Mr. Hubby bartered and got me a 1927 Underwood typewriter for Christmas. It’s beautiful and I long to use it. It needs some sprucing up, a bit of cleaning and some ribbon and then it will be ready to ‘clank clank’ all the way late into the evening and early morning.
It has sat on my bookshelf, waiting patiently for me to graze my fingers over the keys, and spark life into the letters that sit patiently. I look at it everyday, inspired by it and wondering why I would rather type into a machine that doesn’t auto spell check, offer an instant thesaurus or double space for me with a simple click.
There are some things I prefer to leave in their artful archaic form. My 35mm SLR camera, which produces the richest, truest form of photos in my perspective, my gorgeous 1927 Underwood, pens, my high school grad dress and of course printed photos that I clutter in any spare area of my home. Some of these old tools and mementos, superceded their modernized relatives. When I find one I love, it rekindles the creativity, sparks the learning in my brain, the desire to create and motivates my imagination.
I just have to figure out how to bring Mr. Underwood, who weighs roughly 50 lbs, to my holidays at the beach. This already makes a striking visual.