Monday, June 27, 2022


In Chinatown for tea-time today. Because it was not a hot day I dressed relatively warmly, which in San Francisco means a sweater. According to the news, Hong Kong will be nearly ninety degrees, Eindhoven will be mid-fifties, parts of Marin will be nearly eighty.
In San Francisco, it was barely above sixty.

For people in the civilized world, that's thirty Centigrade, twelve degrees, twenty five, and seventeen respectively.

Perfect for a nice cup of milk tea.
And a snack.

Smoked a small pipe on Waverly afterwards. The pipe in play was an old item I which I had restored about seven years ago. Its owner in the intervening years passed away sometime this year, and his wife wished his pipes to go to appreciative homes.
He had nine pipes.
This one was the only one I picked. He had four meerschaums, and four other rather splendid briars. But this one I knew. I remember him as a very likeably chap who drifted in and out with a pipe in his mouth, not particularly talkative, seeming to enjoy his retirement quietly. I do not know what he died of, nor exactly when. I had last seen him in 2018.
But I know he was still active one year ago.

While smoking this pipe, I also remembered his tobacco.
It's a popular mixture which everyone knows.
There's a ghost in the smoke.

The 533 is not a shape I would have chosen, normally.
But this particular one has memories attached.

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