Thanksgiving didn’t unfold quite as we’d imagined this year, although life on the road—or, in this case, at sea—rarely adheres to our expectations. It was late afternoon when I noticed Tom slowing down, his eyes tired and glassy, the way they get when he’s trying to pretend he’s fine. By dinnertime, it was undeniable: he was coming down with a cold or flu. Out of an abundance of caution and not wanting to infect others, we decided not to sit shoulder-to-shoulder in the main dining room, and we took the safer route with Thanksgiving dinner in the buffet, keeping to ourselves. The thought of streaming a few shows afterward in the comfort of our cabin felt more appealing than pushing through a formal meal surrounded by hundreds of passengers.
We walked into the buffet with tempered expectations, yet still hoping the holiday meal might evoke a little hint of home. How wrong we were. The turkey offerings sat under hot lights that did them no favors. Tom’s slice of white meat was dry enough to require more than one sip of water to get down, while my supposedly “dark meat,” usually my favorite, was fatty, rubbery, and still covered in skin that hadn’t crisped in the way dark meat should. The side dishes weren’t much better. Other than mashed potatoes and gravy, both passable but uninspired, which I don’t eat, there wasn’t anything that resembled the comforting, traditional spread we’d envisioned.
I picked at a small portion of cabbage and aubergine, grateful for something edible, but it was a far cry from the Thanksgiving meals we’ve cobbled together around the world. The holiday meal had become something we no longer tied to location, but rather to the shared ritual of making do. This time, though, making do was pushing even our flexible standards.
When it came time for dessert, I could see the disappointment on Tom’s face. He loves pumpkin pie, really loves it, and it’s the one item he looks forward to no matter where we are. But instead of pie, the buffet offered small two-inch squares of pumpkin cake smothered in a thick layer of cream cheese frosting. Not even close. Tom took one look, shook his head, and told me he’d pop down to the main dining room to snag a piece of actual pumpkin pie. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said. I believed him.
But shortly turned into 30 minutes, and just as I began to wonder if he’d been waylaid by conversation, or had given up. He finally returned, triumphant but tired. He’d been given two tiny slivers of pumpkin pie, just enough to fit into the palm of his hand. He’d taken them to the cabin for safekeeping, intending to enjoy them later. I knew better than to eat one. When he finally had them during an episode of Big Brother, he admitted they were mediocre at best. Sometimes the anticipation is sweeter than the reality.
That night was a rough one. Tom coughed and sneezed through the dark hours, and although he insisted he felt fine, it was clear the virus had settled in. By morning, he was surprisingly chipper again, which was a relief. We didn’t want to miss the lovely dinner planned with newfound friends—Diana, Peter, Barbara, Salli, and others—at a table for ten in the dining room. The evening was everything Thanksgiving wasn’t: warm, lively, easy. The kind of effortless gathering that reminds us why we enjoy meeting fellow travelers so much. For a few hours, the previous night’s disappointment faded completely.
But as fate would have it, the following night became my turn. Somewhere before bedtime, an army of sneezes marched in, insisting on keeping me awake for hours. I recognized the sensation immediately. It was the tail end of that virus I’d had three weeks ago, the one that lingered despite the Tamiflu that had spared me the worst symptoms. This morning, though, I woke surprisingly improved. The coughing has all but vanished, replaced only by a deep tiredness that seems to settle into my bones.
As I write this, I feel almost entirely recovered, save for the fatigue that reminds me our bodies always get the final vote. A nap is most certainly in order this afternoon. And while our Thanksgiving meal may not have been memorable for its flavor or presentation, it was still another chapter in this oddly beautiful, unpredictable, nomadic life we continue to choose, one imperfect, heartfelt day at a time.
There are only two days left on this leg ot the cruise. Tomorrow, we’ll pack to move to our new cabin the following day to get settled for the remaining 12-day cruise. Most of our friends will be disembarking in Singapore, but more will be boarding. Most assuredly, the good times will continue.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, November 29, 2015:
