Wednesday, December 14, 2022
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Ken's arrival in San Diego each November was always a cause of celebration. He'd have stories to recount of the summer sailing in Darien and be looking forward to golf at his local course and walks on the beach with Connie. He was also the king of Christmas and hosted many memorable dinners at his place. He was always amused by the various gadget gifts that we proffered in hopes of extending his golfing and sailing days. In later years, I'd come by after my shift at his home course and we'd hash through the latest world and US news to solve all the issues that politicians (on both sides) seemingly could not. I'll miss his insightful observations on the world and well as his dry biting wit.
Sea-Fever
BY JOHN MASEFIELD
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
