Why do they travel?

What do they hope for?

A page from one of Dad’s travel sketchbooks.

I am staring at a wall of limes. And empty spice jars? All of the above lined up in neat, symmetrical rows and protected from touching fingers by plexiglass cases. These are some of the not-unpleasant and quite appropriate decorative installations in the coffee shop aboard the Margaritaville at Sea. Because I have my laptop out and I appear to be working (I am sort of working, this is sort of work), people come up to me - to ask what kind of awesome job I have that allows me to work aboard a cruise ship (One gentleman said, My dream is to live on a cruise ship full time and do some kind of remote job. Like you.) Someone else wanted to know what kind of a deal I was offering on future cruises. I guess it still isn’t that common to see someone beavering away on a laptop doing ‘work’ outside normal office hours and a normal office location.

This laptop (and my tablet, perhaps a notebook) are the tools of my trade. I can’t do much without them in the wordsmithing department. Despite my best efforts I have yet to master the art of speaking at my phone and watching it transcribe my spoken words into intelligible text, so more traditional writing tools are still required if I’m to get anything done.

Funny, when Dad used to pull out his sketchbook in a coffee shop, at a picnic table, or on a plane people assumed he was enjoying a fun hobby. But no, for him that was work - translating his experiences in the world into something that made sense visually. Given the number of times he also wrote questions to himself on his sketches, I suspect Dad used drawing as a way to process what was going on in his world in much the same way I use words. I know he often jotted down plans for later exploration of quick studies done while out and about. I think that might be what the comment at the bottom of the Spanish sketch was all about — ptg was his shorthand for painting and the Paradores Hotel in Santiago was a highlight of our Camino (he set up a mini studio in the room where, I think, this sketch might have been done) but I can’t quite decipher the first word.

When Dad traveled, he defaulted to sketching (and photography) to capture his experiences. I default to writing, which may be why I’m finding it weirdly difficult to draw anything on this trip. Of course, that could also be because I’m now married (!!) and we all know that changes everything. [Missed that chapter? Scroll back over the past few days and catch up…]

He used his notebooks to create reminders and to-do lists, often in combination with little drawings. On the page above he seems to be making plans for what to see and do during a Mediterranean cruise with his granddaughter Dani and grandson-in-law Toryn. There were side trips to consider - Florence? Venice? and a note to himself not to sleep through the arrival into Kotor, Montenegro. I suspect he created this page before leaving, sketching from his imagination and making a note not to forget his nail file and hearing aids.

It’s a strange peek into his thought processes and interesting to see how similar they are to mine. The biggest difference is that my notes-to-self are generally written in the margins of other writing rather than alongside drawings. Yes, I’m attempting to rectify this, but old habits and ways of being in the world are very hard to break.

So, for today’s newsletter, I’m going to let Dad do the heavy lifting on the visual arts side, close my laptop, and find a buffet… or a view of the sunset, or whatever is a more ‘normal’ thing to do instead of setting up my office at a corner table in the cruise ship coffee shop.

I’ll let you have fun sorting out what Dad was thinking on this page…

That is, in fact, one of the worst parts of living a digital lifestyle. There isn’t really a true day off - where there’s wi-fi and power, it’s possible to do a little work. Blessing and curse.

Hark, I hear a new band striking up a deck below… I’m going to go and enjoy a little music, a sure way to transport me away from work and into a state of … chillaxation.

Tomorrow we’ll be rushing from ship to airport to flight to flight to shuttle bus to home, so I’m warning you now that IF there’s a message from me tomorrow it may be a little discombobulated. But then, this has been a discombobulating week and that would be a fine way to wrap up this little jaunt into matrimonial bliss.