Margaret Ann and Ken and the Panama Canal

I’ve never been good with machinery, so it came as no surprise that I didn’t get the hang of locks and dams until Daddy took me to Guntersville Dam. I was fascinated by the boats floating up and down as the water ebbed and flowed. Although I didn’t care much about how things worked back then and still don’t today, I stood captivated along the bank of the Tennessee River and decided then and there that I wanted to see the Panama Canal. I think I was ten.

In January, Tim and I packed our bags for a partial transit cruise of the canal. Escaping the harsh winter—it had snowed twice—was almost as important as witnessing a boat the size of a small town navigate the canal. Additionally, I wanted to see the howler monkeys and sloths that I was certain filled the trees in the rain forest of Costa Rica.

We boarded Holland America’s Zuiderdam in Miami with hundreds of other really old, white Americans. We were disappointed that only 20 or so people under the age of 50 and a sprinkling of various nationalities were cruising with us. On the plus side (and believe me, they were on the plus side), the people that we actually met and talked to were well educated and interesting. When one guy told me that he was retired from the Library of Congress, I wanted to become his new best friend. There was a chemist, a Revlon executive, a retired New York City cop, a department store manager, army guys, and well, you get the picture. Before the trip was over, we knew that indeed looks were deceiving.

We had been warned that Holland America catered to an older crowd; but we liked the itinerary and, after all, we aren’t spring chickens. We sailed past Cuba and Haiti on our way to Aruba. Being from Alabama and still remembering the terribly sad Natalie Holloway incident in Aruba, we weren’t especially interested in the island. However, after disembarking and strolling through a town where 75% of the shops were closed, Tim got some great shots of iguanas and the beautiful Caribbean.

At Willemstad, Curacao, we ate lunch at a sidewalk café on St. Anna Bay near the Queen Emma pontoon bridge and watched as the bridge opened to let the boats pass. Willemstad, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is charming with its colorful buildings and Venezuelan Floating Market.

Next came a trip to the rain forest. The dirt road from the ship to the rain forest had ruts deep enough to bury a grown man. We felt like we’d had the hell beaten out of us before we got there. At least our bus made it up the hill. One group had to get out of their bus and walk up the hill. We saw a few howler monkeys and some three-toed sloths but nothing like what was promised in those colorful brochures. When Jeremy and Jennifer went to the rain forest, the boat driver chunked raw chicken into the water to encourage the wildlife. I would have given anything for a raw chicken.

The next morning we watched as gravity took charge of the Panama Canal. Although the idea of using gravity to move the water seems simple, the story of the canal is anything but simple. Engineering a canal across the isthmus was an amazing feat that cost years, money, and lives. Sometimes reading about a thing doesn’t really bring home the wonder of it; this was one of those times.

Life on board the Zuiderdam was often entertaining. Tim took several computer classes and got up early every morning for Tai Chi. I went to a few cooking classes just to look busy and tried not to nap through happy hour.

Tim and I didn’t have set dinner reservations with predetermined dining partners. The ship’s “dine as you wish” option sounded like a great idea when we booked; but once on board, we were a little anxious.

One night we wandered into the restaurant and hoped the maître‘d would seat us somewhere reasonable.

“Will you share?” asked the maître d’ in a somewhat haughty voice indicating that he knew we were at his mercy. His name was Hunky Dory, and I thought he had a lot of nerve—considering.

“Of course,” we replied in unison.

Hunky led us through a maze of tables to the very back and darkest corner of the restaurant. There we found Margaret Ann and Ken and felt our anxiety level jump a notch or two.

They were sitting alone at a table for six. I knew beyond a doubt that two more would not be joining us. Both looked a little worse for wear, and Ken was having trouble getting all the bread crumbs out of his bushy beard.

Margaret Ann and Ken were from a small town near Ontario and were more relieved than we were to escape from the cold weather. Ken had been a world class swimmer and had only recently stopped swimming--and winning--every 5K that came along. Margaret Ann preferred cross-country skiing to swimming. Both enjoyed golf and a myriad of other activities.

They also did something I had never heard of before. Every month they bottled their own wine. They “knew a guy” who provided the wine, and they provided the 30 empty bottles.

Margaret Ann and Ken had been married three years; theirs was a second marriage. They met through an online dating site and dated a year before marrying. They told us about their family who lived in far-flung places and enjoyed unusual careers like professional ski instructor. By the time dessert and coffee arrived, the four of us were laughing and talking like old friends.

Mark Twain said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness” and this trip proved him right. Our preconceived notions about people and places scattered in the wind as we shared conversations and experienced new destinations. I guess if I always want to be right, I may as well stay at home.

My bags are packed.


By the way, Margaret Ann and Ken are both 83. We’re glad to know that there is a cruise ship that will take us off our kids’ hands.

The Facts of Life
According to Lucy Charlene Lull

We need a new Boo Pie!
The pollywogs are frogs—
Two of each, boys and girls,
And one sweet, freckled dog.

How can we get new ones?
I asked my mother, “How?”
She said the stork brings them.
I rolled my eyes, “Oh, wow!”

She was making this up—
I am not a setter—
Then she tried cabbage leaves.
That wasn’t much better.

I gave her the stink eye,
And she tried one more time.
A seed in the tummy,
No bigger than a dime.

Is this the best she has?
A story about seeds?
Her garden has flowers
And lots of ugly weeds.

You can’t fool a Springer;
I’m as smart as a whip.
Now— facts about babies
Coming straight from my lips.

God walks around Heaven,
Looking for volunteers.
Four legs are not allowed,
Neither are floppy ears.

God picks out the colors
Of the eyes, fur, and parts,
Tucks the baby inside
Under the mommy’s heart.

The baby grows and squirms,
Snuggles, hiccups and swims,
Rolls around, sings and dreams,
Becomes a her or him.

Am I an aunt or uncle?
I’ll find out in two weeks.
Unlike everyone else,
Rachel didn’t want to peek.