WHEN I found my mother's old electric typewriter in our storage unit
I was transported back in time 20 or more years in a moment.
I saw her sitting at our kitchen table, 1/2 glasses in purple frames perched on her nose
hands dancing over keys
looking not at the platen nor at the keys
but off to the left at an organic chemistry test she was copying
A great feat, everyday magic, it was
to see her fingers fly and dance and make the keys hammer words onto the white page
Mom liked silence when she worked
no radio, no television
so the music of the tiny hammers building grand architecture
brick-by-brick
letter-by-letter
SNAP!-by-SNAP!
filled the house
When she would pause to think
leaning back and crossing her arms waiting for a word or concept or good test question to surface
the silence was palpable and loud
when she leaned forward to resume
the hammerpound of the keys would again fill the air
a unique melody not oft heard in the world anymore
"Stop by Office Depot, please" says I to mine goodwife
as we motor around town
"What do you need there?" she asks, knowing school is almost over
"I'm looking for typewriter ribbon," says I
"I need to play an old, familiar song."
No comments:
Post a Comment