the red thermos

I think that was their name.  Or maybe it was the Red Thermoses.

The name should have been easy to remember.  It seemed as the band was ubiquitous on the ship.  If there was a stage, there they were.

Four primary musicians.  Bass guitar.  Lead guitar.  Cello.  Peruvian flute.  With an occasional saxophone or keyboard drifting in and out.

All women.  Dressed in rather blocky red outfits that evoked the band name.  The type of clothing cruisers wear to cover the extra pounds that have taken up camping space on hips and thighs after a few days of starchy buffet lines.

I don’t remember ever stopping to listen to them for more than a few seconds.  When I would, it seemed as if they were always playing the same tune.  Over and over.  The kind of tune that is vaguely familiar, but my mind simply could not grab the title.  Something that Karen Ziemba could dance to.

What I did grab was one of the eponymous red thermoses, filled with mediocre coffee, tea, or soup, that were served up by the waiters who drifted through the moving herds of passengers being driven from one eating venue to another.  Like cattle in a Kansas City abattoir.

Of course, none of this happened.  It is all a dream.  Literally.  From Wednesday night.  And one of those dreams that looped around to the same spot no matter how many times I would get up to find the toilet in the dark.  That number requires more than one hand to calculate.

I suspect the proximate cause was my melatonin-fueled attempt to acclimate to the eight-hour time zone shift.  Re-setting my circadian clock is getting more difficult as I age.

What I found interesting is that my mind is still trying to sift through a cruise experience that ended almost a week ago.  I have gone from a cosseted environment where music, food, and amusement were served up with limited variety to a more libertarian space where I can actually make my own choices.  My mind must be purging the more fascist aspects of my quasi-socialist cruise experience.

Or maybe, it is simply having its own party.  And I have not been invited.

Where I have been invited is on a road trip to Portland with the Latsches.  The plan is to drive down on Thursday afternoon.  (That is today as I write.)  I will then fly to Redmond to spend time with my family in Bend.

That is where we will pick up this tale tomorrow.  If I can get some sleep.  I need to get the stopper back in this silly thermos.