“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

When I was a senior in high school, the show choir I sang in (Pizzazz) was scheduled to perform on a cruise ship departing from New Orleans, Louisiana, to Cozumel, Mexico. If the name "Pizzazz" conjures images of singing dancers wearing sequined outfits and twirling top hats and canes, then the person who made up the name for the group should get a gold star. I liked that group and I really liked singing with everyone. The only thing I didn't like were the sequined dresses with sequins in the armpit region (try doing jazz hands with sequins of itchy doom in your armpits...seriously).

So, we embarked on our adventure, taking a charter bus from Pacific, Missouri, to New Orleans. We explored the city for two hours (just long enough to dart down Bourbon Street and realize how naïve I was) and soaked up the slyly warm February sun. In front of one of the stores was this giant, black scaffolding. One of the chaperones warned us to not walk underneath - it was bad luck. Our merry little group laughed at such a notion and marched daringly under the skeletal structure, skipping lightly over the heavy shadows from above.

Our first night aboard, while we were sleeping in our beds, the ship ran into a sandbar. Instead of waking up to a panorama of pure blue, we could only see muddy banks and freight ships full of cargo. The captain announced that due to the delay, we would be unable to make it to Mexico, but we would instead head for Key West. He told us this news in small increments (maybe so people would be cranky in small increments?), so later that day, we found out we would only get two hours ashore. My younger sister and I spent most of our time on the deck, watching the wake curl out from behind the boat. The ocean was a deep grey; it was the coldest color I had ever seen.

When we arrived in Key West, we had enough time to play on the beach before heading back to the ship. Key West had a "sunset rule," which means that they didn't want any stinky cruise ships marring their beautiful sunsets...so, we were forced to head off into a storm.

Dun. Dun. Dun.

There we were, rehearsing one of our numbers ("Under the Sea"), when the ship began to tilt precariously. Stools toppled to the ground, pyramids of glasses shattered, people clung to the pole in the middle of the room. I looked over at my sister and wondered if I had enough time to sprint to our cabin to grab the life vests before the ship went belly-up, like The Poseidon Adventure.

The captain's voice came over the speaker once again. He told us not to worry; not to panic. The ship was merely turning away from the storm, and would likely scoot along all tipsy-like for another twenty minutes or so. The stewards duct taped the doors to the decks closed. Nothing makes you feel safer than being duct taped into a ship.

The best part of that trip was not performing "Under the Sea" later that night to a small crowd of people who flinched every time we sang the chorus (no doubt, memories of what had happened earlier that day still swimming in their minds). It was going to the dining area later that night and making up tragic soap opera scripts and acting them out using salt and pepper shakers ("You peppered my heart, Pepper, with nothing but pain!" Salt lamented). Moments of laughter...those are important...pretty much anytime, anywhere.

PS: Our bus got a flat tire on the way home.
PSS: Not that I believe in those things, but don't walk under scaffolding.
PSSS: I had fun on that trip, probably more fun than I would have had if everything had gone according to plan.