SOME PARTS ARE STILL GREEN

Some of the pleasantest and strangest times of my life were spent between Dwinelle Hall and Shakespeare Books. Also some of the most intense moments, as well as the quietest. It is wondrous how silent a fully crowded cafe is when one is reading. With a strong coffee and a pipe. Other people are huffing Gaulloise cigarettes, roaring their conversations, eating cold meat and fried pastries, but it's just you and James Joyce.
An island of peaceful murmering on a June day.
And Molly Bloom, big with seed.

What did I learn during those years? Well, I started to learn that I am not a pleasant fellow, and that mechanical and architectural drafting are essential skills. Also that when you speak a foreign language in public someone will tell you to go back. Sambal is a way of life. So is the search for sweet soy sauce, frikandel, and herring (you can concoct the first yourself, approximate the second, and might as well forget about the third).

[Sweet soy sauce: Ketjap Manis. Available from some Asian grocers that cater to 'Ollanders and people from the Indonesian Archipelago. It's an essential ingredient, but a version can be made at home. Take equal parts sugar and good soy sauce. Dissolve the sugar in a little water and cooking sherry over the heat, stir the soy sauce into the mix, and simmer till the liquid starts foaming up. Let cool, and bottle. To prevent the sugar from crystalizing or precipitating out, add a dash of vinegar or strained lime juice. The result should be almost like syrup. Used both condimentally and as a flavouring ingredient. A faintly burnt hint in the taste is desirable.]

The beginning of a semblance of maturity starts in those years, but for some reason (Aspergers) it takes several years longer than anyone else to reach that stage.
Mistakes will be made along the way.

I am somewhat more tolerable than I was then, calmer, and maybe more sensible.
But I'm still making mistakes. Though slightly fewer than before.


I've achieved complexity, but I lack depth.


The pipe shown below is one of the first decent briars I acquired. It was in a showcase at the local tobacconist, and eventually it become my fondest new possession.
When I smoke it nowadays I remember things.

Touch, smell, and grain patterns bring stuff back.
There's just something about certain shapes.
Spring, sunlight, new growths.

TOBACCO INDEX


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