My daughter wants to play with my computer. It is a brand spankin’ new MacBookPro and she is two years old. It just ain’t happening.
I can remember back to when my Mom’s typewriter (Yes! I am that old.) was something I wanted to play with and bang around on. It was a Selectric Quiet Touch I think – very cool and BLUE! I loved it because of its color, and because it made these amazing soft clicky sounds when she typed. It was a magical thing. We didn’t watch television much when I was very young so I can remember days when I would sit and play and color and just watch my Mom, in the morning sunlight, sitting at the dining room table typing away. These were always good days, peaceful days filled with the wonder of what she might be doing on those beautiful sheets of creamy white paper. She could type so swiftly and rhythmically that it sounded like music on the keyboard.
It’s amazing that after all these years I can still remember the sound, almost exactly, as if I had just heard it a few minutes ago. It had an impact on me. And I think that watching her type away made me appreciate words – words that I could type, that I could read, that I could write. And I remember the day, oh, I must have been three or four, when I was finally allowed not just to approach, but to touch that beautiful electric machine. I was breathless. I only typed a bit because I was afraid I would break it, and I had grown to love its sound and the joy it brought my mother. But she encouraged me and I typed a bit more. I learned my A-B-Cs on that old typewriter. I learned my numbers. I learned to spell my name. I learned to spell Mom.
And so I relented, sort of. I dug out my old laptop, the one I had finally retired after months of battles. I couldn’t get rid of it, and now I’m glad I didn’t. Yesterday I sat in the sun at the dining room table with my daughter, a little younger than I was with my Mom, and I let her start banging away on the keys. The look on her face as letters started popping up on the screen was priceless. The memories it brought back made me appreciate once again the gift of words my mother had given to me all those years ago. It made me realize my obligation, my gift of being able to share my love of words with my daughter. Today, that love of words is taught with a computer instead of a typewriter, but the love is conveyed with the same joy, the same breathlessness.
My Mom’s typewriter is long gone now, drowned in a flooded basement. Mom uses a really nice computer and she still can type faster than anyone I know. Her fingers have arthritis and cause her to occasionally drop things, but when she is in front of that machine, dreaming of beautiful words to share, the pain goes away and her fingers fly.
________________________ Art imitates life, and life imitates art.
What I see every day influences what I create, so writing this blog and creating my designs are natural extensions of who I am.
If you are interested in viewing my designs, primarily for kids but also some cool stuff for adults and also doggies (who we are integral parts of all families) check them out at:
See you around the mountains and canyons of northern AZ!
If you don’t laugh at life, it sneaks up and bites you in the ass!”