Out with the ordinary

 

I’m finicky about pens, which is a bit silly since I mostly write on computers. But brief notes to be stuck to the door, shopping lists, thank-you and condolence notes need pen and ink.

Rick uses ballpoints and shakes his head when I turn down his ordinary pen to look for one of “my pens” for even the simplest communication.

I suspect if the computer had not been invented, I would never have become a writer. The ease of rearrangement, readability and correction (RRC) is too great. Even a typewriter doesn’t allow for RRC. 

Admittedly even with quality pens my handwriting could be better.

I could say that my love of pens go back to fifth grade when I lost my late Uncle Gordon’s fountain pen. It was a muted brown/green/gold. I loved it because I didn't have to dip it into the inkwell in the middle of my desk every few letters but could fill it.

As a minimalist that I collect anything is amazing. But special pens have a feeling, a vibe, and even memories mass manufactured pens do not.

Take the green feather pen in the photo. I won it a silent auction at a World Council of Credit Unions Conference in Barcelona. Two minutes before the auction closed, I upped the last bid by $75. It was for a good cause. They help the unbanked around the world.

The blue feather pen was bought on a tour of the château Salses with my daughter and husband.

The pink stone pen was discovered at a Christmas marché with my French daughter and her family. It is hand made. The conversation with the maker taught me about the craft of pen making.

The wooden calligraphy pens were discovered at another artist market. I didn't buy them first time. The market ended, but the following year, the vendor was still there.

And the silver? That was a gift from the Mairie at Corsier. We signed our marriage documents with it.

It could be, I dislike the ordinary. Picking up a regular pen means nothing other than doing a writing chore. Picking up a special pen is an experience that adds a bit of beauty to my day.