More Recent Writings

Ink Stains

I keep in my wallet a slip of paper with the brand and model of my printer, so I can buy the correct type of ink should I remember that I need some while I'm out and about.

It's usually more efficient to buy in bulk online -- either the actual brand or some generic or remanufactured equivalent.

Some years ago, I was so appalled at the price of new ink cartridges that I bought a refilling kit and bottled ink. That worked for a while, I seem to recall, but the printer, like all its ilk, eventually died and I forgot about the refill option.

Which somehow casts my mind back to the ink cartridges I used to use in fountain pens when I was in high school and college. I savored the flowing line of ink and the link to the quills of gracious times past, without the hassle of sucking ink up from a bottle, whence I suspected it of wanting to issue in all directions. As it was, I got plenty of ink on my fingers and shirt pockets from the cartridge pens, and would occasionally smear the ink around the page before it had dried.

Which recalls another relic of times gone by - the ink blotter. How many mysteries have I read in which a clue was furnished by writing that was inadvertently transferred to a blotter and then read by the detective using a mirror?

And then there's the old trick of wiping a pencil edge on a pad of paper to reveal the impressions left by a person writing on the top page before removing it from the pad. Ahh, for the good old days of analog communication.
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A Family Superstition

My mother would always light a cigarette when standing at a bus stop, to make the bus come. I mostly pull out something to read, but for much the same reasons.

The theory of the superstition is that the universe is perverse, and that by preparing for one outcome you encourage its opposite to happen. This perversity is also apparent in sayings about not counting one's chickens before they're hatched, etc.

But using such techniques also makes perfect psychological sense. Focusing my attention on a book keeps me from being impatient or fretting. Distraction really works for avoiding unpleasant thoughts or feelings.

That's not to say that distraction should blossom into full-blown denial, or at least not for very long. Reality can only be avoided for a little while, before it strikes back.

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Underwater Living

I used to spend a lot of time in and near the swimming pool at the country club in Pennsylvania where my grandparents belonged. I even took some swimming classes there, because they didn't want any of the kids drowning on their watch.

My favorite part was being under the water. It was so silent and still, compared to the shouting and splashing that might be going on topside.

I'd practice swimming from one side of the pool to the other, completely underwater.

I'd turn somersaults under water, forwards and backwards, by curling up and waving my arms.

And once in a while, I'd get a friend to pretend to have a tea party with me, both of us seated on the floor of the pool and sipping from our pretend cups and saucers, in between visits to the surface for air. Our immersions troubled the lifeguards a bit, until they understood what we were up to.

I can't hold my breath very long, and my skin prunes up in no time, and the sunburns, ... But it was so hot in the Pennsylvania summers, and it was oh so quiet and cool at the bottom of the pool.