Christmas Wishes
Twas the night before Christmas when all through the boat not a creature was stirring not even a roach. The stockings were hung by the port lights with care with the hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there. The Crew of Last Mango were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of white sand beaches danced in their heads. Karen in her PJ's and me in my short shorts had just settled our brains from a long distance cruise; when out on the water there arose such a clatter I sprang from my berth to see what was the matter. Away to the port I flew like a flash, tore open the screen to raise the hatch. The moon, reflecting on the waves crescendo gave a shimmer of midday to the objects below, when, what to my wondering eyes should swim in, but a miniature skiff and eight tiny dol-fin, with a little old skipper so wrinkled and in a stupor, I thought for a moment it must be a Looper. More agile than a cat his crew they came, as he yelled and shouted and called them by name: “Now Fraca