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Trading Spaces

Posted by Dirck on 14 August, 2013

As a complete aside to open; what would possess anyone to allow people to commit interior decoration their house without a hint of consultation and at a forced-march pace?  I understand how the show from which I lift my title got aired, as people will slow to gawp at traffic accidents, but who volunteers to be in a traffic accident?

I am certainly not engaging in an ill-considered remodelling of my home.  I am engaging in a profoundly-considered remodelling of the home of my pens.  Well… as profound as a rather sick man can engage in in the course of two minutes.

This past weekend, my father was emptying out a house which he’s used for nearly two decades as a combination architecture office and covert home-brewing establishment.  I had promised to assist, despite the ongoing-if-waning incapacity my wrist spraining represents, and despite the onset of migraine I went to do my filial duty.  I didn’t last very long, but there was a perfect mob of people helping out so I don’t feel too badly about it.  While gathering up my first tiny little non-taxing load, a couple of items of furniture jumped out at me.

The first was the great cabinets in which blueprints were stored.  How many pens might I keep in a drawer a full meter on each side?  The calculation of the answer to this delightful question was set aside by the sensible follow-up question; what opening in my house could a piece of furniture 110cm x 120 cm x 150 cm pass through?  Even if one could pursue the only answer to that (the picture window), there’s the matter of a permanent place to install it that didn’t render it a sort of household altar to replace the questionable lararium of the TV cabinet.

Next to that great oaken approach-avoidance conflict, though, was a mini-it of sorts.  Two units, composed of six relatively small drawers, which in ages past had been used to store sheets of letraset.  My Dad was a great attender of government office equipment auctions in the 1970s and ’80s, and these things were loot from that source; what sort of flat materials the federal government had kept in them prior to the sale, I can’t guess, but having been forced to put aside thoughts of the larger cabinets, I made away almost instantly with the smaller ones.  Even in my enfeebled state, it was a one man job to move them.

The question “How many pens might I keep” in it doesn’t have a firm quantitative answer just at the moment, but from a more qualitative standpoint I can say plenty.  Let me treat you to a rare picture of the Chamber of Secrets, deep in the bowels of whately Stain Manor:

Superman has Kandor, Batman has a dinosaur; I've got pens.

Superman has Kandor and the phantom zone projector, Batman has a dinosaur and a load of vehicles; I’ve got pens and pen-related junk.

The pale item with the junk atop it to the right is the previous pen cabinet, a steel object found at a garage sale which once held invoices from an insurance agency located in a delightful art-nouveau adorned building, now smashed aside by progress.  It had just recently run out of room for the non-valuable pens in my collection, so this massive expansion of capacity is timely.  At the current rate of increase, I should be good now for about twenty-three years.

Heck, those things are nearly as big at the presentation box for a Pelikan Souverän!

Today’s pen, awaiting a rest behind the “Germany” label: Pelikan M20
Today’s ink: Diamine Prussian Blue

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4 Responses to “Trading Spaces”

  1. I finally got into a frame of mind to do the math– at maximum compression, the new cabinets will support just shy of 700 pens. PLENTY.

  2. yubahome said

    what would possess anyone to allow people to commit interior decoration their house without a hint of consultation and at a forced-march pace?
    Sounds like torture to me…

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