I was pretty busy indexing stamp mounts this evening. We got a couple of big orders while we were away, so there’s a backlog of work.
I ordered a new can of indexing ink from one of the most talkative 800-number people I’ve ever run into. He asked what I do with the ink and how I like it, which makes sense as marketing info, and then wanted to keep talking about how the weather was on this side of the country (he’s in Portland OR, if I can go by the address on the company’s invoice). He didn’t ask about the Red Sox. Maybe that’s because Portland doesn’t have a major league ball club. I also ordered some of those wax paper circles you put on the ink to keep it from drying out, and he said, “OK, skin papers.” So now I know their real name.
I bicycled to work, which I’ve been doing pretty often during the summer. I didn’t get as far out of shape as I feared from not riding for a week; I was in higher gears than usual. In fact, my chain got caught between the smallest sprocket and the frame while I was cruising along Parker Street in my highest gear on the way home.