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Will fill y'all in on the day later but for now an anecdote.
At 9:00 tonight Sigmund and Rose were scheduled to perform in the Sky Bar. Mama and I got there at 9:05 and the 9-year-old Asian boy was at the piano, playing a Beethoven sonata. And didn't know how to end it. I don't think it was his first number and it unfortunately wasn't his last.
He played well enough, with few missed notes or false starts. And vey well for nine. But he then played a Bach. And then what he called jazz but I call boogie woogie. And then another piece that was jazz like. At this point one of the Turner girls jumped up and everyone have him a standing O, his parents beaming. I thought perhaps it wasn't good to encourage him but hoped he or his parents would get the hint.
But wait. It's 9:15 and he doesn't want to leave the piano. He plays yet another piece and then says for his last number he'll play something he wrote himself. He thought. He heard it and then took it and thought he wrote it. It was a lovely piece and luckily about an eighth of the length of the Beethoven.
Apparently one of the littlest generation of Turners (name of Rhett as parents kept calling to him to go get his pic taken with said Asian boy) had started the impromptu concert by playing violin. (Friends told us later that he really just played some notes but that it wasn't actually a song.) I then overheard his mother tell one of us plebeians that he was going to play in New York City soon. Perhaps one doesn't always have to practice to get to Carnegie Hall if one's grandfather used to own the Atlanta Braves.
Anyhoo, cutesy little 9ish year old Hope of the Turner brood pops behind the piano with Sigmund and he announces there is another performer. By now it's pushing 9:25 and no waiter has made it to our table so I went to the bar to order mama's G and T and my vodka tonic. If I have to listen to a vanity variety night by god I need vodka.
Hope sings some song I've never heard making me feel ever that much older and out of touch. Sweet enough little voice (she had the microphone so was duly amplified) but again, to how many Turners must one listen politely until either the pros take over or one just goes to bed?
The answer is three (more).
But, get this, the next one up in what was clearly another impromptu performance was Mr. Ted himself. He said he would sing a cappella (however the hell that word is spelled) and that he was singing "My Old Kentucky Home." Holding the mike in the center of the little dance floor/stage area, he proceeded to do so. And me without my ipad for the first time this trip!
Looking around I noticed at least three of his granddaughters singing with him, leading me to believe that Stephen Foster was a particular favorite of this gramps.
Standing ovation later, another little Turner kid grabs the mike to sing a "song his school wrote which is kinda silly but whatever" that had to do with an Austrian yodeling and getting interrupted by a cow, a UFO, and a bunch more random things. Whatever, right?
But wait. There's more. Little Hope and one of the teenaged girls are now signing a cappella a contemporary song that I vaguely know about love and this war etc etc. You ain't lived til you've heard a nine-year-old sing sad and low about the troubles she's seen, and how this war just ain't right and she's sorry for hurting her love. God give me strength.
By then my vodka tonic is gone and soon I am too. Two friends had joined us so Mama was in good hands.
Got back to the room, and we must not have latched our balcony door. We had some torrential downpours during this 'concert' and the force of the wind and rain had popped the door opened. I spent about 15 minutes sopping up water and hanging up clothes before I noticed three ceiling tiles had been shifted out of their tracks.
We had already called earlier today about one over the head of Mama's bed and one of the purser women had come and just pushed it back in place with no explanation.
I called and asked if the tiles had shifted because of the storm or if there had been a problem reported and someone had been in the room for repairs. The 15-year-old they had working the desk said it was just the storm, and sent someone else to fix them. Ten minutes later, another guy comes in, pushes them back into place, shrugs his shoulders and leaves. Awkward.
It's not a big deal, but on the other hand it IS a former Soviet nation. I didn't grow up watching Get Smart for nothing.
We pass the famous statue called Mother Volga as we enter the Volga River, sometime this morning. Doug, who is Julie our cruise director, had told us at the nightly briefing that we could have Reception give us a wake-up call in order not to miss seeing old lady Volga.
So when I called Reception, I also asked about having the wake-up call. She said certainly, and what time did we want the call. I said you tell me, as you go thru here every other week and if I knew what time we'd be there I would set alarm. She said, "oh, the statue, ok we'll call you."
Sometimes I wonder.....
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