Conway Stewart: Benign Neglect

It suddenly occurred to me this morning that for reasons I don’t understand, as far as ink goes, Conway Stewart is a neglected brand in blog pages related to pen and ink. Thinking about it now, I can’t recall reading a single ink review for a Conway Stewart ink. What could the reason be?

A quick Google search shows that the choices are severely limited for someone looking to buy Conway Stewart ink. In addition, the available colors have shrunk from few to paltry. Two or three online stores offer blue or black, but nowhere could I find the full palette of eight colors. Pendemonium has in stock seven of them, lacking only the CS Green featured in this review. This situation makes you wonder if Conway Stewart is gradually withdrawing from the market, or if the demand for their ink has fallen off. I purchased a box of four Conway Stewart inks three years ago, and I believe it was from Classic Fountain Pens in Los Angeles. Now they don’t list Conway Stewart ink on their website. The set of four inks I got included blue, black, green and CS Green.

I’ve done little more than try the blue, black and green in an abbreviated fashion, mainly because the colors are too basic, too ‘vanilla’ for my tastes. On the other hand, the 30 ml bottle of CS Green is now almost empty. This is an ocean water blue-green that is beautiful, practical and eye-catching all at once. The occasions where it would be both acceptable and admired are enough to make it a basic, daily-use shade of ink.

The brief list of CS Green qualities in the photograph here reflect good results. On what I often consider to be a difficult 100% cotton paper (Crane stationery), the CS Green in my Pelikan 425 showed no feathering or bleed through. The flow of ink, the lubrication both good. I did something to test the waterproof qualities I’d never tried before. First, I submerged a sample in a bowl of water; a good amount of the ink washed out, but words were still legible. Next, I held the paper under running water for half a minute—still legible. Results were a heck of a lot better than someone leaving the cake out in the rain. (Mmm…Am I dating myself?)

The upshot of it all…If you can find a dealer who still has CS Green ink, buy yourself a bottle.

Ephesus: Under a Roman Sun

Off on a day trip from Izmir to Ephesus in western Turkey, an ancient city with a rich Christian history. My companions are an elderly couple from Johannesburg, South Africa who introduce themselves as Anton and Paula. Paula impresses me as one of the old school Afrikaner types I remember from the Donald Woods book, Biko. I have to stop myself from gawking at her because she weaves such outlandish gestures in her conversation. Much of the time she looks as though she is practicing a Balinese folk dance. But very friendly.

Ephesus… Earliest beginnings of the city are tied to the 10th century BC, but the ruins we are seeing date from the 2nd century AD and at one time epitomized the golden age of Ephesus. During the 1st century AD, apostles John and Paul both preached in the city.

Everything shimmers beneath a blanket of heat as heavy as a Roman anvil. The half-buildings, or ruins are monumental. Looking around though, I can’t help thinking that at such an important historical excavation more care might be given to maintenance of the grounds. Foundations, individual pieces, stones, are all in place, ‘put back’ in a way to give visitors a feeling of what it once was, but the caretakers have allowed grass and weeds and scrub to run wild all over the site. I am certain that such was not a part of the original—weeds did not grow at the base of statues in Roman cities. Neither did plastic water bottles and Coca Cola cans rest in piles all around the city. Excavation and restoration are all beautiful, and though I am an no authority, that at least impresses me as very well done.

One of the excavations at Ephesus is the bath, and of course it is a Roman bath with all the marvels of Roman engineering. At one time, water constantly flowed through concealed channels to sluice away waste, while other channels brought a fresh flow of bath water. There remains a fountain that once produced noise to cover the indelicate sounds of citizens sitting upon marble toilets in the open bath area. Today these marble toilets are being vulgarized as posing benches for tourists with cameras. I can’t helping thinking that many would even be happy to see a headless plywood cutout of Paul behind which they could pose for more photos.

Walking from one end of the city to the other is a challenge in the furnace of midday sun. Heat and glare reflect from every surface and crowds of people jostle for views or camera angles. I imagine the splendor of seeing all this on a night lit by the shadowy gold of a full moon, minus all the clicks and whirring of a hundred cameras.

From Ephesus we go to the House of the Virgin Mary. This turns out to be a quiet and beautiful park-like setting of trees, with a fountain of bubbling water whose beneficence is described as spiritual healing. And then the house itself, now converted into a small chapel. Many believe that Mary passed her last days, under the care of Paul. The apostle came to Ephesus, city of idol worship and profit, to pass on to gentiles the teachings of Christ. He brought the aging mother of Christ with him, and she lived in this house.

We visit a museum which holds many of the objects excavated from Ephesus. I like it best for its design and atmosphere, constructed in a series of connected courtyards and open-air rooms. The overall museum is meant to echo the feeling of an ancient Roman terrace house of Ephesus.

Back in my hotel by late afternoon, numb with heat and exhaustion, and poorer by fifteen million lira.

Photos: The Library at Ephesus viewed through an adjacent archway; journal pages (Ephesus) with brass bowl and brass seal from the area.

Insects, Cows & Weird Scientists

Can’t remember when I first became a fan of Gary Larson’s cartoon, The Far Side, but from the beginning it has kept me laughing, sometimes throughout a day. The five panels included here are some I stumbled upon in a box this morning, looking through old notebooks and papers. Just random choices clipped from the newspaper, or a calendar over the years. Every one of them made me laugh out loud again for probably the tenth time.

Sometime around 1978, tired of his job in a music store, Gary Larson began drawing cartoons. In two years his name and his cartoons were familiar to millions of people around the world. It began with six cartoons accepted by a Seattle magazine, for which Larson got the grand sum of $15.00 each. The Seattle Times then offered the cartoonist a shot at producing a weekly one-panel cartoon. They called it Nature’s Way. It lasted a little over a year in Seattle before being dropped. In 1980 The San Francisco Chronicle picked up the cartoon, renamed it The Far Side, and thus began a fifteen year run. The Chronicle syndicated it nationally and in a matter of just a few months the insects, amoeba, weird scientists, cavemen and cows of Larson’s imagination had become stars of the cartoon world.

As anyone familiar with The Far Side can tell you, the set up is always surreal, usually comparing and contrasting the behavior of humans and animals. A typical Larson theme might be something along the lines of “How cows behave when no people are watching.”

Gary Larson has been recognized far beyond the comics page of newspapers and novelty store calendars. His original drawings have been hung in museums, and in one bizarre twist an insect species was named in his honor: Strigiphilus garylarsoni.

Look at cartoons here once more… I’ll bet you laughed again.

Flavor from the Andes

Quinoa (Keen-wah) is a ‘grain’ that has been cultivated in the South American Andes since at least 3,000 BC and a staple food for millions of the native inhabitants. The Inca tell stories of their armies marching over mountains for many days sustained by only what they called “war balls,” a mixture of quinoa and fat.

Here are a few nutritional facts about this unusual ‘grain.’ Quinoa is not a true grain, but the seed of the Goosefoot plant, very high in protein, calcium and iron, a good source of vitamin E, as well as several of the B vitamins. It contains an almost perfect balance of all eight essential amino acids needed for tissue development in humans; exceptionally high in lysine, cystine and methionine—amino acids typically low in other grains. The protein in quinoa is considered to be a complete protein due to the presence of all eight essential amino acids.

These days, quinoa can be found in most natural food stores, or at least those in the US, and can only be seen as a worthy addition to anyone’s diet. It is good in hot casseroles and soups, stews, in stir-fries, or even cold in salads.

In the rather small collection of recipes for things I make with some regularity is one with the ‘says-it-all’straightforward name, Quinoa Stir-Fry with Spinach & Walnuts. That doesn’t leave much to the imagination if you are already familiar with the flavor of quinoa, but if not, chances are this stir-fry will be a delectable surprise. Once you have the quinoa in hand, the other ingredients are few, and include nothing unfamiliar to most palates. Preparation is perfectly uncomplicated. Quinoa is best cooked to just the right fluffiness, but the directions on the package will help you with that. In the event it comes in a plain brown bag, ask a store clerk about the best method of cooking the quinoa. Basically, it cooks much the same way as rice.

Ingredients:

1 cup of quinoa

2 tablespoons of olive oil

1 teaspoon of finely chopped (not minced) garlic

1/2 a teaspoon of salt

1 bag (about 6 ounces) of fresh baby spinach

8-9 cherry tomatoes

1 package of walnut halves (about 2 ounces)

Grated parmesan cheese

A few leaves of fresh basil

Preparation:

Rinse the quinoa well, drain it and put it in a pot with enough water to cover. Bring it to a boil and then reduce the heat to low and allow it to simmer for 15-20 minutes. Once the quinoa is the right consistency (fluffy), remove it from the heat and set it aside. Spread the walnuts in a small skillet and toast them over medium heat for 5-10 minutes; set aside. Put the olive oil into a good sized wok and let it heat a little. Spoon the cooked quinoa into the wok with the olive oil and add the chopped garlic and the salt. Give it good stir, mixing the garlic into the quinoa. Add the toasted walnuts and stir a little longer. Slice the cherry tomatoes in half, and add them to the quinoa mix along with the baby spinach. Stir until the spinach is almost wilted—don’t overcook.

Remove the quinoa-walnut-spinach & tomato mix to a large bowl. Toss in some parmesan cheese and garnish with fresh basil.

Bon appétit!

A Special Affinity

One of those golden days in Tokyo, with hints of an invigorating spring now blowing our way, no more than two weeks over the horizon. Just the time for a walk along the Kanda River, through Inokashira Park and on to Kichijôji. A good stretch of the legs and a chance to see in trees and river how the season is growing toward bloom.

And so I get a close-up look at the many cherry trees that make the Kanda something more than unremarkable, and give it that touch of splendor with the harmony of blossoms and water. But mid-March is too early for that sweet combination, branches all a shiver with buds still not ready to reveal their countless pink faces.

The Japanese have a special affinity with the cherry blossom, something that is all but ancient in their culture and tradition. These days the appreciation of spring and the cherry blossoms has taken on a slightly different form, but the recognition of these immemorial flowers is probably buried deep in the soul of all but a scant few Japanese.

From Japan’s earliest literature the cherry blossom has been endowed with a special character that resonates with human experience. It was not only poets who elevated the flower’s qualities, but warriors of the feudal age as well held the cherry blossom to be the perfect symbol of life and death. With its exquisite transience this fragile blossom mirrored the warrior’s likelihood of sudden death in battle. Here one moment, gone the next, or in the words of Macbeth, “Out, out brief candle, life is but a walking shadow…”

Turning to a modern expression of meaning in the spring blossoms, poet Tawara Machi’s 31 syllable tanka puts a different slant on it:

As if in this park

nothing at all has happened

the cherry blossoms

have bloomed, blossomed, scattered;

sakura sakura sakura…

Tawara’s cherry blossoms are seemingly indifferent to her personal concerns. And that is perhaps how very many young Japanese today look at the blossoms of spring. These days hana-mi (flower viewing) parties revolve around chug-a-lug drinking, karaoke and attention more to cell phones than overhead blossoms.

Times change, yet I continue to look for the lost.

From the end…

Last week a friend passed on to me a battered paperback of the Robert Harris book, Pompeii, published in 2002. I have an interest in the Roman Empire and enjoy historical novels, so was happy to get the book, despite being warned that it was for the most part a quick and interesting read, but nothing to get excited about. As it turned out, my friend’s brief one sentence capsule review was accurate.

Harris’s novel is about the eruption of Mount Vesuvius just outside ancient Pompeii in the year 79 AD. Pompeii was severely affected, but what is often left out of the story is the magnitude and breadth of the destruction; the city of Herculaneum, as well as Stabiae were also destroyed and the total number of people killed was between 10,000 and 25,000. The novel begins two days before the eruption of the volcano and follows an engineer who is trying to trace a problem in the great Aqua Augusta aqueduct which supplies water to eight cities through 96 kilometers of the countryside around Naples. As we guess from the very beginning, the problem with the flow of water along the aqueduct stems from the rumbles of Mount Vesuvius. The engineer, Marcus Attilius races from one geological anamoly to another in his search for an answer, realizing little by little that the natural signs are looking ominous, and they all point to Mount Vesuvius. Only an hour or two before the actual eruption does Attilius realize that the aqueduct is the least of their worries.

There is little characterization in this novel, and all but one is a stock character we’ve seen a hundred times before in previous ‘page-turners.’ The hero (Attilius, the engineer) is your typical ‘good man’ who does all the right things, protects the weak and defies the brutal, and naturally falls in love with an ill-treated daughter he can’t have. Nothing new here, and it could easily have been left out. Aside from Pliny, the natural philosopher and famed writer, characters in the novel are all either black or white and cut from thin cardboard. Somehow (perhaps because he has the historical figure as a basis) Harris does well in painting a more layered and complex picture of Pliny.

The best part of the novel comes in the small details of Roman life and culture in 79 AD. There are details in abundance about the food and wine, the lechery, the graffiti, and one horrible scene of punishment when a slave is fed to moray eels. I have heard criticism of the book’s historical accuracy, but I can’t quite agree with that complaint. The architecture, the manner of dining, facts about the Aqua Augusta, and characteristics of Pliny the Elder all bear the stamp of authenticity. These parts of the book all stir vivid images of what life was like for Romans of 79 AD.

There are no surprises about the ending of Pompeii. The eruption of Mount Vesuvius set off a firestorm of poisonous vapors and molten debris lasting two days, engulfing and burying the surrounding area and its population. Though not from the time of Pompeii’s destruction, these earlier words of Pliny have survived: “From the end spring new beginnings.”

Perhaps not a great book, but Harris’s Pompeii, apart from a few distractions tells an interesting story.

I Remember Mama

Looking at the most recent post on Everyday Correspondence this morning, I read an article written by Jackie Flaherty called, “Correspondence as…Memories.” The article is about the lasting value of letters and what their content does to bring back vividly the thoughts and days, the memories of earlier years. I will admit that I have not been very good about holding on to letters received, and most of them must be relegated to the lost and unfound. That loss is something I regret, though at this point cannot change.

But reading Jackie’s article, I remembered seeing in a bottom drawer of my desk recently an old letter from my mother, who passed away in 1983, a year after my move to Japan. So, I went back and pulled that faded envelope from its hiding place and sat for an hour reading, re-living not one, but three letters folded inside. They were the last three letters I got from my mother.

So many things unwritten in those flimsy pages came spilling from between the lines as I turned them over again and again. Little written there about her health, but the handwriting told some of the story. The last letter of the three reflected a hand that fought with the pen, not easily keeping lines neat, or letters fluid. Handwriting always neat and well-formed, perfectly legible to anyone had little by little become less so.

She wrote of hoping she would be able to play golf with her friends, and I remembered a hundred things about her and Daddy and their passion for golf. I remembered cabinets piled with silver salvers or bowls from the many golf tournaments. In one part of the letters was a mild complaint that her car was not running well. That brought back to me the times she had poked around under the hood trying to make some minor repair without the help of a mechanic. She wrote about the roses I had wired on Mother’s Day dying the very next day, and the florist coming right over with a fresh armful.

On the last page of the final letter Mama wrote that she hoped I was enjoying my work and life in this far away country, but that she was a little sad it had to be at such a great distance.

I sat with these pages for a while, looking too at some old photos, turning the worn out Kodak moments over in memory, smoothing the old letters and remembering Mama.

As James at Everyday Correspondence so aptly expressed to Jackie about her article… “Thanks Jackie, for your wonderful reflection on the lasting power of letters.”