I’ve looked for a certain item in every antique shop I’ve visited for the past 25 years, with no luck. Then last month, on the bottom shelf of a store in Brenham, I saw it – an Underwood typewriter, just like the one Dad taught me to type on when I was 10 years old. It was a beautiful sight to me, with its circular keys and boxy shape.
For a mere forty-five dollars I could have the long-sought-after symbol of Dad, my original muse, who was a writer by profession.
But I somehow talked myself out of buying the typewriter. After all, my purpose for being in Brenham was to take my daughter Maddie shopping and figure out what I was going to buy her and William, her fiancé, for Christmas. Most importantly, my current financial goal is to pay off my debts so that I’m able to travel in a few short years.
“If the typewriter is still here next month,” I told Maddie, “I’ll buy it.” But I couldn’t believe it would be.
Reading and writing are my best helps for being a productive writer, I consoled myself.
I’m truly glad I didn’t buy that old Underwood typewriter. If I had, it would have spoiled the surprise I enjoyed on Christmas Eve. I opened a large box from Maddie and William and found that they had bought the treasure for me.
Before I can get any writing done, I require some form of inspiration. Because of that old typewriter that now sits in plain view of my desk at home, I have a feeling the days ahead are going to be very productive.
(published January 2007)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment