If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you will know I dream about tugboats sometimes – granted, dreaming is about as much as i get to do about them these days. I like all sorts of boats though. I like the way most of them smell – of brine, fuel, fish, rotting seaweed, barnacle, wet rope, rusting anchors and other things. I love the shape of them, the way they move in the water; some, foursquare and unshakable as anything, others that roll and pitch in a ripple, and still others that skim the surface with sheer contact, like sea birds. I don’t know much about boats; they simply appeal to the aesthetics of all my senses (except perhaps taste; i’ve yet to go that far). It is mentioned in the Tug Boat Dreaming post that the credit for this sea-love goes to my father. I learned during my trip back to Asia last Christmas, that I’d overlooked another, perhaps deeper connection.