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TALES FROM THE KINGDOM: AN OCEAN RAN THROUGH IT
This is a retroactive, ruminative reflection on certain amazing events that still fascinate (and mystify) me, occurring a number of years ago, back in the Middle East of the early 90s. But first, before you begin the peruse, pour a glass of that lovely Sonoma County Chardonnay you have, sitting over there in your wine rack, and take a few sips; this tale improves (like a fine wine) when allowed to be passed through a gustatory cerebral filter of the ETOH persuasion.
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It is Christmas Day. As I sit here, looking out on the cold winter breaks that are rolling in along the coast, my thoughts are not out there floating in the pungent kelp beds but reaching back to a dry, desert time earlier in my life, some 24 years ago and 11,000 kilometers distant from these pacific shores.
My black porcelain coffee mug sits close at hand, its contents already cold despite having been just poured. On the counter, the despised Starbucks press-pot I have begrudgingly adopted in which to brew my coal-dark decoction of caffeinated joe seems to mock me silently, as I momentarily reflect on my intense dislike for green corporate mermaids of the Starbucks persuasion. I am also ruefully reminded that as I get older, the coffee becomes an increasingly more important part of my daily ritual.
