A Rambing Rant: repost

My mother in law used to send my son handwritten cards and letters, nothing long or elaborate. He always got a kick out of them and we saved them.  Recently we found the bundle and gave it to him to look at.  He was tickled, but then said, “I can’t read cursive.”  Perhaps he could if he had a bit of time to puzzle it out, but at first glance it may as well have been Arabic to him.  It’s true, they no longer teach cursive writing as a skill any more.  Gone are the days when I grew up and learned block printing in the First Grade and cursive in the Second, and then endless excercise books for practice.  Somewhere in the third grade I started writing with the locker style, against the grain of what I was taught in school.

Starting in the upper grades of high school, I began to experiment with calligraphy.  I loved the different ways a nib would leave it’s mark on the paper.  I dabbled with this for years, finally giving my pens to my son.  He loved doing it.  A little bit, but other things took over and the books and practice papers are now in my desk, unused.  The shame of it all, my career where I lettered drawings neatly for years, left me without the motor memory to write in cursive anymore.

I still write in my notebooks.  These will outlast me, and I considered relearning the skills of writing in cursive just for this purpose.  I thought better of it, since those who will come across them aren’t likely to be able to  read them easily if I did so.

I had difficulty reading the Declaration of Independence, but only because of the lower case second s in a word that looks like an f that someone got the bottom backwards.  But that only took a few seconds to adjust my mind.  What flabbergasts me, is the future generations that will not be able to read historical documents, whether of national significance or the love letters sent from their grandparents to each other.

I dabble a bit in making fountain pens. Other kinds, also.  I give these away to special friends.  The most frequent question I get back is “How do I put ink in it?”  Some simply are more honest and thank me profusely for the beautiful object and admit they have never written with one, nor will they attempt it.  Its a collectors item.  But then, I have pens from three generations back, so I’m a collector also.

There is something magic in a handwritten letter or note.  It captures the bit that the modern methods of communicating lack.  I fear we’ll soon lose that, also.  The immediacy of email quickly worked its way into our lives, and I doubt if I would communicate one tenth the amount I do if I didn’t use it.  I do, however cajole a few of my friends to send me handwritten notes which I save and treasure.  Why?  One of them said it best I think.  “There’s a little bit of my soul hidden away in your desk.”

That's what's missing.