I grew up in an age of black and white TV's, rotary dial phones and snail mail. We got 3 channels on the TV, you only needed to know the last 5 numbers to call some one and you either wrote letters by hand, or used a typewriter and then you mailed them. That's right, you folded whatever you had written, put it in an envelope, addressed the envelope (we didn't have zip codes) put a stamp on it and then put it in the mail box for the mailman (nobody was P.C., you were a mailman whether or not that was your gender). The biggest thrill and the most advance way to get that letter written fast was a typewriter. Not a keyboard and screen and definitely nothing to do with electricity.
We had a Royal typewriter. It was considered a portable and it came in a box like case that had a latch on the front. You could open it as use it as it sat in it's traveling case or you could unlatch it's feet and sit it upon a table or desk. It was black and shiny, the letters on the keys were gold and it was wonderful. It was probably the first mechanical thing to capture my interest. There was something mystical about those keys. Letters arrange not alphabetically but by their use. It had two reels which the inky black ribbon was on. It came off the full one on the left, between guides, you hit a key, which raised an arm which bore a small head containing the raised image of the letter you wanted. It struck the ribbon which was pressed against the paper with some force and this left behind the imprint of that letter, which lead to words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, books.
And the paper. Oh, you could hold it up to the sun and see the watermark on it. Paper was not faceless coming in plastic wrapped packages. Paper came in boxes, it was given it due as the transporter of words, the deliverer of messages. Paper came in weights, types, muted colors of ivory and some so thin and transparent it was referred to as onion skin.
Although I enjoy the world of communication as we know it now. There was something wonderful about paper and typewriters. Of envelopes and stamps. Of the thrill of opening your mailbox and seeing an envelope addressed to you. It was a childish pleasure. One lost in the modern world of computers spitting out tons of junk mail to be sent to people who will open their mailboxes with irritation and disdain. Who will quickly read through the envelopes and toss them into the trash or recycling bin.
It is a world now of emails, tweets, Facebook and blogs. We no longer savor reading words sent to us by those we knew or loved. We don't even write in sentences or words in this new world of communication. We say 'cu', 'lol', and other abbreviations for the words that once said so much.
I miss that typewriter. That familiar feel of the keys. The sound of rolling a piece of paper in and the comforting noise of typing itself. I say this all with some nostalgia but I would not give up this laptop for that old Royal. I realize that we need to move forward and that the old Royal is firmly entrenched in the past. But like some things, the memory is so sweet that for a moment I consider the possibility.
And what does all this have to do with dirt roads in Vermont? I pass my neighbors and my mailbox daily when I walk. Either singly or in pairs waiting for the mail. And I wonder how long it will be before those mailboxes are part of the past like that beautiful Royal typewriter.
We had a Royal typewriter. It was considered a portable and it came in a box like case that had a latch on the front. You could open it as use it as it sat in it's traveling case or you could unlatch it's feet and sit it upon a table or desk. It was black and shiny, the letters on the keys were gold and it was wonderful. It was probably the first mechanical thing to capture my interest. There was something mystical about those keys. Letters arrange not alphabetically but by their use. It had two reels which the inky black ribbon was on. It came off the full one on the left, between guides, you hit a key, which raised an arm which bore a small head containing the raised image of the letter you wanted. It struck the ribbon which was pressed against the paper with some force and this left behind the imprint of that letter, which lead to words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, books.
And the paper. Oh, you could hold it up to the sun and see the watermark on it. Paper was not faceless coming in plastic wrapped packages. Paper came in boxes, it was given it due as the transporter of words, the deliverer of messages. Paper came in weights, types, muted colors of ivory and some so thin and transparent it was referred to as onion skin.
Although I enjoy the world of communication as we know it now. There was something wonderful about paper and typewriters. Of envelopes and stamps. Of the thrill of opening your mailbox and seeing an envelope addressed to you. It was a childish pleasure. One lost in the modern world of computers spitting out tons of junk mail to be sent to people who will open their mailboxes with irritation and disdain. Who will quickly read through the envelopes and toss them into the trash or recycling bin.
It is a world now of emails, tweets, Facebook and blogs. We no longer savor reading words sent to us by those we knew or loved. We don't even write in sentences or words in this new world of communication. We say 'cu', 'lol', and other abbreviations for the words that once said so much.
I miss that typewriter. That familiar feel of the keys. The sound of rolling a piece of paper in and the comforting noise of typing itself. I say this all with some nostalgia but I would not give up this laptop for that old Royal. I realize that we need to move forward and that the old Royal is firmly entrenched in the past. But like some things, the memory is so sweet that for a moment I consider the possibility.
And what does all this have to do with dirt roads in Vermont? I pass my neighbors and my mailbox daily when I walk. Either singly or in pairs waiting for the mail. And I wonder how long it will be before those mailboxes are part of the past like that beautiful Royal typewriter.
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