As a writer I've always been fascinated with the actual art of writing. I love calligraphy, old typewriters, anything and everything to do with the world of writing. At Scarborough Fair, I got to opportunity to buy a beloved quill pen. It has a pretty tan feather and a typical quill end, made out of metal. At the fair I couldn't afford the elaborate base which holds the ink so I waited, assuring myself I would find an equally nice container elsewhere. After waiting months and months, I found a small ink jar, in blue glass, for the perfect price at Farmers and Fleas. It was $1 and holds ink nicely.
Finally, I was set. I had no disillusions about my writing looking like Zaphino font or calligraphy but I thought, really how hard can it be to write a letter with my quill. As I sat down at my desk, I realized a) I had no stationery (who uses stationery anymore?) and b) I had no ink. After locating a simple piece of white computer paper I settled down to the task of locating ink. A co-worker simply got a pen, cut the tube in the middle and let the ink drip into my bottle. ( I should mention this process took about an hour.) I was set.
Setting out to write, I was giddy with anticipation. My quill was finally going to be used. Even my quill tattoo on my shoulder seem to be excited (wait, no that was a shoulder twitch.) So I dip and begin to write. Get a letter written. Faintly. Dip again, go back over the letter. Dip again, write another letter. At this point, it may be Christmas before I get the salutation written. I dip again and proceed to attempt to write. Finally, having enough, I grab my ball point pen and finish what I was writing.
No wonder quills went out of style with the dinosaurs. It would take me a year to write a column for the newspaper. I did eventually figure out that one must have a large quantity of ink (not just one simple stem from a pen) to make it work. Also, computer paper isn't the best thing ... the metal tears it. Maybe I'll get some real ink and try it again.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
There are people in the world
As I slumped my way through the weekend, working my fingers to the bone (literally) putting up fences, I couldn't help but be unhappy. Not because I was putting up fence in 100+ temperatures. Not because I had scratch after scratch and chigger after chigger (darn itchy little bugs.)
It's more because I wonder how unrealistic expectations of relationships in the adult world are.
After recently being hurt (again) and betrayed (again,) instead of going the usual I-curse-the-male-species-route, I decided to take a look at the bigger picture.
I can't tell you how many hours, even in the last month, much less in my life, that I have spent reading romance novels and watching chick flicks. Yeah they make you feel good. Yeah there's nothing sweeter than books like The Notebook or a good Nora Roberts to make you smile. However, they are unrealistic. It's been said, "Art portrays life." Portrays. Gives a picture. Not tells it like it is.
Reality of the situation is that most men, however wonderful and terrific, aren't romantic. At least not the way it is pictured in movies and books. All throughout my life I can remember watching for my grandpa to pick the first rose in our garden at home and give it my grandma.
Yep very sweet. Yep pretty darn romantic. Yep, pretty much the only romantic as in romance novel thing he did each year. He didn't bring her flowers every week, or hire a hot air balloon for a special date or propose to her at a giant stadium ... they were just happy being together.
I've heard it said, "I want best friends with wedding rings." That's what I want. Screw all the pink and red fake candy hearts crap ... I want someone who is going to be my best friend for all time and if I can't have that, I don't want any of it.
It's more because I wonder how unrealistic expectations of relationships in the adult world are.
After recently being hurt (again) and betrayed (again,) instead of going the usual I-curse-the-male-species-route, I decided to take a look at the bigger picture.
I can't tell you how many hours, even in the last month, much less in my life, that I have spent reading romance novels and watching chick flicks. Yeah they make you feel good. Yeah there's nothing sweeter than books like The Notebook or a good Nora Roberts to make you smile. However, they are unrealistic. It's been said, "Art portrays life." Portrays. Gives a picture. Not tells it like it is.
Reality of the situation is that most men, however wonderful and terrific, aren't romantic. At least not the way it is pictured in movies and books. All throughout my life I can remember watching for my grandpa to pick the first rose in our garden at home and give it my grandma.
Yep very sweet. Yep pretty darn romantic. Yep, pretty much the only romantic as in romance novel thing he did each year. He didn't bring her flowers every week, or hire a hot air balloon for a special date or propose to her at a giant stadium ... they were just happy being together.
I've heard it said, "I want best friends with wedding rings." That's what I want. Screw all the pink and red fake candy hearts crap ... I want someone who is going to be my best friend for all time and if I can't have that, I don't want any of it.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
A bear, a car and lots of miles
Summer is unlike any other time of year. I love summer, truly I do. It avails one the opportunity to eat snow cones, watermelon and more importantly, welcomes a respite from adult responsibilities.
Vacation.
Just the word makes me want to sigh with relief.
Unlike the more glamorous vacations my co-workers took (the Bahamas and San Antonio), I simply returned home to the Panhandle to visit my family for an entire week.
After packing entirely too much and berating myself for not packing the essential iPod charger, I began to make the seven-hour trek home by myself.
By myself. Those two words don’t seem so scary until you realize that your iPod is dead and you are stuck with nothing to listen to but country music. For four hours.
Finally, after giving up on the radio and traveling in silence, I did have company... but not the kind you want.
As flashing red and blue lights deemed me to be breaking the law, I pulled over.
I had my cruise control set at 70 so I knew that wasn’t it, my seatbelt was latched so that wasn’t it either. Inspection current ... check. Tags current ... check. What in the world could be wrong?
The officer, who was a state trooper, walked up to my car and asked for my license and proof of insurance.
After searching among my cranberry snack mix and my pretzels, I came up with my wallet and license.
The police officer, I found out later after I was cleared of all possibilities of warrants etc., asked me why my child was strapped into the front seat instead of the back seat.
After being puzzled, I told him I didn’t have a child and that the seatbelt was simply fastened to keep the shiny buckle from blinding me while I drove.
After looking around me, he saw that I was indeed telling the truth and also began laughing because I had a huge stuffed bear riding shotgun.
A relic from childhood, he was being taken home to receive repairs from my grandma.
As the officer shook his head, wished me a good day and walked back to his car, I decided the country music might be a more suitable companion than red and blue flashing lights.
My vacation proceeded on with the laze and ease of non-scheduled time.
I read about five books, started a new scrapbook, watched movies, visited family and more importantly, enjoyed summer naps.
After being away from Farmersville, everything seems wonderful, and I am happy to be back in my cubicle of newspaper world.
Though Borger is my hometown, somehow Farmersville also feels like home to me now too.
I guess it’s true what they say about you always being able to go home, but make sure you don’t have a giant bear seatbelted into your car when you do.
Vacation.
Just the word makes me want to sigh with relief.
Unlike the more glamorous vacations my co-workers took (the Bahamas and San Antonio), I simply returned home to the Panhandle to visit my family for an entire week.
After packing entirely too much and berating myself for not packing the essential iPod charger, I began to make the seven-hour trek home by myself.
By myself. Those two words don’t seem so scary until you realize that your iPod is dead and you are stuck with nothing to listen to but country music. For four hours.
Finally, after giving up on the radio and traveling in silence, I did have company... but not the kind you want.
As flashing red and blue lights deemed me to be breaking the law, I pulled over.
I had my cruise control set at 70 so I knew that wasn’t it, my seatbelt was latched so that wasn’t it either. Inspection current ... check. Tags current ... check. What in the world could be wrong?
The officer, who was a state trooper, walked up to my car and asked for my license and proof of insurance.
After searching among my cranberry snack mix and my pretzels, I came up with my wallet and license.
The police officer, I found out later after I was cleared of all possibilities of warrants etc., asked me why my child was strapped into the front seat instead of the back seat.
After being puzzled, I told him I didn’t have a child and that the seatbelt was simply fastened to keep the shiny buckle from blinding me while I drove.
After looking around me, he saw that I was indeed telling the truth and also began laughing because I had a huge stuffed bear riding shotgun.
A relic from childhood, he was being taken home to receive repairs from my grandma.
As the officer shook his head, wished me a good day and walked back to his car, I decided the country music might be a more suitable companion than red and blue flashing lights.
My vacation proceeded on with the laze and ease of non-scheduled time.
I read about five books, started a new scrapbook, watched movies, visited family and more importantly, enjoyed summer naps.
After being away from Farmersville, everything seems wonderful, and I am happy to be back in my cubicle of newspaper world.
Though Borger is my hometown, somehow Farmersville also feels like home to me now too.
I guess it’s true what they say about you always being able to go home, but make sure you don’t have a giant bear seatbelted into your car when you do.
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