Wednesday, August 11, 2021


Over on the East Coast, a friend with professional expertise in conservancy and a keen mind is reading about the Greek poets of antiquity while enjoying a sweet tea and a pipeful of tobacco.

Life is good.

"... the loons are calling loudly tonight with horned, Barred, and saw whet owls. A beautiful night."

The sounds of nature at night in my neck of the woods are yowling drunks, roaring motor bikes, and from a distance elephant seals and fog horns. Early in the morning it's more "natural": crows and parrots. Seagulls.

Of course, some mornings it's the loud protests of the turkey vulture (Sydney Fylbert) as the head sheep practices Aikido on him (he's an unwilling participant in that, but the roomies wish to prevent him eating the little girl hamster or sexually harassing the she-sheep), or the one-legged monkey clouting him a good one when he comes too close to the smaller creatures. Usually that's in my apartment mate's room. And all is well in the world.

This is a very noisy place before she goes off to work.

C. DeCurtis -- Brakner

Last night, when he posted about the book, tea, and birds, he was smoking an old Brakner filled with Sun Bear. Brakners, with the "antique" finish, can be splendid pipes. They are well regarded. In Puerto Rico, one gentleman is smoking a Stanwell freehand while alert to weather warnings. Castellos in Georgia posts about his dog, who since being rescued has gentled down considerably. A Norwegian puffs on a smooth poker before heading off to work, the Sicilian is revisiting the place of his birth (where there is a Greek temple), a Michigander started the day with a small Dunhill and a classic blend, and someone else is fascinated by how a car engine works. The former military man who studied Russian laments that his barber is on vacation, and he will look shaggy. He still looks military, so "shaggy" isn't the word.

There are, of course, many pictures of pipes on that page.
It's like birds comparing their fabulous plumage.

In a professional capacity I've seen several Brakners over the years. They are piss-elegant. One day I may own one.

What's fascinating to me about all this is the textures and smells with which phlegmatic men in many different places become enchanted, and that soothe them as they go about their daily lives, with evenkeeled temperaments, other interests, and quirks. On a different forum page, a gentleman from Delft posts photos taken during his early morning walk in the city, right next to Indonesians posting dinner and street scenes. Tweeds. Beirut. Stubby Lumberman Partial Rustic. Grandkids. Ohio. Cyprus. Jute bags of coffee beans. Cringy puns. Sheet rock.
Unloading intermodal freight containers at a port in Norway.

On the whole, these are calm likeable men.

As a passionate and excitable Dutchman (that Latin character, don't you know), I may be out of place. But I'm flying under the radar, so to speak.

Medium flake in a flying saucer, shortly after she left for work.


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