I say Captain, and my 14 year old responds, Picard. He sees the sterile high tech of the spaceship. I smell the salty dream of my childhood summers on the Black Sea Coast. Fishing boats coming ashore heavy with the slippery silver of their catch, graceful movement of sweaty muscular sun smoked bodies, women on the pier waiting. I wanted once to be one of them, and the girl in me is, probably, still longing for her captain. But for now a Greek fishermans cap will do just fine.
