OnSouthStreet

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie and Martha Stewart

By Captain Arthur Samuel Swift

It is as if the ten thousand pound anchor from the Liberian tanker formerly under my charge, the Nosaea Candae, has not only been lifted but also put on a barge to the smelter.  According to my esteemed attorney, Rich Aufaiou, there is a great possibility that my constant friend the US Circuit Court Radio Ankle Bracelet #2316 will be removed in the next few weeks.

It appears the charges against me for smuggling will be dropped as the trunk load of illegal Cuban cigars that was an aromatic screen for the 5 kilograms of cocaine actually belonged to an Executive VP at Enron Corporation.  Finally, I will be able to roam the seas again.

”Why yes, Arthur Benoit, my favorite mixologist, a cocktail is indeed in order.  As I have thoughts of exotic locales and the high seas on my mind, how about that new drink, a Mojito, that I have heard so much about.  Oh, no mint leaves eh, then perhaps just a Mt. Gay and Coke.  Heh, heh, yes that is as close to cocaine as I would like to be again.”

As the swells that roil the stern of a steamer as a sea storm approaches, my heart is swept away with thoughts of leaving the confines of the southern tip of Manhattan island.  If all goes as it should, my first trip out will be to visit friends in Atlantic Highlands, NJ.  Having heard the news, Sal O’Tirth emailed me and asked that I spend the weekend at his place to watch the annual 4th of July fireworks (done this year on the 5th) in their lovely harbor.

”Why thank you, Arthur, a Cuba Libre would be wonderful, damn the torpedoes, add a lime to that rum and coke.”

On the 5th, I will be free again, on a Seastreak USA ferry to Middletown America.  Perhaps I should call ahead and ask if it would be possible for me to sit at the helm with the captain of the ferry.  No doubt the captain and I could converse greatly about the mighty ocean and my time on it.
But the truth be known the adventures of the sea are only fulfilling because of the return to the comforts of home and hearth and country.  Yes, I can see it now, lounging in Sal’s backyard with he and his wife, Maude, and their seven children running around the backyard.  The boys will be throwing a baseball around and the girls will be in the pool.  However, the littlest O’Tirth, Timmy, will be sitting at my knee waiting for my sea monster stories.

Maude, ever the homemaker, will probably bring me her famous deviled eggs as we all watch the anticipation of the night’s pyrotechnic spectacular build in the young ones.  The Ball Park Franks will be on the grill and I will have to have several, I think.

Speaking of Maude, let me make a note into my microcassette recorder now.  Bring that Martha Stewart’s Quick Cook Book that I keep telling her about in emails.  Yes, a wonderful present for her.  Martha has been so important in my making my Captain’s cabins homey when I am at sea.  
Though I must be a confirmed bachelor (any world traveling sea captain who thinks otherwise is lying to himself and hundreds of women in ports around the world) Martha is always with me.  Whether it is paging through Martha Stewart’s Hors D’Ouevres Handbook or replaying her video tapes, nary does a day go by, while I am on the briney, that I don’t visit her.  

Martha is America’s mother.  Why she would be the perfect guest at the O’Tirth’s.  I can see her showing Maude how to make certain the hot dogs don’t burn by using small shish kabob skewers through the frankfurters or how to keep the bottom of the pie from sticking to the plate by using parchment paper.  Oh yes, what a thought.

“Another Cuba Libre, Arthur.  I need to calm myself lest I decide to yank this portable brig off my ankle and run and jump on the nearest ship.  Thank you, another marvelous cocktail.”

This drink has calmed my ardor, but indeed reading about ImClone and Martha Stewart has been another form of electronic torture for me.  When the articles and news stories started to discuss how Martha is a strong, demanding woman, I was intrigued as I had always wondered how she could possibly fashion all of her domestic wonders.  But I always chalked that up to her needing to be that why to get her creations to the waiting world.

When she was made a Director of the New York Stock Exchange, I thought it a fit thing.  But the latest information has to be erroneous.  It must be that her people somehow failed her and even it is true, I don’t care today.

When I am months away from this land that I call home or as I have been for over a year now, incarcerated, only belief in the good things about America have allowed me to maintain my personal  dignity.