d see enthusiastic singers of all vocal ranges and backgrounds, throwing twenties to the talented and  very prepared pianists.

With this duo, if you didn’t request Toby Keith or Loretta Lynn, you were screwed.

The father/husband starts the show by saying they were practicing all day, but some people were unreasonable with their requests.

“Somebody wrote down songs from “Hairspray” and I guarantee we ain’t gonna know that.”

Jim glared at me and I glared right back, a glare that said if he ratted me out  as that somebody that I’d contribute to Trump”s campaign out of spite.

One of the first songs they played was “Red Roses For a Blue Lady” and that’s exactly what I felt like.. a blue stater without her rose.

Having said all that… all the cynical stuff, let me end of a sweet note saying I’d definitely book another  river cruise with this company.

Excursions were terrific and the pampering gets a solid ten.

And it indeed made me feel patriotic and proud to be an American, one who is fortunate enough to have travel money.

Our luggage is in the hall and we’re ready to try to get some much needed sleep, despite the  hacking neighbor in the cabin next door and the ripples from the Columbia River,sounding like it is trying to rip our cabin in two.

Thanks for reading my travel blogs, and allowing me to be my crazy authentic self.

Night of the Elk

Friday morning

Most travel bloggers talk about the sites they see and the people they meet but I am not them and I am going to describe my insane night in that comfortable bed.

I’m in the lounge next door now, two doors down from our cabin, staring at the concrete walls as we’re apparently going through locks. 

We’ve been sneaking in here to stream the last few nights of Kimmel because if any of our fellow passengers caught us watching Jimmy, we’d be tossed overboard.

I’m greeted by a chambermaid who asks, “were you in the middle of a shower?” 

Before even saying hello.

The rational me thought she asked because my hair was wet, the “karenoid” part wanted to say, “why?? What did you see?” 

Reality set in when she told me they had to  shut off the water  ship wide and my impulse was to ask, “oh yeah?? Where were you guys last night??”

I’ll explain more in a sec…

You see, after watching Kimmel on the qt last night, our goal was to enjoy some much deserved rest.

The night hadn’t exactly been going our way. 

We had a gorgeous view of the sun setting on the water but we also had a server who looked like she had just escaped from a Mormon cult.

“Oh no my dear”, she says, smiling ear to ear, “ you may have the soup or the salad but not both”

Um.. I had been doing exactly that all week??

“It is no problem!” She said in a tone that made you believe it was, indeed, a problem.

I get the soup and salad and then my entree, short ribs, which tasted like they were made from the meat of an elk.

Side note:

I’m buying an elk, a female, and I want her shipped to me in June.

I will call her Elke Sommer.

Boomer humor!!

So anyway, Jim tells me to send it , the elk ribs, back, while he attempts to swat the fly on my drink, knocking over a full glass that soaked my pants and shirt but the fly lived.

He apologized and the Mormon came over and sweetly murmured, “ no problem!” 

But it was, because we were the last people in the dining  room and got seated behind a pole for the show in the lounge, the same father/husband/ daughter team from Idaho, who will also be here tonight. They said we could make requests but they’d “ have to learn them and there are no guarantees.”

Geez, cruise line!! It’s bad enough you don’t provide bottled water or safes in the room, could you vary the night entertainment just a little??

Oh.. back to our nighttime adventure.

First we have Typhoid Mary hacking away for hours, then we get me, forgetting to close the bathroom door, which swung open on its own, flooding Jim with a blinding light that dying people supposedly see before  taking their final breaths.

Dresser drawers flew open on their own volition, but we could deal with all of this.

What we couldn’t deal with is that for the next three hours, it sounded like we were trying to sleep in a bowling alley.

Jim blamed me , I blamed him, and then he got mad because talking about the loud noise that was keeping us up was keeping us up.

He gave a rational explanation this morning when an alarm woke us up, one that neither of us set, at six in the morning.

(Which was that we were going through rough patches on the Columbia River that made every passenger feel like someone was trying to break into their cabin with very loud and very jangly keys.)

Welcome to Stevenson, Washington !

Today we’re seeing the largest waterfall in the state and an alpaca farm.

Sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?

I mean that literally.

Miss Karen was not disappointed

Thursday afternoon 

A feisty octogenarian named Bonnie was our guide to Cape Disappoiment, and both the guide and the excursion itself were  spectacular, even though I thought we’d never leave the parking lot because she kept miscounting how many of us there were.

I thought the place , Cape Disappointment, was probably named by a honeymooning virgin but it was not.. it was named by British explorer John Meares who quit before he found what he was looking for, because he was a man, and even centuries earlier, his kind would not stop and ask for directions.

Robert Gray eventually found the opening to the Columbia River in 1792, as he was a fur trader from Boston who was  not a quitter.

It was originally called Dismal Nitch (niche) but I think everyone agreed that “disappointment “ was easier to spell.

Speaking of spelling, I want to refer to Meriwether Lewis from now on as Merry Weather, because it sounds gayer and more fun and if he used that spelling  it might have prevented his  eventual suicide.

I would have thought about ending it all as well if I wore rotting clothes and saw the sun only six out of the one hundred and twenty days I was away.

Only one guy died on the initial exploration, ordered by Thomas Jefferson, and Bonnie told us his name was George Floyd, and he died from systemic racism.. er.. appendicitis.

We later found out his name was actually Charles,  Charles Floyd, but this is the third famous name I’ve screwed up since being on this trip because I’m too dumb to realize common names can be  shared, like John Astor and Harry Truman and one of the Floyd’s.

Why can’t I get some  names that are impossible to mix up, like Engelbert Humperdink or Sacagawea, when I’m compiling my notes?

If John  Meares, the British explorer,  hadn’t given up, then Washington State would be Canada now, for those history buffs who read my blog to try to discover fun facts. 

Our first stop on the Disappointment Park excursion was called Waikiki beach. We didn’t see palm trees but we did see a guy walking two standard poodles that looked like Luke on steroids. We were also warned not to stand on the unsightly driftwood that littered the shore ( that was caused by the volcanic eruption) because the coach bus would leave us if we got entangled in it just for a photo op.

We then traveled to the magnificent second part of the excursion where we saw a few whales and the shimmering Pacific Ocean and mountains shaped like a saddle on this beautiful sunny day.

The coach bus couldn’t even make it up that mountain but we transferred to small shuttle buses that took us to the breathtaking sight. Jim tried to hike to the lighthouse but it was a steep climb and we were running short on time.

The museum was fabulous. Filled with artifacts and pages written from the actual journals of Lewis and Clark, in a penmanship that only a pharmacist could decipher. 

We were so lucky to get such gorgeous weather. Some visitors get rain and wind, similar to what Jim experienced earlier today when he paid two dollars to go into the hurricane simulator contraption at the maritime museum here in Astoria. 

Great excursions really make up for inconveniences like tight quarters and a dated dining room.

I never did get that step stool but I actually like this cozy room now. The pillows and bedding are superb!!

The pampering and personal touches are incomparable. A few staff members must have seen me walking and wincing, or overheard me using “Tonya Harding-ing” as a verb to describe my knee pain, because as soon as we got off the bus, a lovely man named Julius offered me a lift back to the ship.

“ I’ve been looking for you on all the buses, Miss Karen!” He says. “ Don’t be embarrassed that you need this chair.. I want you to be comfortable.”

Jim just shrugs and say, “ I guess this is just how Julius sees her”

Okay.. he didn’t say that. 

Wanna make something out of it??

I’m tired. 

A happy tired. 

As always, this vacation is turning into a magical one.

Just ignore me when I’m cranky and I try to describe the first couple of days on Facebook.

I would if one of you were doing this much complaining.

You’re a bunch of Karens!

Elk! It’s what’s for dinner..

Thursday morning

Welcome to Astoria, where John Jacob Astor sent a crew to buy furs shortly before dying in the Titanic, “ going down like a gentleman”

It’s the birthplace  of Steve Irwin’s widow, Terri,and also “ Vampira.”

Our guide, Paige, told us quite a bit about what to expect from the Lewis and Clark experience, and how bars and brothels were very popular during this time.

Johns  paid for a woman’s service by dropping fish into her box and no, I didn’t make that up. 

Ask Paige.

Port Clatsop( with a “t”.. I got it wrong before )is a place that smells like fresh pine and summer camp.

We meet  our tour guide, a Girl Scout named Sally,  who meets the group and shouts, “it looks like we beat children!” 

And then she clarified, saying a bunch of middle schoolers outside of Portland were on a field trip, trying to create the Lewis and Clark experience by making soaps and candles and using quills for journaling. They stood guard and fought off small pox.

Our guide tells us about how valuable thirty tons of whale blubber was and I immediately  thought about how glad  everyone must have been that Ozempic wasn’t around.

A few ship mates almost killed us with the scooters that they had learned to operate just moments before the walk on the trail began, but that didn’t take away from our enjoyment of this excursion.

The place had the freshest air I ever breathed, and we learned that Lewis and Clark had a dog named Semen.

Yes they did too!! 

Look it up if you don’t believe me.

As the school children prepared for their eventual auditions on “Survivor” by using flints and stones, Sally told us that Lewis and Clark survived by eating elk.

Elk: it’s what’s for dinner!

And lunch and breakfast!

And clothing!

I could just imagine a sign that read, “no elk shoes? No elk shirts? No elk for you!”

Lunch starts in a few minutes and then it’s off to cape disappointment

And you might have guessed by now what I’ll order for lunch: elk stew and a Diet Coke without lemon.

Sacagawea!!!

Because I felt like shouting that!

Need a Bayer Sager aspirin

Thursday morning 

Ugh!! Why am I up at six??

No Jimmy Kimmel for me  tonight because my husband will now need to go to sleep before ten, a time when most people on this boat have already been out cold for three hours.

Last night’s show was great, singing songs from movies with Bridget and Michael, who I thought were husband and wife but they were actually  a father and daughter  duet who drove in from Idaho, which explained a lot.

I was on fire, yelling out the song titles before the  trivia hints were even read aloud, wondering why the father/husband kept saying the theme from “Arthur “ was written by Burt Bacharach and his wife, “  Bayer” Sager. He was reading either his notes or passages from the New Testament but he was so confused, because he’d refer to her as “Bayer” the rest of the night and never her given name, Carole.

I got em all with very little hints..Moon River, the theme from “Titanic”…Raindrops.. Beauty and the Beast…my competition wasn’t very stiff because everyone in the atrium was exactly that.. stiff.

I didn’t get any prize but I got a lot of ego strokes from people who asked if I had ever been on “Jeopardy!” 

Which isn’t a show dedicated  primarily to music from the movies but whatever.

Because my knee had been Tonya Harding’d, I took the elevator and told Jim I’d meet him on the third floor.

I find a white haired lady with a cane  who was impressed  earlier with my movie prowess who points at me and says, “ it’s you!!.. you are so smart!”

I answer, “oh yeah?? If I’m so smart, why did I get off at the wrong floor?”

I pushed the right button but Jim recruited some vacuumers to help find me. He’s frantically texting, “where are you?” And I text back, “New Zealand !“ before admitting I was with one of my fans from the movie trivia game on the deck that wasn’t ours.

Turns out the woman was impressed with my movie trivia mastery but not with my potty mouth.

“ you seem very smart but you need to watch your language “ and then she sashayed away. 

Turns out she had spotted me earlier, lined up to get a good table at lunch before the doors officially opened. I was very bored so I scrolled through my phone and watched what showed up, which was a clip from “Sex and the City” with Kim Catrall cursing like a sailor.

“I didn’t use the “f” word.. Samantha Jones did!” 

But she had already made her way down the corridor.

We’re getting ready to tour Fort Clapsop and then we head out to Cape Didsapointment.

I’ll let you know if it lives up to its name.

You all must have preconceived ideas about “clapsop”

Saint Helen’s ashes

Wednesday afternoon

It takes an open mind, a wonderful excursion, and a supportive husband who laughs at my jokes and slathers soothing healing cream on my painful  knee to turn me into a nice person.

At least, for now.

The morning lecture came courtesy of David Steven , who’s like Bill Nye the Science Guy,imitating John Corbett’s character from “ Northern Exposure” ,while tripping  on acid and gesturing wildly. 

He talked about otter hair and the less desired beaver hair and  immediately followed that information with talk about “men in boats.”

I could find sexual innuendo in a national tragedy  and often have.

While David was polishing his audition tape for “America’s Got  Space Cadets” ,we  had a quick lunch and boarded the coach bus in Kalama, Washington, ( and yes, of course I got all dyslexic and pronounced it  like the veep) 

On purpose.

We were on our way to see the majestic Mt. Saint Helen, on a winding road peppered with April snow banks, that  would lead us to her, who looks like she just had a field day with an exploding can of vanilla frosting.

Our guide, Katelyn, was very informative and told us all about what the state of Washington is famous for.

She said wheat, I heard weed, so I guess  the truth  was unveiled  either way.

 She  talked about corn and soy and shaved logs that anger hungry termites/ insects, and then she talked some more about the mountain and the explosion that killed fifty seven people in 1980.. telling us that we were going to be quite impressed with the  giant “ash hole” … which we indeed were.

She talked a lot about magma, but I heard “Maga”  which helped me figure out exactly what  most of my fellow travelers would get at the gift shop.

We saw a fascinating film and learned that Harry S. Truman was killed during the eruption, and you wouldn’t believe how many idiots thought he was the ex president and not just some poor schmuck who shared his name.

I was one of those idiots, which caused Jim to justifiably tease me about  John Fitzgerald Kennedy conspiracies and  The Donald having a golf course in the eruption zone.

“The ash stops here!”

Jim needed singles to tip the guide and driver with so what does he buy at the gift shop?

Ashes.

Genuine volcanic ashes.

In a vial.

He almost bought some authentic Bigfoot hair, which would have been much more valuable than the beaver hair that David supposedly individually counted once.

( it’s in the millions for a single beaver)

Kaitlyn told us about the bulge in the mountain that grew five feet daily until it eventually exploded in a heavy gush, which made me laugh like the seventh graders that Kaitlyn and her fellow guides chaperone on camping trips to the volcano.

She told us a story about horny adolescents who wanted an unforgettable photo op.. a first kiss pic, but they stupidly took them in a stinky porta potty because they wanted privacy.

“Could have been  worse”I thought. “

“One of ‘em could have bragged about his attempt to actually mount Saint Helen.”

Kaitlyn told us that Seahawks like to show off their talons by scooping fish but I heard “ talents” and decided to quit taking blog notes and just enjoy nature’s gift to the world.

We got in the wrong seats in the long and winding return trip, but Jim promised the original occupant that he didn’t touch her  complimentary bottled water and they swapped.

Right.. and Larry David was perfectly justified when he did likewise with Bruce Springsteen, a critical plot development for that hilarious series finale.

It was a spectacular day with perfect weather.

Tomorrow we have an excursion to “Cape Disappointment “ and I’m telling you now, it had better not live up to its name

Bathrooms, pot roast and musical cowboys

Evening

Ok, forget everything I complained about earlier.

 It’s simply arrival  day jitters and I’m a negative Nelly and an ungrateful bitch.

I say to Jim, “ I need a bathroom stool” ( oh, stop it you pervs.. leave the jokes to me) and a staffer overheard me, asks for my room number, and promises to run into town since we’ve docked and purchase my very own step stool.

She then went on to explain that this is not American Cruise Lines fault.. they usually build luxury suites but bought this one from a  defunct company that probably catered to youth hostels, or to steerage passengers who say things like, “ these third class accommodations are the best I’ve seen maam.. hardly any rats.”

This company, American, would never  deliberately build rooms the size of my poodle’s cage for passengers with oxygen tanks.

My step stool hasn’t arrived yet but I did get a delicious root beer float, handed to  me in the lounge with a sincere smile and a dollop of whipped cream.

Our dinner was filling so the root beer float was just icing on the cake. 

We arrive at the dining room at  six thirty, an hour after it opened, and all the diners were on their second dessert, because a five thirty dinner is a  late midnight buffet in their early bird special eyes.

I was served room temperature pot roast but didn’t complain because I didn’t want the server to get in trouble. If I were her, I too, would have served the one plate of lukewarm meat to someone like me who’d just shut up and eat it.

We’re lying on a very comfy bed in a tight room now as I type and Jim wonders how he’s going to be able to eventually fall asleep because of all the coughing and loud speaking from our neighbors.

 “ let’s pretend to make a porno and see how they like being kept up by all the noise”  he says, and I respond, “let’s actually make a porno!” 

But nah.. Typhoid Mary is still going to be louder.

I’m all set to describe the nightmare I’m going to have in about an hour. It involves becoming Mt. Saint Helen’s in human form.

 What… you don’t think you’d erupt in a bathroom like this?? 

Think airplane bathrooms but with a child’s seat and less counter space  around the sink.

Also, the river can be rocky and even though we’re docked for the night, I’m afraid the large painting above the bed will come crashing down.

They have money for knockoff art but not bathroom stools???

Go figure.

Anyway. 

Even though the entertainment lounge isn’t elegant and beautifully furnished like the one from our Mississippi cruise was, the entertainment was top notch and the  entire Pacific Northwest cruising experience was redeemed.

We first heard yet another anecdote about Lewis and Clark which captivated history buff Jim, but I’m more interested in celebrity gossip and pop culture so the Clark better be Marcia and the Lewis better be the late Richard.

Tonight’s main attraction was a hilarious and super talented singing cowboy named Kevin Neill who kept everyone on their arthritic toes.

He’d say things like, “I’m selling my T-shirts after the show!” and then giggle and say, “ a three pack from Haines “

He’d even stimulate the aging wit of the crowd, asking us to name the most famous country singer of all time and someone yells out, “Beyoncé!” 

And the crowd  breaks into infectious laughter, canes waving in the air,before playing some audience participation games.

( the answer is Willie Nelson who hails from nearby Vancouver Washington)

Root beer floats!

An excursion to Mt Saint Helens tomorrow!

A possible bathroom lift!

Yep.. things are looking up.

If we could only shut up the  coughing phlegmy night owls from next door…

Greg’s choice

Welcome to one of the most beautiful hotels I have ever seen in Oregon, but this is my first and only time in the Beaver State, so maybe the koi ponds and glass elevators are just as elegant in Eugene as they are here  in Portland.

First thing I noticed when we deplaned: don’t anger your bladder by “holding it in “for nearly six hours because you don’t want to disturb the occupant in the aisle seat. 

That bladder is going to be pissed.

Second observation: someone brought what could only be a living hyena to the baggage carousel. 

Why???!!!

( it was  actually a deranged woman yelling at an airport police officer)

Thirdly, our guide named Greg told us although he still works for the company, he now lives across the river in Washington state and simply works as an airport/hotel liaison ( more on that in a second) and performs songs of a broadway caliber, although “ not for our group.”

Greg tells us we won’t be dealing with unsightly river locks and construction cranes or the muddy waters of the ugly Mississippi that we saw last time we boarded an American Cruise Line,but instead we’re getting breath taking scenery.

A guy whose name was either Pat or Bob and who was either 102 or 103 asked if we’d see fall foliage, and then asked us personally if we have ever been to El Paso ,Texas, or “any border town,”and it dawned on me that I might have seen him during live coverage of the insurrection. He carried his own chair with him at all times, but was upset that his knife was confiscated and he had no idea how he’d free the chair’s legs from its titanium binding. 

Greg gathers all the octogenarians and says, “ I have good news and bad news. The good news is the shuttle is here to take you to the hotel, but there are nine of you and only six seats, so I need three volunteers to stay behind.”

It was a dilemma like “Sophie’s Choice”.. nobody volunteered to stay behind, and he gave a dirty look to the able bodied me, whom he  had just regaled with stories about the concrete levees in the ugly Mississippi before saying, “ okay.. so nobody is volunteering to stay behind to listen to fifteen more minutes of hyena screams, so  I’ll have to decide…it’s  the canes and wheelchair  crowd first.”

I can’t explain how I got a seat but I did, in the back, wedged in a maze that Harry Houdini himself couldn’t escape from.

So who helps me out of it??

Mr. El Paso himself, with one hand on his tightly wound chair and the other on his tightly wound me.

So dining was interesting. 

The open atria had no other patrons.. only a babbling brook that prompted Jim to ask, “is this the Columbia River?”

It was after eleven eastern standard time, so we decided to eat light and still wound up spending close to eighty bucks.

I wasn’t going to share with him because I was  still annoyed  about how many times he made me open the window while in flight.

“We can’t miss Mt. Hood!” He cried, even though the view was on the opposite side of the plane, and if we weren’t going to disturb the occupant of the aisle seat for a bodily function, we certainly weren’t going to disturb her for a thirty thousand foot glimpse at something we’re going to see up close this week.

“I’m still trying to get my eyesight back after that eclipse, don’t make me open this window again or I swear, I’ll turn this plane around and we’ll go home!”

So at this cafe, I ordered the broccoli cheese soup and it was too good not to share, so I ask for a second spoon and I promise you this happened:

The guy looks at Jim and says, “so.. no soup for you??”

We were still trying to digest those burgers we consumed on the Boeing hours earlier. I think, after one bite, we figured out what they do with all those missing nuts and bolts.

I think I’m ready for an octogenarian slumber.

Sweet dreams!

Cabin fever

Tuesday

I hate to complain the very first day of vacation, I really do, but that’s never stopped me before.

 You’ve been warned..

We left the beautiful hotel with the cascading waterfalls in Oregon, but before we did, some rando in the  bread line at the complimentary breakfast wondered why I was sticking a metal fork in the uncooperative toaster.

“Are you trying to electrocute yourself?” She asks, and I answer.

“Sorta. I just got a vivid description of the ship I’ll be spending the next four nights on.”

It looks, at first, like a charming paddle boat right out of Disney. I expected to see a guy in a top hat and red and white striped suspenders, selling cotton candy  and fresh hot popcorn while twirling his handlebar mustache. I wanted to hear the happy sounds of a calliope.

The real ship is nothing like the facade, and nothing like its elegant sister that took us down the Mississippi last spring.

Our shuttle driver warned us not to use the bathrooms on the bus.. they are virtual outhouses that smell like outhouses— and we should try to go at excursion stops like Mt. St. Helen’s, with clean and functioning commodes. She also said the first three rows on the coach buses were reserved for those with motion sickness and limited mobility, and someone, a survivor on the actual  Titanic, quips, “ isn’t that all of us?”

We were told that our ship is the oldest in the fleet, built in ninety four, and I say to Jim, a little too loudly, “ eighteen ninety four?”

The excursions’ director got the crowd riled up for our short drive to the pier  while singing ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall.

I customized my own lyrics: “ ninety nine is the median age …of everyone on this ship.. fifty folk broke femur  bones.. fifty broke a hip”

How can anyone promote this paddle boat as senior friendly is beyond me.

I’m sure most of these folks have recently buried friends in coffins with more space. 

There isn’t even room for a toothbrush.. an effin toothbrush!!! … in the bathroom, yet alone enough counter  space for dentures. 

There is a ten inch step to even get into the bathroom and even with grab bars, this isn’t going to be pretty at two in the morning. I had to store everything on a desk.. a desk!!.. including essentials like  baby wipes and lipstick. 

The walls are made of Kleenex and spit and the guy next door has been violently coughing for like thirty minutes, but I’m not concerned. 

There’s no room for any germs or viruses to fit in here, should they manage to sneak in.

Lunch was good enough.. I had seafood salad and asked if they could remove the scallops.. turns out I like them enough because they could not be taken out.

Everyone is obsessed with huckleberry everything but I’m not trying it, because if I have a bad reaction, there’s no room for vomit in that sensitive toilet.

Again, this is first day bitchiness, something I’m known for. If it doesn’t get better, it’ll at least get funnier.. more blog material.  

Endless snark.

Jim is listening to a lecture about Lewis and Clark as I type this. A few octogenarians stayed with him in the atrium after the mandatory muster and orientation, yelling about all the things missing from their welcome packets which weren’t actually missing at all.. they just didn’t look.

Jim’s listening to the history of the Pacific Northwest and I’m listening to a severe case of tuberculosis next door.

I’ll tell you, these  upcoming excursions  had better be worth it.

Can you brag that you had a photo op in front of the house where “ The Goonies” was filmed?? Hmm… ?? Can you?? Can you???!!

‘Cause I’ll be doing just that a few days from now, avoiding huckleberries and drama and not caring one iota about a mediocre Spielberg movie.

What I wouldn’t give to be a normal, easy to please vacationer. 

Everyone goes with the flow.

Except me.

From sea to shining sea..

Eight months ago we were  on a plane bound for Portland, Maine, and as I type this, we’re off to Portland, Oregon.

From sea to shining sea!

From Portland to Portlandia!

If there’s a Portland on the Mississippi, then I’ll feel complete.

Our flight was delayed an hour, but we’re in the air, trying to digest burgers we had that were made of rocks. 

And all that extra we paid for leg room?? 

My ninety pound pocketbook seems quite appreciative for the space.

Yesterday was the one hundred and twelfth anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. 

When we board our American Cruise Line ship tomorrow and set sail on the Columbia River, I told Jim I wanted to recreate famous scenes, like have him sketch me wearing nothing but a blue diamond, and have him look for a Leo DiCaprio type who is willing to create his famous tagline.

“Karen,” he says to me. “Did you read about this ship?? Nobody is going to shout that they’re the King of the World. With this crowd, I’m betting you’ll hear something more along the lines of, “ I’m the president of my bridge club in Boca Raton! I ran unopposed! Where the heck is my cabin and why is the toilet seat so high?”

You know how much I love to talk about our limo drivers, right? Today’s was a real beauty.. literally, a jaw dropping handsome guy named Joe who is working on selling his screenplay. He played a drug dealer in Vin Diesel’s first movie and hinted that there were a lot of shenanigans going on during that ten day shoot in Florida. Something tells me it wasn’t really a movie but I shut up. He quips that, “ I bet you think I’m gay or Jewish but I’m not.. I wish I was!”

His best friend from film school is Drea Demattea who played Adriana in “The Sopranos” but is nothing like her character in real life because she doesn’t have Jersey hair or nails or speech patterns. 

As a proud Italian American, he said he was offended by the stereotypes but admitted that James Gandolfini is a “much better actor” than Vin Diesel, in case you were wondering.

See you in Portland!

The hills are alive.. literally!!

A few of you have requested that I write a parody based on today's earthquake(similar to the kind I wrote during sheltering in place) so here goes, with apologies to Richard Rodgers for the first stanza, and to Oscar Hammerstein for the second.

"The Sound of Earthquakes"

Intro:

My morning starts off..

like all other morn-ings..do

I groan and I cough..

I toss in a load..or two..

And then comes my time for chillin'

I work on the WORDLE with ease..

Then next, THE CONNECTIONS, I'm willing..

to bet a few..

of you do this too..

(it seems dull..but..true)

VERSE:

Then... walls came alive!

Kitchen lights were swaying..

how will I survive??

Is this all a dream??

What's happening here??

What are experts saying??

It's JERSEY!!!  How STRANGE!!

Is this..(gulp)..CLIMATE CHANGE???

CHORUS:

Perplexed and confused, I turn on the news..

it's indeed..a..QUAKE!!

I got the details..

guess no Richter scales are afraid..they'll..break..

it's "just" a 4.8

nothing that's TOO great...

but we worry..still..

we shook..we caused scenes..

and all blamed our  washing machines!!

VERSE:

Oh..we're so naive!

Friends in California..

they just can't believe..

that we're freaking out..

it's not a big deal..don't say they didn't warn 'ya..

'cause they're calm..no doubt..

PART TWO

Intro:

When walls start to shake..

one ponders, "could this..be..bad??"

The whole kitchen quakes..

My Quaker Oats seemed..real mad...

Did I make this happen?? I wonder..

It's my "fault!"..I flew off my chair!

Is  it merely  trucks?? Is it.. thunder??

Can someone prove

the Earth just moved??

Is this..(gulp)..Every-where???!!

VERSE:

I checked out my house..

Everything's in order..

I still blamed my spouse..

for disordered mess..

No damage was done..

so it's not the "Big One"..

but my house is still quite disaster-ous...

CHORUS:

I'll wait..for the..after-shock

cute memes on.. Tik Tok..

who will get..the..blame?

I'm rattled..but damn!

Seems I ALWAYS am!!..It's my claim..to..fame..

We just weren't prepared..so we're sorta scared..

there's no need..to be...

It's not..Nature's "curse"..

And things could be very much  worse!!

FINAL VERSE:

So sit back..relax!

'cause it's now behind us..

just study the facts..

(that's so hard to do!)

The worst part for me??

Ugh..please don't remind..us..

Pre-empting.."THE VIEW!"

DEI.. Darn Earthquake Interruption..

Extensive news coverage now. It was not my imagination or a procrastinator’s April Fool’s joke. It was not the chickens next door in a frisky sexual frenzy. It was not getting up too quickly or stuffing the dryer with too many  sweatshirts. It wasn’t even walking heavily.. it was a shake, rattle and roll, mother  effin’ quake!

I felt the earth move under my feet and felt the sky come tumbling down.

It was so shocking that it was an after shocking.

But it wasn’t my “fault “