The Promise of Pens

I grew up in a time when cursive writing was still taught in schools. I loved learning cursive, even the required squiggles and sharp points others thought were a waste of time I struggled to keep evenly spaced. The reward for learning and meeting the 'neatness' and 'form' requirements was the permission to use a fountain pen, blue ink only, cartridge provided by my teacher, in class; not only during English and penmanship but Social Studies and Science as well. I remember being the second student in class to achieve that pinnacle, so disappointed not to be the first. Still, I've been hooked ever since. Though my 'collection' only numbers 21 it includes an old Waterman which belonged to my father-in-law, a Waterford gifted to me by my best friend, and a Sheaffer formerly owned by my father. Pens represent potential and a promise of success one hopes to achieve even when recording only mediocre thoughts and less than eloquent lines ...



There's one commonality
among the living
     whether old or young
     feeble or spry
     fearful or fearless
     conservative or not
    open-minded or not
and that is all will eventually
succumb to the finite reality of life.


2013 ... Really?

So where does the time go? Or do we just continue to skip through activities without noticing? Does time actually get away from us' and does it fly only when you're having fun? The last entry in my journal was July 15, 2012. I'm surprised to see a 2013 entry on this blog, actually. Time - also known as a stretch, a period, a spell ....  However defined, time doesn't go anywhere. We go ... and go, and go, and go and pretty soon we look at our children or grandchildren and years has passed instead of days.

When my oldest was 3 months old, I remember my dad helping me feed her solid foods for the first time (yes, things were different back then). He looked at her and said, "Before you know it, this little one will be graduating from college." That little graduated from college years ago. I'm telling her the same thing about her children.

Where does time go? Like sands through the hourglass ... it only moves slowly when we watch every grain.


Odd Sensation

Sitting here doing what I want to do instead of what I have to do with Aaron Neville's "Bring It On Home ... The Soul Classics" providing encouragement