Leon's Blog

The other day my wife Bunny Marti, (I may explain someday and what you are thinking is probably correct, but that was years ago in a galaxy far, far away), laid my breakfast before me in an unusually sour attitude and then proceeded to sob. Unusual in that the sour attitude is always coupled with a snarl as opposed to a sob. Instinctively I asked what was the matter.

“You are planning to divorce me!” was her response. Not wanting to be cut-off from my meager allowance which is taken out of my own pension, and occasionally needing a proper meal, I assure you I had no such intention. “What on earth would cause you to make such a shocking statement?” I asked, or more to the point, answered.

“That note to the law firm.” Note? Law firm? I honestly was totally baffled.
“I saw it on your desk while I was dusting, you brute?”
“Angel, I have not written anything of the kind.”
“But I saw it!” Her voice was nearing a feve
r pitch so I thought reasoning would come in handy.
“Okay, what did the note say?” Knowing there was
no note I was painting her in a corner. It takes years of practice.
“Well, it doesn’t say anything,, but it is addressed.”
Keeping my paint brush

in my hand I asked “To whom then is it addressed?”
“I told you, the law firm.”
“Cup-cake, what law firm?”
“I didn’t memorize it, let me go get the note and show you.”

Now, we were getting somewhere. While she was away, I ate my breakfast as if it were my last. Returning, with the sobs replaced with snarls, she threw a piece of paper at me. I recognized my own hand writing and recalled my doodle of the night before. On the top of the paper, in neat block letters I had written “Michel, Yvert, Gibbons and Scott.”

“Pumpkin, this is not a law firm. I was just day dreaming of some new catalogs. These are companies who publish stamp catalogs.” Knowing she was in a sour mood I was reluctant to mention stamps, but I had no choice.
“I thought you bought stamps from those meetings you go to and on the Internet.” She was softening a bit.
“Oh, Darling, they are not sales-catalogs. They are informational catalogs.”
“Informational? How much information can there be about stamps?” Oddly, at this statement a vision came to my mind of hundreds of thousands of philatelists all over the world hearing her, several of their heads exploding sort of like a scene from the movie Scanners.

Where does one start? I am a relative novice collector, therefore I decided to stick with basics. “In these catalogs every stamp which has ever been issued by a governmental postal authority is given a number for identification purposes, my love.”
“So, what you are telling me is these four gentlemen got together and gave each stamp a number and then put the number in a catalog.”
“Well not quite,. They did not collaborate in any way. They each have their own number and their own catalog.”
“You expect me to believe that? Is this the best story you can come up with? It’s a law firm. Admit it”

Now the conversation was getting out of hand. I decided to calm her down and use the old stand-by keep it simple and teach by illustration. I invited her to sit down at the kitchen table, thus assuring she was out of reach of the rolling pin for I knew this discussion could go terribly wrong and get worse before it got better. Surprisingly she calmly sat down. Yet mild sobbing had returned

I began, “Let us suppose we are at Papa Looch’s and have ordered a pizza. When our pizza arrives Mr. Scott walks by and exclaims, ‘That is a fine looking pizza I will call it Pizza #1. May I take a picture? I will label the picture A1’ We are so proud Mr. Scott has noticed our pizza we wait to eat. Then Mr. Michel walks by. He also notices our pizza and declares it is a fine pizza. ‘I will call your pizza #1-8’ You see sugar baby our pizza is cut into eight slices. Mr. Michel gave each of our slices it’s own number. Mr. Scott walks by again returning from the rest-room for instance and we inform him what Mr. Michel has done. Mr. Scott removes a Sherlockian magnifying glass from his pocket and after careful deliberation declares our slices of pizza indeed differ from each other in very minute ways. One has oddly shaped Canadian bacon, another has two more olives than the rest, for example. He then states he will not change his numbering system, our pizza will remain #1. However, as the slices differ he will designate each slice by a letter. Slice 1a, 1b, 1c…etc. Now Mr. Scott and Mr. Michel have different ways of stating the same thing, therefore they each must have their own catalog.

Mr. Gibbons stops by our table asking for directions to the nearest Chip-shop showing no interest in our pizza. Mr. Yvert must be in another part of town. You see how simple it is?”
“I have never heard of anything so silly in my life,” my wife says while eyeing the rolling pin. “A pizza is a pizza, a slice is a slice, an olive is an olive and Canadian bacon is really ham. It is not rocket science. A stamp is a stamp!”
Now I was eyeing the rolling pin. “A stamp is not a stamp. There are hundreds of thousands of them and they are all for the most part different. And there must be a way of identifying them.”

We were now approaching full blown “heated argument’ stage.

“I can identify them just by looking at them” Bunny Marti shouted. “There is a red one, a blue one and a green one” She was smug thinking she had won the day. “You could not be more wrong smarty pants,” I ventured, “They are not red, blue and green. According to Scott they are carmine, ultramarine and emerald.”

It is amazing how quickly a sixty-two year old woman can move, even if she qualifies for handicap license plates. The fore mentioned rolling pin thankfully missed my head by a fraction of an inch, the kitchen window was not as fortunate. Also unfortunately I responded in the worst way possible. “Now look at what you have done! Do you know how many stamps I could buy with the money we will have to spend on a new window?”
“I am very sorry. That was a rash and childish way to react.” she said. Wow! I am going to play this for all it is worth, I thought. She reached into her purse and said, “ Honey, really I am sorry. We should not argue over this petty stuff. Here, I’ll give you $10 and you can go buy a couple of those new catalogs if you want. My treat.”

This put me in a quandary. I knew ten bucks would not even put a decent down payment on a new catalog and also if she ever found out how much those things actually cost, I would be in for beans and toast the rest of my life, which might not be long even though the rolling pin was no longer in play, the cast iron frying pan was handy. In hindsight I should have taken the ten dollars and completed my Germany 2000 year set. “Keep the money, It is more important to me to make you understand the importance of these catalogs.” I tried to sound noble, however I don’t think I got there. “Please sit down and let’s discuss this rationally.” Again, I was being noble, however I think my voice cracked. I did not want to be accused of yodeling at her.

We sat down at the kitchen table again amiably. “Now, sweets cheeks,” I resumed, “not only do these catalogs have a number for every stamp, they also have a picture of the stamps and inform of certain characteristics of the various stamps. For instance, the date of issue, perforations, precise color, and value of the stamp both mint and used and of course their assigned number.”

“Value? The value of a stamp is printed right on it. Any idiot can see, “ she answered.

“Not that value, that is called the face value and is only a concern of the postal entity and not the collector. The value listed in the catalog is the value to the collector. Let me give you an example. Assume we have a stamp from Knickerstein which depicts a violin. We look in the catalog which lists stamps of Knickerstein and find it is from the year 1987 was issued on the 12 of June, is perfed 12X14, is brown, ultramarine, rose and black. It is lithographed and has a mint never hinged value of five dollars and a used value of one dollar.” I responded. Half way through my answer I was hanging off a precipice but I couldn’t help myself.

“You need to volunteer somewhere to get out more. All of this stamp collecting is concerning me. You are losing your mind.” Now I was painting myself in a corner. She continued, “For the sake of argument,” (like we needed an excuse or a sake for that matter to argue) “let’s say I understand all of this rubbish. Suppose you needed a violin stamp from Knickerstein for a set you are collecting. You go to a store, or Internet or wherever you go, and you see one for five dollars and buy the blasted thing.”

Quickly I interrupted, “Oh goodness no! I would never pay $5 for that stamp. One never pays catalog value for a stamp,” I responded proudly. Thinking I would gain some much needed “argument” points by being so frugal.

“People do not pay what the catalog says a stamp should sell for?” “No darling.”

“People spend money for these catalogs and then proceed to ignore the information in them?”
“Quite right my dear, I could not have said it better myself.”
“You are insane, stamp collectors are insane, and the only sane ones are the people who make all of these catalogs which have the same information simply put in different ways and make hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Knowing I was beat. I simply asked “What’s for lunch?”

If Bunny Marti had my sense of humor she would have answered “A Canadian Bluenose with Original Gum.” But, she just walked away shaking her head. Down the hall which is lined by the way, with a hundred Mason jars filled with buttons and thimbles. .

Things were getting out of hand. After returning to the hobby I had been acquiring mixtures, packets, lots, kilo ware and grab-bags like a squirrel preparing for winter. There was too much stuff. Wading through the mess, I realized I needed to bring some sort of sanity or at least order to the madness. The core of the problem was I was fickle. Every morning I would choose a different color, theme, denomination, country or type of stamp to specialize in collecting. After a couple of months . . . well, you get the picture. Therefore, one day in frustration I decided to get some advice or direction from my favorite source, my lovely wife Bunny Marti.

“Darling,” I ventured, “I am in a quandary.”

“What?” she asked over the din of the mixer, “You want to do the laundry?”

“No sweetheart, I said I was in a quandary.”

“Oh. Is that all? I thought you wanted to be useful.”

“I truly need your advice.”

“Should have thought of that thirty-five years ago,” she muttered. “What is the problem?”

“I simply have too many stamps.”

I am not certain what she said in answer however, I believe it started with “no” and ended with “Sherlock.”

“I need you to help me decide what field of stamps I should concentrate on collecting,” I stated.

“Oh, just choose something. I am sure you will make the right decision. By the way, how’s the stock in Enron coming along?”

I could see this was going nowhere; therefore I repaired to my den and tried to concentrate. While thumbing through a Scott Vol. 3, the solution hit me right between the eyes. You see, I have always had a fascination for German film and actors. I discovered not only did Germany have a few sets of stamps honoring German film stars; three of my favorites were in the same set from the year 2000. Any country cool enough to have Goldfinger on a stamp would have my devotion. Germany I would collect and by-golly the year 2000 would be my starting point. I few mouse clicks later I had a complete set of MNH Germany 2000 on the way. Of course the next morning I opened a box lot and found a Canadian Flying Squid stamp which caught my eye. No! Control yourself I thought, Germany is it, end of story.

Six days later a package came in the mail. It was very thin but bigger than a standard letter and it was sort of light brownish and a few US commemoratives were attached for postage.

“What’s this?” Bunny Marti asked.

“Those are my new stamps from Germany.”

“I didn’t know James Dean was German?” she asked surprised.

“Not those stamps silly. I mean the ones inside.”

“This isn’t from Germany, it’s from Kansas.”

“The dealer is from Kansas. The stamps inside are brand new and from Germany?

“If you say so, but how did a person in Kansas get brand new stamps from Germany?”

“Well, they probably bought them from another dealer.”

“In Kansas?” she asked apprehensively.

“I don’t know where they got them. And I don’t particularly care as long as they didn’t print them, themselves.”

“I am not an expert at stamps. But it seems to me if you want to buy new stamps from Germany the best place to start would be, oh, I don’t know, what about GERMANY?”

“Germany, does not sell these anymore. They are from 2000 and are fifteen years old. The German post office does not have them in stock. Please just give me the package so I can store it safely.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

The look of shock I gave her actually made her step back. She has only stepped back like this one other time. (Perhaps another story in the future.)

“Open it? Are you mad? Of course I am not going to open it.”

“You mean to tell me you have been following the mail carrier around for the last three days and she finally delivers what you want and you are not even going to see what’s in the package? What if there is only a note in there saying, “Ha-ha. I fooled you, all the best from Kansas.”

“I have to wait until I find a place to mount them. I do not want to expose them to any danger or mischief until I decide where they should go.”

“They are postage stamps,” replied Bunny Marti, “They are designed to be stuck on envelopes which are subject to innumerable dangers and mischief, not to mention snow, rain, or gloom of night. Look! The James Dean triplets made it all the way from Kansas in fine shape, except for one poor Dean who has “Tonganoxie” stamped on his forehead.”

I answered, “I read on a discussion board once, exposure can be damaging to stamps. I even read on another discussion thread, some people emit a sort of fume or ray from their eyes which can cause a stamp to disintegrate very quickly. I wish to take no chances.”

“Well, if it was on the internet it must be true, right? She retorted. “Ridiculous.”

After a fine lunch and a cursory lawn mow, I was once again sitting at my desk examining the envelope, snuggly protecting my stamps. I had read Germans were very serious about their stamp collecting. I had no desire to collect German stamps in a half-hearted manner; therefore I decided to be very serious as well about my new founded German collection. I wondered if the Germans were so very serious about their collections, perhaps there was a German company which made stamp album pages on which to affix my stamps. Wouldn’t you know it, there is! I contemplated contacting the company directly; you know, sort of go all out and buy the pages direct from Germany. However, as my German is limited to “Tag der Briefmarke” which I suppose would have been enough in a pinch to get my point across, I thought better. So I called a company based in the United States, who sells such items as I required. I wanted to buy this item by phone as opposed to the internet, just for old times’ sake. The conversation went as follows.

“Thank-you for calling X”, (the company shall remain nameless,) “your place for every stamp collecting need. How may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I am looking to purchase a stamp album please.”

“Very good sir, hold a moment while I direct your call.”

Holding the moment, I waited. Not long, only a matter of seconds.

“Hello, this is (insert name here). How may I help you?”

“I am looking to purchase a stamp album for Germany from the company in Germany who makes stamp albums for German stamps.” Looking back, I suppose this was a bit excessive.

“Very good sir, are there any specifics such as year supplement, type of pages or color?

“No,” I answered, “I want it all. If I have any German stamp, I want a place to stick it.”

“Great! Would you like our specially made for our pages album covers?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, would you want our specially made slip covers in which to store our specially made album covers?”

“Yes.”

“Hold a moment sir while I calculate our special price.”

Once again holding the moment, the friendly salesperson came back on the line and quoted me a price.

Oddly enough, the first thing going through my mind after hearing their special price was thankfulness I was not on speakerphone and Bunny Marti listening. Otherwise, she certainly would have yanked the phone out of the wall as you see in the movies. Understandably, my thought was there was some sort of mistake.

“I am sorry,” was my reply “Perhaps you misunderstand. I am not looking to rent a castle in Bavaria for the summer. I simply want a few pieces of paper on which to stick my stamps.” Forty-five minutes later, it was decided the only thing my monthly philatelic budget could afford was a standard Germany 2000 year supplement consisting of nine pages. No cover, no slipcase, no frills included. Five days later a package arrived. This time there were no commemorative stamps attached. It was simply a cold, heartless, computer sticker which looked like it came from a future century. I had only ordered nine pages yet the package was roughly the size of second base. No longer concerned my eyes were emitting a ray which would destroy anything, I opened the package. Inside was another package or large envelope with an illustration of a, I suppose German father, bending over the shoulder of a, I suppose German adolescent, and both were examining stamps having smiles on their faces. I mean the father and young boy; I do not know what the stamps had on their faces. Inside of the huge envelope where my nine pages from a German company, who make German album pages in Germany which would hold my 2000 German year set. I did not remove them. I assumed they would be sufficient for my needs as the nine pages together were approximately the thickness of a piece of Texas toast. I was assured they were acid free, whatever that means. I suppose it means there is no acid in the paper. Frankly, I never knew there was acid in any paper. Remembering all of the thousands upon thousands of pieces of paper I must have touched in my sixty-three years, I instinctively looked at my fingertips to see if there was any indication of some sort of burning, however I found none.

My pages sit on the bookshelf. They are waiting for me to get the courage, knowledge and funds I need to acquire mounts. Every once in a while I take them out of the outer package and gaze fondly at the smiling German father and child. On the table where the young boy is sitting and at which the father is leaning, there is an entire album filled with pages which I assume are all from the same company as my pages. I daydream and imagine what the father does for a living as to provide this fortunate lad with such lofty philatelic paraphernalia. Yet another disclaimer. Bunny Marti wishes me to inform you that she would never utter such vulgarities ascribed to her in the “no/Sherlock” reference. I concur. At least not if there was any danger of it being heard by someone of consequence. As I do not inhabit consequential status I stand by my conjecture.