The Jan A. Jones was christened on a grey, blustery December day and exited the vaginal boat launch like nearly all new ships do. The location was in a land that had trees growing up to the prairie’s edge and blowing sand covered the rocky cliffs that hid the lake country from view. The small child grew up under the watchful guidance of its prudent parents and occasionally nature stepped in to instruct subtle lessons that were not taught by others. Those difficult teenage years showed up after an extended decade, and soon, so many questions arose. Some were answered and others were forever filed in a library of mystery. The mind and body matured, thus giving purpose and interest to the soul. Jan sought total independence that only adulthood bestowed and soon left the parents who disappeared into the distance. New skills and visions permeated Jan’s world and deep natural urges were introduced to seek a soul mate. Many boats of dubious construction and unfamiliar origin floated through Jan’s harbor but in a world of drifting vessels of humanity, no ship met the muster of the former inhabitant of the land that hid the lake country from view. The Jan A. Jones sailed relentlessly through the waters of life until the barnacles of time encrusted the hull and slowed the pace. Over time this proved too heavy for the ship of Jan and a short while later that former youthful boat slowly slipped beneath the water. Some ships sink moments after dispatch and some embark for more than a century, with each one being unique, before the inevitable trip to the depths occurs. The life on the surface is full of tempests, unyielding winds and tides that torture one’s effort. Whereas, the existence at the bottom is predictable and calm. Perhaps the ships that ply life’s waters should concern itself more about its eternal life on the bottom of forever rather than that amazingly brief time afloat. When in the typhon of torment, know when to open the holds and welcome the ocean floor.