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Seasonal Pelf

Posted by Dirck on 7 January, 2014

Well, here we are back, and in a slightly less quivering state than yesterday.  I hope all readers still have their parts firmly attached and the proper colour.

The solstice festival just past (which my family, heathens all, is pleased to call Christmas in keeping with local usage) was one of the best in years when viewed from a front of familial contentment.  Apart from our usual forebearance from knife fights, which is really more of a Groundhog Day activity (in which we declare anyone who says “Happy Groundhog Day” to be Julius Caesar and chase him with knives), we seem to have finally worked out the proper approach to scheduling the visits to the various grandparental estates.  My brother’s son has reached the age of reason, and is thus a little less given to rages of cupidity, while my son’s light dusting of developmental disorders appears to bear the silver lining of making him less anxious about getting ALL THE THINGS than many of his age.

In fact, if I may brag for a moment, he took it upon himself at both the stops of our Christmas tour to act as the hander-out of presents, in which he was careful to make a rotation rather than just diving for his own name.  The brag extends to his powers of reading cursive, which was used on many of the labels, and also a variant Blackhand that my wife indulged in on a couple of them.

The only downside to the who affair, since the weather was freakishly warm on the 25th, was all the delicious food.  I was never quite button-poppin’ stuffed at any time, but I also was never anything short of full from noon of the 24th until sometime in the late afternoon of the 27th.  It’s to the point that I’m actually thinking of doing something radical about my diet (a word I take to mean “the sorts of food routinely eaten” rather than an acute adjustment to the intake).  A grumbling liver is an uneasy bedfellow.

Oddly, I got a pen… on Christmas rather than for it.  During the very narrow interval between lunch and dinner, my mother told me she’d found a pen in a drawer and though I might take it away with me if it interested.  It was presented, and I clutched onto it in the best traditions of Daffy Duck– a Slim Targa!  Not only that, but it had a functional converter stuck in its belly, an item not easily come by.  I expressed my astonishment and my mystification; I certainly had no memory of the thing, and while that’s not entirely unprecedented I do know that my first brush with any sort of converter was an Osmiroid, and that it and a Waterman were the extent of my converter contact until the turn of the century.

My father eventually claimed it, although happy to hand it along.  He wasn’t very clear about when he’d picked it up, but he at least could remember having done so.  I was so happy to have an example of that odd sub-breed that I didn’t even raise the subject of the point.  It was very carefully bent downwards.  Sigh.  It was at least not kinked, and so was easily put right– I didn’t even have to extract the feed to get it working, which rendered it a Merry Christmas Gift indeed.

Today’s pen: That very Targa 1000S of which I speak
Today’s ink: Skrip Black


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