Dearest Rachel –
This shouldn’t come as any great surprise to you, honey – you’d lived with me long enough to know already, and you’ve seen plenty written to you since then to watch me codify it that much further – but I’m something of a foodie. Oh, I can live with simple stuff at home, like a slice of toast with peanut butter and cheese for breakfast, but that’s more out of a need for simple preparation and (more to the point) simple cleanup. When I’m traveling and eating at various hotels and restaurants, I can enjoy all sorts of elaborate and exotic meals that others are willing to prepare and offer (and occasionally take notes to see whether I can either find or make certain dishes at home).
With that in mind, I have to say that I could get used to the cuisine offered by Viking. These folks actually know their way around an international kitchen; unlike our experience aboard the Azamara Quest, they can differentiate between miso and ramen (setting aside the fact that Sapporo is known for a miso-based version of ramen, as is Nagano from our previous trip to Japan this year), and unlike our first cruise to Alaska with Royal Caribbean back in 1999, they are very good with tempura.
You’d think that, with such constant access to such delicacies, I’d be all over all of them all the time; especially considering the fact that I’m well aware that such access won’t last forever. Indeed, it’s coming to an end today, in fact. But a few days ago, it dawned on me that it had been several days since I’d had myself a bagel laden with lox and cheese (setting aside the fact that they can’t seem to do a proper schmear, or maybe they just didn’t label it right).
It occurred to me that I’ve let everything become so commonplace that I could bring myself to turn down these otherwise rare treats on a given day – or even a succession of days – because they will be here tomorrow and the next day and even the day after that. Granted, I suppose there are days when I’m just not in the mood for bagels and lox – especially when there are so many other tasty alternatives that might appeal to me just as easily (although the spread at breakfast, as with at every hotel or cruise ship I’ve stayed at long enough, tends towards more of a uniform selection than either lunch or dinner). But clearly, I’ve gotten to the point where I’m taking this stuff for granted.
I could as easily apply the same perspective to the scenery of the past week. All these mountains and islands visible from the veranda of our cabin; I won’t go so far as to claim they all look the same after a while – some have snow, others have trees, and a few have a house or two, or even the makings of a small town here and there – but as they pass namelessly by, they tend to blur from one to the next. I wonder if those who live here (few though they may be) just get so accustomed to the sight that it all seems commonplace to them. Indeed, it might be a nuisance, as even what specks of civilization we pass tend to be remote from the many amenities of life we’re used to.
Speaking of things we’re used to at home, though… there’s the fact that we’re well aware that something (or rather, someone) that we’ve always had around won’t be there anymore. Dad has been there for me for nearly six decades, and while we’ve had seven years to prepare for his departure (and yet, it still took us by some surprise, just like I thought might happen – and yes, I realize that sounds paradoxical), I don’t think we’re ready for what his absence might look and feel like in the grand scheme of things. His being there, like the sight of mountains and islands on the horizon, has been so constant that we think he will always be there.
But he’s not, any more than tomorrow’s table at home will be spread with the delicacies we’ve gotten ourselves used to here (although granted, there will be a similar spread here; it just won’t be spread out for us). Then again, we’ve been told that one day, the mountains will be laid flat and the islands will disappear into the sea. It’s all a matter of time; be it three weeks, eight decades, or geological eons; everything here comes to an end, and we can’t afford to get too attached to it, although we ought to enjoy what (and who) we have while we can.
But you know… once those things are gone, we’ll still miss them. I haven’t even come to grips with his departure, and I miss him… just like (well, not just like, but you know what I mean) I miss you. There’s that emptiness inside… and it’s not just hunger for breakfast or something.
And so, I have to ask you as always to keep your eye on us today as we depart, and wish us well as we return to our regular life, such as it now is. We’re going to need it, as always.
Letters to Rachel 