Charlotte Amalie

Isn't that just the sweetest sounding name? Charlotte Amalie? It's the island St Thomas is on in the US Virgin Islands. St Thomas is a nice name too, but it will always be the Episcopalian Church and School across the street from my house in Bellevue. The one where they played bagpipes on Saturdays. I mean, was it every Saturday? Or was it just the ones when I was a surly teenager wanting to sleep in? Ha! Anyway, on a day that ends in "day" (I have no idea what day it is, and feel like the time is also unreliable), we had a stop at St Thomas. 

We didn't sign up for an excursion as we have a friend on the island - Melanie from the 7Dees days! How cool is that? She is spending 1/2 the year on the islands and the other half in Astoria. And bonus, Dylan was there as well. :) She picked us up at the ship and drove us up to a villa where she is housesitting. Yes, a villa! How swanky is that? ;)

The views were beautiful, but even more amazing catching up with friends! We chatted, bonded with their dogs, and watched the boat traffic come in and out. 

There's our ship!

View from the kitchen.

Making friends!

And then I totally crapped out. Like my parents and my aunt, I'm on track to get my knees replaced. I had a cortisone shot a few weeks ago that has really helped, but we walked five miles in San Juan, and that kind of activity is not really in the cards for me right now. They dropped me off at the ship, where I took lots of ibuprofen and filed my taxes. I know you are all so envious of the epic life I'm leading! Ha!

Mom went on with Melanie and Dylan to Water Island, where they are working at a retreat facility. 

Golf carting!

How many hermit crabs can you see? I'm at about 20...

Sunshine suits Melanie! :)

In the infancy of Thelma and Louise was an amazing trip to Italy. I graduated college a semester early in January, leaving the spring, and Spring Break, wide open. I substituted a handful of days at a Catholic school in my neighborhood, and T&L went on one of our more storied trips: a Rick Steves trip to Italy. We flew into Milan and spent our first night in Varenna on Lake Como. We woke up the next morning to a wake up call: Alarme! Alarme! Mom was in the shower, and I sleepily answered: "Thank you!" This tour was running a tight ship as they called right back with the same message. No, we hadn't set an alarm, but we weren't especially late... We stumbled down to breakfast to a staff that completely doted on us, in a language that we didn't speak, and drank some strong coffee. Mom regaled me with tales of the shower that didn't drain, and instructed me on pulling the rope provided in the shower. If you've traveled abroad you may recognize this cord in the shower as not a drain fix, but as an emergency rope that you pull if you've "fallen and you can't get up".  Oops. We tugged that thing all over Italy. Which I think is more informative about the drainage systems in Europe than our communication skills.  But I tell this story just to qualify how often I have answered a hysterical call from a hotelier: once (well it twice that day) in 29 years. Until today. 

I was minding my own business, thinking about taking a shower, eyeing the time as it marched toward a 4:30 departure. I hopped in the shower, which is a blog in and of itself, and knew that mom would be back in our room when I got out. I survived the shower, got dressed, took a cursory look at my hair, and emerged to our room. Where mom was not. Quick time check: 4:15ish. And the phone rang: Alarme, Alarme! I mean, that is not what the nice woman said, but that is what I heard! Basically: Do you know where your mother is? Um. NOOOOOO!?!?!!  I texted a friendly reminder to my travel companion: WHERE ARE YOU??  Radio silence from her, but I got another phone call from ship security inquiring about her whereabouts. ARE YOU CLOSE???  You know, because it's like 4:25.  I got a cheery "Close!" back. If you're on a ship that is about to leave without half of your travel party, "close" is not enough information. "Close" could mean one of a hundred things.  I had my little face pressed against the window, I don't know, thinking that I might see her launch herself off the dock and swim alongside the cabin? Phone call number three happened at 4:28, and the caller's hysteria was starting to match my own. At 4:32 mom burst through the cabin door, dripping from her jog down the long pier. In St Thomas, mom has the distinction of being the last (of around 3,000 people?) to arrive back on board. My heart rate is still, several days later, returning to normal. But this is how you know you're alive, right? Otherwise cruising is just one relaxing moment followed by another. Ha!

Photo evidence that I got her back. ;)