REFLECTIONS THE DAY AFTER THE ASCENSION OF LEO XIV 

or: BRIDGEHEAD REVISITED

Well, yesterday was a day, wasn’t it? It was for me (so many of them are now), especially as I had secured the most coveted table at my local cafe – an accomplishment in and of itself but worth the assay as I say, and the jealous glances from the coffee shop’s regulars as I ensconced myself in the shadow of my triple sized cappuccino made it all the worthwhile. 

I sat calmly, just a wee bit imperiously, squinting critically at my copy of The London Review of Books (they still haven’t printed an essay about my book, which reminds me, I really should send that thing off to a publisher one of these days) and puffing on my time-worn meerschaum ruminating on oh, you know, whatever the critic on the page was maundering on about – maundering is a great word, far too often overlooked, don’t you think? 

Now, where was I? 

Oh yes, puffing on my meerschaum (no, it’s not a euphemism) which, by the way, contained no tobacco nor anything whatsoever combustible – as was resoundingly determined by the barista (they can be real martinets sometimes). The meerschaum was once the provenance of my old pal Dan Rae whom you will remember from my account of various misadventures in the Louisiana Everglades. He had given it me to settle a debt that must never be mentioned, assuring me that the short-stemmed pipe was bound to be considered the most sophisticated accessory available to complete a gentleman’s grooming. 

Shortly after, smoking indoors and on airplanes was declared illegal everywhere and the pipe was rendered to outlaw status which, in my mind, only proved my friend right. Still, with hopes the wheel of fashion might suddenly jerk into motion toward my lane, I frequently puff on that thing even though it’s empty. 

I could tell my cappuccino had sufficiently cooled for a sip but I temporarily forgot the whereabouts of the meerschaum – clenched firmly between my teeth – and managed to immerse it completely in the fluffy white foam expertly crafted by the grumpy barista. Fortunately, I don’t think anybody saw and I recovered my composure forthwith. The only indication that anything was off was the white foam bubbling out of the meerschaum. Minutes later, someone announced loudly, “They’ve elected a new Pope!”

Coincidence? I think not; in cappuccino veritas est.