My tugboat man departed mid-September for what was supposed to be a six-week assignment.
In the world of the merchant mariner, that’s easy; a piece of cake.
He’s still not home and what’s today’s date?
Will he be home for Thanksgiving?
Will he be home the week after?
Hopefully, but no guarantees.
Am I complaining?
Only kinda, sorta, cos I’m pretty much used to this by now.
During the first fifteen years or so of our marriage, he worked in our local harbor as a tug captain and also as port captain of a tug company, and then with the downturn in the economy in 2008, he was offered an opportunity to return to his roots of long distance towing.
Not only is he a maritime academy (won’t tell which one) graduate and a high ticket tug captain, he’s a tow master.
Being a Master Towboatman is highly specialized and a difficult and often dangerous job.
Which is why if I don’t hear from him every day, I get a little (OK, a LOT) crazy.
Even though we do have limited satellite email, I haven’t actually SPOKEN to him in a few weeks, but tomorrow he’s going to bring one 800-foot-long barge into a port and exchange it for another one to take offshore and do whatever it is that he does (can’t tell you) and the highlight of my day is a PHONE CALL.
A TELEPHONE CALL.
Which makes me very, very happy!
So, in spite of my bestie not being here on this Sunday where Princess Rosebud (me) can make him his fave buckwheat pancakes, I am very thankful that I’ll be able to hear his voice tomorrow.
Gratitude…Take it wherEVER you can find it.