Something Blue..........

This week I had letters to write. Real letters, on paper with ink.

First I wrote to Petra. A postcard from the national gallery. Smooth fountain pen on slick card. I always enjoy the ease with which the words come. Words like:

Bliss.
Thankfulness.
Love.

I enjoy the act of writing and have a collection of papers, envelopes, post cards and thick covered cards depicting art I enjoy. I have always coveted these things… kept them in various boxes with special pens tucked in amongst them. These days it’s only a tin box but amongst the delicious paper is a wax seal with my initials. (Ironically, I am never sure if the wax actually gets through the mail to my destination. How can something so fragile survive the violence of the post office?)

I am a bit, shall we be kind, particular. I only like the old fashioned fountain pens. The ones with ink that requires careful application of cartridges. Yes, even at work. The clerk who orders the office supplies knows to order mine in blue ink. How wonderful it feels to make notes on my projects. Words that reflect the commitment I make to myself and others within my organization:

Integrity.
Thorough.
Commitment.

And it’s nice having a pen on hand in case a poem comes to mind or a phrase from an eavesdropped conversation. You never know when the inspiration will sweep in and kiss you.

In the journals I once kept I was mesmerized with how the words grew. Sentences formed. Paragraphs. How the empty pages faded away replaced with the history of my heart, of my life. Of the details I saw in the fabric of my world.

Now I have this world. Light and shadow. The HTML of my world broken down into something digital and intangible. You cannot run your fingers over the font and feel the pressure used to write the words. You cannot see the tear marks from my frustration as the words poured out of me or the passion when I struck bone.

I think something is lost in a way. Our love affair with the written word. How easy it is to erase this. There is no organic working of the words to string them together. There is no verbal jewelry making. When you look at the screen it’s not the same as holding the reassuring weight of my letters, the five pages of neat script in blue ink. (Perhaps with my tea stain on the corner.)

I am tempted to write this out and scan it. But something is lost in the translation from tactile to one dimensional.

In reality, I am thankful that I have this. It’s what keeps me real, knowing that the words are still there if only in font on a screen.

Perhaps I will save the ink and stamps for my next letter. For words like

Soon.
Tomorrow.
Always.



G.