If you have followed these wanderings from the outset in 2014, you have figured out that they are not about pens. Yes, I have come back from each trip with either pens or pen experiences, but I have not subjected Sharon, long suffering as she is, to any concerted pen searches.
But, on Sunday in New Orleans I noticed a shop on Chartres that featured vintage watches and something told me there were pens in there. But every time we passed it was closed. Finally Tuesday evening we passed and it was open.
“Do you have any pens?” “Yes.”
The owner produced a baggie with a few decent pens in it, mostly Sheaffer’s, mostly common. But there was something else, a Moore, jade, discolored. Not for $200, thank you. “Can you do any better for me.” Haggling ensued. $125. Hmmm, maybe not.
Dinner that night was at Sylvain. Thinking about the pen when I wasn’t thinking about the lovely food. Maybe I should have bought it. Dinner over, shop probably closed. No, he’s a late bird. After some amiable conversation the pen is mine.
And while I am at it, I realize that I have not shown the pens that are accompanying me on the trip.
Wednesday as we wandered the French Quarter’s Royal Street I dragged poor Sharon through the antiques shops. We saw some nice stuff. No more pens.