Home & Pete's Workbench

Leaving a cruise ship can be hard. I find the last day is tainted by packing, worrying about home and getting ready to go back to reality. The last day of a 35-day cruise is harder than most as there are emotional goodbyes and the ship really feels like home. Although it had been over two years, boarding Nautica felt like returning home. Not a home like the one I grew up in, or a home where everyone I love is there, but a home in my dreams, where people are friendly, time is plentiful, meals are excellent and the only problems are the ones I bring with me.

We left the ship and the captain was there, shaking each passengers hand. As we briefly said goodbye I wondered how long it would be before I am back on Nautica. Between my dad’s health, Casey’s schooling and my business, I don’t have another trip planned. Today is Marina’s inaugural departure. I’d love to be aboard—watching Wolfgang Maier in Red Ginger, hearing Leslie Jon’s voice welcoming everyone aboard, and seeing Captain Flokos, Frank Del Rio and Bob Binder mingling with guests. But I’m not there. I’m sitting by a warm fireplace on a crisp winter morning, in a cozy house on 5-acres nestled in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. My dog and cat are nearby and the sun is starting to break the monotony of night. Though I’d rather be on Marina, I’m content.

We had a great trip. My parents arrived home safely the day after Casey and I. All our flights were on time and uneventful. Our luggage arrived with us and all our acquisitions arrived intact. The last week was challenging. I went back to work, Casey went back to school and my parents settled in—we haven’t seen each other as much as we did on Nautica.

As I’ve written many times, the thing I enjoy most about cruising is spending time with people I love. Ships are the perfect venue to enjoy intimacy with family and friends. No one has to cook, clean, make beds, or worry about mud on the carpet. It’s easy to go to your cabin and take a nap if your tired, and it’s easy to find a quiet corner to talk. I believe I spend more quality time with my parents and son in a month on Nautica than I do in six months at home.

Although cruise lines are a business, I think they offer the best benefit in the travel industry—space to create memories with friends and family. I miss my dad and mom, though they only live 10 miles away. I miss my old friends like Sukey, and my new friends like Carol. Casey misses them too. Later today we are working on a presentation about our cruise for his social studies class. I’ll enjoy going through photos with him, laughing and remembering what we did—but I’d rather be doing it than remembering it.

Coming home has made me very conscious of two things: Life is short and good health is precious. Watching my 79-year old dad and other passengers struggle with health issues, and realizing that it feels like only a few years ago when my father was at the top of his game in his 50’s and 60’s, makes me recognize how much I value time and good health. I am 47-years old and the last few years I have struggled with the idea of death—particularly my fathers. I know it’s inevitable, but the idea of a world where my dad isn’t alive is hard for me to imagine.

I read Becker’s Denial of Death, and many other books, essays and poems. Intellectually I recognize that birth and death are spiritually connected to the same root—the caterpillar’s death is the butterfly’s life—but when I contemplated the death of someone I love, my grief obfuscated my wisdom. I paid therapists, talked to friends, wrote in my journal, but I still struggled with the concept of living in a world where I couldn’t pick up the phone and call my dad.

Then, last August, I had a dream.

In my dream my mom, dad and I were on Nautica. We had only been on the ship a few hours and my dad had brought his workbench aboard. When we bought the house I grew up in in 1970, the previous owner left a 14-foot, 500-pound, oak workbench. It’s stained with decades of projects—everything from pinewood derby cars to cutting ceiling tiles—and adorned with hundreds of drill holes. I’ve always associated it with my father. His workbench was a sanctuary. Even though he was a well-regarded professor, he liked to work with his hands and he enjoyed home repair, building and remodeling. In my dream, the workbench was sitting in a large public area of Nautica and I was embarrassed by it’s size and weight. My dad was oblivious to my discomfort and was delighted to have it aboard. He ignored everyone walking by as he arranged his tools, adjusted his vise and put screws and bolts away. As my anxiety grew I saw Frank Del Rio walking toward us. Before he could say anything I blurted out, “I’m really sorry Frank. I know this is too much luggage to bring aboard.… I’ll talk to my dad and try to get rid of the workbench. I’m really sorry!”

Frank smiled and shook his head, “Look at your dad,” he said. I watched and saw my father grinning, alert, standing at his workbench with five or six other older men surrounding him, admiring his tools, talking about their own projects and exchanging memories. “Look at the other passengers—not everyone likes playing shuffleboard or laying around the pool. This could be a great new activity. Lots of older men enjoy tools and a good workbench and no other cruise line offers anything like this. I want to keep you dad’s workbench right here on Nautica. We’ll bring in some 2 x 4’s and a few other things and let people build things that make them happy. There is just one condition—when you dad isn’t here he has to let other guests use his bench. I’ll put up a sign that says ‘PETE’S WORKBENCH’ so everyone knows it’s his.

I was speechless. “Thank you Frank, that’s perfect.” As Frank left I watched my dad and the other old men. They seemed younger, more vital now. Years evaporated from their countenance and a golden light emanated from the workbench and men. In that moment I knew that my dad would always be here, always sailing, always sharing something he loved—not just his bench and tools— but his willingness to help and co-create with others. I knew that even though I couldn’t always sail with my father that he would be safe, he could take cruises without me, and that we can always meet again on Nautica at his workbench.

When I woke up I wrote my dream down. I can’t describe the change that happened to me—it’s the sort of thing they defies description, but morethan any religious
teaching, book, belief or hope, my dream gave me a sense of peace that somewhere my dad would always be happy, vital and strong. A few weeks after my dream I ordered a carved wooden sign that says ‘PETE’S WORKBENCH.’ My dad’s

workbench is in my garage now, he can’t use it anymore, and my brother, Jeff, mounted it.

There is something magical about the sea. It has inspired, healed,

motivated and called humans for millennia. I love the ocean. I love watching it, smelling it, sailing it and most of all being with it.

I want to thank Oceania for providing the perfect opportunity to enjoy the seas. And thanks to all of you for reading along and sharing this journey with us.

Thanks for reading,

Jack