I’ve been wondering lately, “What happened to my mother’s old typewriter?” Darn I wish I knew! No doubt she gave it to a friend or a family member. I sure would love to have it now! To put it in the corner of my den (if i had one) in homage to an era long-gone and to the instrument where-all-this-began.
By ‘all this,’ I mean my inclination to want to write. Back then it was “typing”. Whether it be a letter, a list, school work or banging out useless nonsense I was a typin’ fool! How many times I must have typed The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. From the time I was a young boy, eleven or twelve years old — maybe earlier, I would spend hours in front of that Smith Corona Super-Silent. Looking at the photo above floods my mind with memories.
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