This morning’s print edition of the New York Times carried this announcement (emphasis mine):

To Our Readers
Starting Monday, The Times will reduce the width of its pages by an inch and a half, to the national newspaper 12-inch standard. The move will cut newsprint expenses and, in some printing press locations, will make special configurations unnecessary. Slight modifications in design will preserve the look and texture of The Times, with all existing features and sections and somewhat fewer words per page.

So the “national newspaper” standard is now 12-inch pages, making the broadsheets just a little (10%) less broad (matching their world view).

So labeled was a file folder found in amongst a box of papers from Pawn’s late mother. “Themes, Essays and Outbursts” is how she labeled her collection of high school english assignments. Quite appropriate. In with those were found these treasures…

I like to go on long tramps thru the woods
In the fall when the first leaves fly
To lie on the moss on some high banks
And dreamily watch the river go by

I like to be out of doors in the dark
Alone with the stars and the sky
To hear nocturnal creatures sing
And listen to the night winds sigh

I like to feel the soft rain fall
that softens the dark brown earth

And this, labeled “N.Y.U. Quadrangle” at the bottom:

Chemical Analysis of Women

SYMBOL: Woe. Thought to be a member of homo sapiens.
ATOMIC WEIGHT: Reputed to be 120. Isotopes are known though from 100 to 180.
PHYSICAL PROPERTIES: All colors sizes and shapes. Seldom found in the pure state. Boils at nothing, and freezes without reason. Surface is usually covered with a film of paint or oxide in colors and depth. Unpolished specimen turns to green in presence of a highly polished one. All varieties melt with proper treatment. Very bitter if used incorrectly. Density is not as great as generally supposed.
CHEMICAL PROPERTIES: Highly explosive and dangerous in inexperienced hands. Extremely active in presence of man. Possesses great affinity for gold, silver, platinum and precious stones. Has the ability to absorb great quantities of the most expensive foods. May explode spontaneously when left alone with man. Undissolved by liquids, but activity is greatly increased when saturated by a spirit solution. Sometimes yields to pressure. Fresh variety has great magnetic attraction. Ages rapidly.
USES: Chiefly ornamental. Efficient cleansing agent. Acts as a positive or negative catalyst in the production of fevers. Probably the most powerful reducing agent known.

This gem proffered in the hand of Uncle John, from long ago:

Peg sat curled up in the chair and remarked, as she opened Arsenic and Old Lace, “Al said today this play is a travesty. I didn’t know what she meant, but I pretended I did.”
“I know what it means” called out ten year old Emily, from the next room. Astonished at her knowledge, we asked her what it did mean. “It’s a man who made real fine violins a long time ago.” she replied.^*
We all just about choked, but managed not to laugh. “Peg said Travesty.” I corrected.
“Oh!” answered Emily, “I thought she said magistrate”

_{*thinking, no doubt, of Strativarious}

Do you think that you know
Who I am, what I feel
Just because we spend so much
Time together

How do you know that you
Are seeing me
And not just seeing us

Don’t call me an iconoclast
just because I don’t
believe in any
color-by-numbers philosophies

You may call me a cynic
but I feel my karma
is too valuable to invest
in fly-by-night dogmas

If I can’t see it, hear it
feel it, smell it, than
it just doesn’t fit
in my mythology

Granted, I have co-opted
the features I most
like from the other
sects

Muses figure prominently
in this
but then, muses always do

You may be my muse
But that gives you little
Purchase upon my soul

I though that muses allowed
us to see ourselves
not the other way around

So if you want to know me
Take me as your muse
Or take off your shades
And read the pain in my eyes
I didn’t put it there
Just for you
It resonates for me, too

In the smooth blue mist of the night, a figure is dimly visible in the distance. As the shapes and sensations of barely recognizable events drift past he pursues the figure, or he thinks he does. The pace of the shifting memories quickens, but he will not be daunted, he feels passionately driven to fix the vision of the figure before, before… It seems to be getting closer now, a woman with raven black hair. As the distant figure gathers out of the mist, others appear as well. One of the shapes edges towards him.

At work, and his hands seem glued to the key tops of the computer console. One report after another flows from mind to hand to screen to paper, they come and go so quickly that he can hardly even remember what he’s writing. But he doesn’t really care, as his focus shifts to the small square of the cursor blinking patiently, it always scoots to the right just in time to avoid being trampled by yet another letter pursuing it’s own journey from mind to paper. In the pulsing of the little square he fancies he sees her. Who? But she’s gone again, just a fleeting tickle in the back of his mind, enough to stir him back to the task at hand.

Some more coffee just may banish this nagging vision long enough to finish these reports. As he picks up his mug and heads to the other room for a refill the monitor blinks out, in seeming approval. Why don’t they just let me DO what I do best, instead of always writing these infernal reports about it.

He walks the path to the coffee machine without the slightest regard for his surroundings, completely preoccupied with his thoughts. Perhaps it’s time for a change of jobs, or … Yes, a vacation.
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