33. Ink

I love ink.  Did I mention that?  As well as paper and every aspect of the graphic arts.  I have no idea where that comes from, but my father was a newspaper pressman.  How loud were those huge newspaper presses!  I’ll tell you a story later about my father bringing me to the newspaper when I was seven years old.  

It’s much quieter here in the cellar of Our Lady as that memory fades from my mind.  My attention returns to the task at hand, printing up more envelopes on donated stock than we’ll ever need.  Well … I did say it’s a hobby.   Other than my knee clicking as I pump the treadle, the only sound is the clink-clink made by the round ink disk at the top of the press as it rotates to evenly distribute the ink on the rollers after each impression.  Soon I’ll quickly flick a small blob of ink on the disk to renew the blackness of the print.  ( The small treadle press is a 1913 Damon & Peets 7x11 Favorite with a throw-off that I never use, preferring to stop the flywheel with my hand.)    These days I no longer stand at the press, but sit on a three foot stool as I lean over the feedboard.  I’m not as tall in the saddle as I’d like to be and I miss the gauge pins from time to time as I feed in the envelopes to be printed one by one.  If the press were a Chandler and Price, the platen would lay back more and make feeding easier.  And makeready work on an almost level platen would be a joy.  I worked a C&P after school as a teenager, printing a zillion raffle tickets in a tiny print shop in my hometown.

In the corner I can see the scrap test impressions from Sara’s wedding invitations.  If I were a Protestant I could have both a career as a pastor and a great sex life.  Let’s hear it for Martin Luther.

 But I have decided to leave all to God's direction.

Lutheran Men's Voice (LMV), Chennai,India

Sorry for the abrupt ending.