Tamara and the Sailor

When Tam graces a fellow's thoughts  with a link and  kind words , the readership curve goes vertical, and I like to browse through the site meter to see where some of these new readers are.

I was especially taken with a hit from UTC + 3, which is the sand box, The origin was a net openly identified with the United States Navy, and I picture a tired sailor in a dim compartment,  braced in his work chair against the chop of a shallow sea, taking a moment to look in on the rest of the world and divert his mind from  the dreariness of a sea warrior's environment.

Which, as older guys say too often, takes me back.  Years ago I spent most of Advent aboard a pitching little ship on an Asian sea and Christmas itself among throngs of people speaking a strange and chattering tongue, people to whom it was just another day. To  a man -- boy, really -- raised in the  American tradition it was disorienting and disheartening. To be homesick at Christmas is to have a real disease.

And so, Unknown Visitor, I wish you the strength to endure the season in your haze-gray box and an early return to the land of your parents. Merry Christmas, Mate.









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