Note: I put my entries into categories. Most fall under the common catalog of “Spo-reflections”. Once in awhile I place one in “Best of Spo-reflections”. The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections said I can put this one in the latter. Spo

I’ve been in a state of insomnia for some time; it’s been over a week since I’ve had a good night’s sleep. There are many factors for this, which is often the case. One of the consequences getting up at 4AM regardless. Rather than trying to force myself back to sleep I rise and do things, including this post.

One of my earliest memories involves sleep. It may be my earliest. It’s probably full-up with falsities. I suppose it doesn’t matter; it is a conglomerate of warm and assuring images, none of them ‘wrong’.

Our first house was an apartment in St. Clair Shores MI, which was situated close to the lake of the same name. We could hear the horns of the freighters as they pass each other, usually long and deep single notes as they pass each other port to port. In my bedroom I had a night-light named Mr. Blue. He was a plastic fellow, consisting of a hollow spherical blue torso, the size of a large grapefruit. His head, also made of plastic, was solid white and had a rosy little boy face painted in a perpetual smile. He was crowned with a clown’s cap, also blue, resembling a small cylinder wastepaper basket, slightly off-side to give him a jaunty look. An electrical cord with a single nightlight was inserted up through the base. When lit he illuminated the room in a cheerful blue.

Father was a young attorney in those days and I daresay he worked long hours. In my early bed time I don’t remember him home for dinners. What I do remember is he would come up to see me and say things. I don’t remember what he spoke about. He never was a man to discuss erudite or self-reflective matters. I can see him sitting there bathed in the light of Mr. Blue, speaking to me while we heard the freighters passing in the night. Father is what is now called a ‘boat nerd’ but back then was called a ‘freighter freak’. Freighters and he were one; it almost felt like they were his.

At the heart of insomnia is the sense one is not safe to fall asleep; one has to feel secure to do so. I don’t have that anymore, but back then I did. What could be more assuring for a good night’s sleep as a loving father standing vigilant glowing in masculine blue? Sometimes when I need solace I conjure up this memory, although I see it as a third person, as if I am my present age standing in the entrance to the bedroom, watching Father talking to his toddler about his day or perhaps telling him about the freighters passing by.

While the details of this memory are fuzzy blue, the image of Mr. Blue is not. I would recognize him in an instant. Over the years, the heat of the bulb faded the blue to almost white, and his face slowly disappeared to become a while ball. The white base of plastic became warped that Mr. Blue no longer stood steady. I have no memory of what happened to him, when he was tossed as worn out.

I don’t literally want Mr. Blue anymore, although I recently realized the humidifier I run each night has a blue light option which I always turn on. What I need is a figurative Mr. Blue to watch me sleep.

I often call Father before he goes to bed to wish him good night. Thanks to cams on the internet I can see the freighters going through the Soo Locks and under the Bluewater Bridge at Port Huron. He often asks me ‘What ships are there?” and I describe them to him. I hope this helps him sleep soundly.