PART FOURTEEN:
First, a word about our schedule. Brace yourselves. There will now be a breach in the space-time continuum. I don’t expect any temporal distortions of the universe, but it is possible. I’m willing to take the risk if you are. I plan to postpone my reviews of Spaceship Earth, El Rio del Tiempo and Maelstrom, until we come back to Epcot after checking in at the Lodge. Why am I altering the chronological order of events? Because some of you are growing obsessed about “the thing which must not be mentioned.” Forgive me for violating my own directions never to speak of it again. Of course, even if Lowell and I find the courage to bring it out into the open and walk about with it, there is no guarantee I’ll describe it and tell you what it is. I may merely say that we are walking through the lobby with it. Or that we have taken it with us to the pool. I may describe the reactions of those around us without revealing the nature of “the thing which must not be mentioned.” So, perhaps there is no need after all to jump ahead to that part of the report.
The other reason is that some of you are focusing, as instructed, on the building suspense of our room assignment, so for your sakes I should get to that part soon. You are no doubt wondering whether we will be awarded a great room, a simply okay room, or a horrible room. Will we get what one reader cleverly termed, “The Presidential Otter Suite?” Or will we get a room over-looking an alligator-infested patch of swampland which has two trees, thereby qualifying it as a “woods view” room?
I should mention that Lodge experts advised me to request on our reservation: “north wing, high floor, over-looking the otter pond.” This is considered one of the better locations for a woods view room. I had planned to follow this advice until an uncontrollable urge to “take my chances” overrode my natural bent to play things safe.
Now then, today’s episode finds us getting in line to see Turtle Talk with Crush. Afterward we will head to the World Showcase to sample goodies at the Food & Wine Festival.
The Turtle Talk queue is the exact opposite of the one for Finding Nemo. There is no theme. No scenery, no painted walls with ocean, beaches or sunsets, no deserted boardwalk that meanders for miles. There is only a roped in pen with narrow aisles of people shuffling forward by inches, elbowing one another in an effort to advance an additional step. Ah, silly me. There is a theme, but it’s so subtle and clever it went over my head at first. This attraction is called Turtle Talk. With Crush. Apparently “crush” is the theme.
After ten minutes, the doors open and the majority of people waiting in line are allowed into the theatre. We’re too far back to make it inside this time, but waiting isn’t bad when you’re with family or friends. I’m content to stand and talk to Lowell. We’re just happy to be on vacation together rather than working. We have a sappy-sweet saying that will give your ears a cavity. One of us says, “We like to be together,” then the other chimes in and we finish in unison, “All the time.”
We’re best friends. Maybe this is because we’re too busy to have other friends, but I hope not.
We’ve been married over nine years and have never had a fight. I hear you shouting in disbelief, “No way!” to which I reply, “Way!” It’s true. We occasionally have disagreements. I have been known to lecture and stamp my foot. Lowell gets on my case when I get us lost driving, or when I do three things at once and all of them badly. This last usually involves dinner, or perhaps I should say, what remains of dinner that isn’t charred. But although we sometimes bicker, we never actually fight. At least not according to my definition of a fight. To me, a fight is when you are really angry, and for that moment you actually hate the other person. You say mean and hurtful things. You storm off in a snit. Or you clam up and brood. Maybe all of the above. We never do that. I give Lowell most of the credit. He doesn’t have a temper, except when he thinks he’s being overcharged and ripped-off for something, and he has an infinite amount of patience. It also helps that we’re so much alike that there’s little to disagree about.
He has a few annoying habits, though. For one, despite his dexterity in repairing anything from old tube radios to intricate antique pocket watches, he lacks the motor skills necessary to hang up his coat. I invariably find it on the floor near the front door, or draped over the couch. That’s when I start shouting, “Death Penalty! Death Penalty!” until he shows up, and together we hang it in the closet. Because he is incapable of doing it on his own.
At our last house, I constantly found his socks lying limply in front of the closet door. The clothes hamper sat neglected on the other side. Although I got the same answer every time, I could not seem to stop myself from asking, “What are your socks doing there?” He always answered, “They were tired and that’s as far as they got.” When we built our new house I made him swear an oath to put his socks in the hamper. Now if only I could cure the coat problem.
Thinking that maybe I could make a bargain, by giving up one of my annoying habits in exchange for one of his, I bravely asked him one day to tell me my most irritating habit, the thing he most wanted me to change. I was concerned that I might be laying the foundation for our first real fight, and I was more than a little frightened. What would he say? What terrible sacrifice would I be called upon to make?
Lowell thought for only a moment before saying very gravely, “I hate when you leave big wads of lint on top of the dryer.”
“Dryer lint?” I repeat, incredulous. “I ask what you would most like to change about me and you tell me, “Dryer lint?”
“I have to pick it up and throw it away and I hate the feel of it.”
“You could just leave it there,”
“I can’t. It bugs me seeing it there. And you’re usually so neat about everything else.”
I look behind me to see if he’s talking to someone else. Me, neat? Well, if I consult my handy slob-o-meter for a reading, I guess I’m only a 3 and he’s an 8, but neat is not one of the terms I would choose to describe myself.
Because I am a good wife I now immediately dispose of all dryer lint. Because I am not a perfect wife I utilize this new-found lint phobia to my advantage. When Lowell’s slob-o-meter readings hit the danger zone I have only to say warningly, “Lint Wad!” and he knows he had better get in line.
The doors to the theatre finally open and we move inside and take seats near the back. Children are encouraged to gather up front. After a few minutes Crush appears and interacts with all of us Dudes and Dudettes. He swims energetically in his aquarium as he speaks to us in his characteristic surfer-dude dialect.
I’m amazed at his range of facial expressions which, considering he’s an animated character, is Totally Awesome. After awhile Crush selects various children to ask him questions.
It takes me a moment to acclimate myself to his perspective as a sea turtle. He calls on “the boy with the orange shell,” and “the girl with the purple shell,” and a couple others before I figure out that by “shell” he means their clothing.
A boy asks him “How many kinds of turtles are there in the world?” Crush’s face freezes, then his facial expressions run through a range of emotions so transparent and comical that you can literally read his mind, “Wow! How did he come up with that question? This is really hard. I have absolutely no idea! But I have to say something.” After we all stop laughing at his obvious distress, Crush admits that he has no idea how many kinds of turtles there are in the entire world, but he can tell us how many there are that are similar to himself. Then he asks the boy a number of questions about the boy’s “species,” in an attempt to learn what humans are like. Crush’s questions show how little he understands about living on land, and the terms he uses, so different from the way we would phrase things, is distinctly from the perspective of a sea turtle. The resulting dialog is funny and interesting. It’s like communicating with a being from another planet that knows nothing about your customs or lifestyle. Aside from the purely entertaining aspect, and the knowledge we gain about sea turtles, I like the inherent concept of letting children meet someone who is so very different from themselves that the other’s thoughts and assumptions are strange and unexpected. This show is a winner in my book. It was worth the wait.
When we walk out of the theatre I look around the huge pavilion and am tempted to stay. There is so much more to see, but we visited a wonderful aquarium in October when we vacationed in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, so that will have to do.
When we step out into the sunlight, the heat and the sun feel good on my skin. I love Florida in November. I love it even more in the winter when it’s miserable at home. Few pleasures match the feeling of watching the Weather Channel show people back home bending into the wind as they brave forty mile an hour gusts to cross snow-covered streets. It’s tempting to “throw them the L” as we laugh at the TV screen but we don’t, since we know that in a week or two we’ll be the losers slogging through the snow.
Lowell leads us out of the flow of traffic so we can glance again at our trusty park map. It’s a long walk just to get to the entrance of World Showcase. It’s an even longer walk to circle the lagoon and visit all the countries. My plan is to make our food and wine samples serve as lunch, and possibly dinner tonight once we return to Epcot.
For some reason that I can’t recall, Epcot’s Christmas decorations started going up earlier this year than most. Decorations aren’t finished, but the tree is up, and what a beautiful sight greets us as we walk toward World Showcase. Despite the Florida sun, I imagine the tinkle of distant sleigh bells.
For a moment we forget we’re in a hurry. The tree is huge, the ornaments absolutely massive. Smaller ornaments would look lost. Disney knows how to do things right and this tree is no exception.
Unless my memory is bad, the crowd level looks much higher than I remember from previous trips. This is the final weekend of the festival, and apparently we aren’t the only ones who have waited until the last moment. I’m worried about the length of food booth lines since, as you may recall, Lowell and I are not fond of long lines, not even for rides, much less for appetizer-sized portions of unfamiliar foods.
At this point I should interject a DISclaimer. I have read many trip reports which center around a myriad gourmet meals and a constant array of “adult beverages.” We would not be pleasant company for those people. Now that I work from home and have more time to cook, my McDiet has somewhat improved. As for Lowell, he will eat most anything that involves gravy, chocolate, or whipped cream. Preferably not all together. It is safe to say that while we enjoy good food, and like to try new things, we are not gourmands.
And although we have a number of berry bushes, have started a vineyard, and have produced some palatable wines, no one has ever quoted our opinions in Wine Spectator Magazine.
There were years of my life when I was a teetotaler. I had heard that alcohol kills brain cells, and I figured I had few enough already and couldn’t risk losing any more. When Lowell and I discussed this one day, he dismissed some of my concerns, saying that millions of brain cells die every day, as do other cells in the body. We examined the issue at length and concluded that since millions of cells were already doomed, and it was probably the weak, infirm, elderly cells that would be first to go, this was merely a case of Survival of the Fittest. Why, we would probably be even smarter after a drink or two, since only the superior, healthiest cells would survive.
Think of it as brain cell euthanasia.
Despite the arguable benefits of brain cell euthanasia, Lowell and I don’t drink much. We like a glass or two of adult beverage because it tastes good and is pleasantly relaxing, but that’s about it. So, as we proceed through the Food & Wine Festival, if you are expecting a drunken bash, you will be sadly disappointed, and if you are expecting a description of the ingredients in the food, along with an account of the subtle nuances of flavors and spices, you will be similarly out of luck.
“Look,” I tug at Lowell’s arm. “This booth is Argentina. They have a couple items that people on the DIS really liked.”
“Okay, so do you want to get the same thing, or do you want to each get something different?’
“Let’s get different things. We can taste each others.”
Of course. Don’t we usually do this?
We get in line. The wait isn’t too long despite the number of people. I order the Beef Empanadas $2.50 and Lowell orders the Grilled Beef Sirloin with Chimichurri $3.75, and we both decide to get Bodegas Salentein Chardonnay, $3.00 each, to wash it down. After a few moments the booth attendant hands over the plates of food and a woman pours our glasses of wine. We carry away our treasures and look for a place to eat. I find an empty park bench and we balance the plates on our laps.
“Looks good,” I say cheerfully.
“How can you tell? I need a 10 power magnifier to see what’s on my plate, and the wine thimble, I mean glass, is only half full. How much did we pay for this?”
And that’s when I realize that there could be a problem with my Food & Wine Festival for Lunch plan. The “I’m getting ripped off,” tone sharpens Lowell’s normally calm voice, and by now you know as well as I do that Lowell’s seldom-seen temper is slowly surfacing from its hidden resting place.
To be continued . . . . . . . . .
Backstage Gal: Thanks for taking the time to check out my report and say hello. I hope you've caught up on all the episodes and won't Exit, Stage left, until I close this never-ending saga. 
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