FAST-ACTING ENERGY

It's taken half a decade, but I'm finally rediscovering parts of San Francisco where I haven't been in a while. After two hospital stays and a list of several pills I take daily, my stamina has improved considerably. Yesterday I walked all over hell and gone. Which has changed.
The right leg hurt like blazes several times -- circulatory issues -- but it was fun.

It was not something I planned to do, but I had loaded up my pipe and did not feel like letting it go out to catch a bus further up the line. A few years back I told my regular care physician that I was walking more, and his face lit up. Because of my pipe. At which his face lit down. He went back to school four years ago, and my current regular care physician is more realistic about crusty old farts and their smoking and has not pushed the issue.

Speaking of crusty old farts: The bus driver who retired several years ago is now wilder than ever, and looks quite disreputable. His cantankerous companions ditto. The gentleman one table over, who is even older, has the mannerisms and appearance of an evil supernatural entity, possibly one that dwells under the cap of a giant amanita mushroom.
He probably evicted the toad that was there.

These are things that came to mind while I was eating a late lunch at a C-town chachanteng where I hadn't been in a while. Because I needed to get out of the house and smoke a pipe.
Also, I needed a cup of milk tea.

In all honesty, I also wanted to smoke a pipe I had put into one of the storage boxes among the many other briars not presently in the rotation. One which I fondly remembered from the last two years before my coronary stent, when walking for more than three or four blocks was tiring and often gave me a screaming headache. As well as more recent times. It's a pipe of which I am quite fond, and for regular lunch related reasons it reminds me of delicious pork chops at another chachanteng nearby.

If from this you conclude that insanity is common among Dutchmen, you may be right.
At least not very far of the mark.



I take immense pride in the idea that Dutch neurotics are high functioning, almost spectrum re-defining, and like a person with a mild bout of pneumonia, ambulatory.
Fueled by caffeine, nicotine, and highly refined sugar.

The pipe in question is more Dutch than I am.
Made for Amphora decades ago.



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