RAINY DAY PHILOSOPHIES

Yesterday evening I lost an umbrella. Being Dutch, I naturally have a peculiar relationship with umbrellas, seeing as the climate in our corner of Europe is quite nasty. Much more so than here in San Francisco, where rain is relatively rare most of the time. In the Netherlands, I would bicycle through rain storms on my way to school, thinking nothing of arriving sopping, and smelling like a wet dog. First period algebra was marked by puddles of water on the clasroom floor, and a row of bored fellow students with their minds off on tangents.

[What goes through a Dutch highschool student's mind at such times? French fries. Shag tobacco. Coffee. Kittens. The rise and fall of Betty's breasts in her soggy sweater in the third row. Hey, there are earthworms floating in the grass on the other side of that window. What if cars were designed by centipedes? Would they have a whole row of wheels on each side instead of just two?]

Here in Northern Colifornia, we're so unused to rain that we tend to forget the good umbrella and leave it at a Burmese restaurant over in Oakland over two decades ago. One of these days, I've been telling myself since then, I will go back to that restaurant and reclaim that umbrella. I'm rather fond of Burmese food.

Might be because of that cute waitress at a local Burmese restaurant.
She had a nice bosom, and it rained a lot that year.
I haven't been back to that one either.
No umbrella was involved.

Come to think of it, I haven't eaten Burmese food since the last century.

It's not that there is a natural linkage between breasts and umbrellas. And while both are a great good, relationships are built on more than just breasts and umbrellas.
Though possibly both are involved.

The most important thing about umbrellas is that they keep the pipe I might be smoking in a rainstorm from getting wet. Rain drops are not good for the polished finish of the briar, and make the carbon rubber stem develop oxidation spots. Which is inconvenient and ugly.
Also, rain tends to extinguish tobacco. That can diminish the pleasure entirely.

[Naturally I have every awning of empty storefronts between here and Kearney Street mentally mapped out. Places to light up my pipe while despondently viewing the nasty weather after a hot cup of milk tea. It's difficult to light a pipe with only one hand. Especially if the other is holding an umbrella, and there might be wind too.]

For some reason I am reminded of a tobacco product called Celtic Talisman, put out by Samuel Gawith. Which is a heavily sauced aromatic that may have started off as a blending blunder. They probably decided to tin it up and ship it off to the colonies with an artsy label, "Oh, the Americans will smoke it", they might have said, "those people have no taste whatsover, and are suckers for Irish themed crap". It is well-made fruity shite.
Precisely like drunks outside bars on Saint Patricks Day will smoke.
I tried it once out of intellectual curiosity.
I did not approve of it.


I really appreciate both umbrellas, and breasts.
They are nicer than aromatic tobaccos!
I've got spare umbrellas.



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