Dribbles and Blots - Tales From The Fountain Pens

From my Journal - 5/25/16

And what tale could it tell, this pen of my father's?
This pen that went to war
And came home safely,
Could it write the things
Pop would rather not?
He left ugliness behind
As much as possible
But war marks a person
Whether they fought in it or not
And Pop fought 2 long hard years
In the Pacific
Heat and humidity and unrelenting
Sun
Hard on a mountain-raised man.
Killing and death all around him,
Himself called upon to kill.
My husband went to war as well

On a much smaller scale
In a supporting role,
But still,Separation from loved ones,
Danger, because he was a flyer.
Anytime large, slow aircraft fly in or near
A war zone,
There is danger.

I am amazed at this pen
It's been through so much,
Yet responds well to my hand
Not normal for a fountain pen
They tend to get worn to the owner's
Hand, and don't adapt easily to the way
Another writes.

What would Pop think of the trip Matt and I are embarking on tomorrow? A waste of money? Too dicey leaving the house alone during storm season?  Or FUN- a chance to fly together, a chance to see friends and look at things we find interesting
One long date after 32 years (almost) of marriage - An chance to have fun together.

5/27/16

Weary
But not sleepy.
So full of joy
 For seeing friends and renewing
Aquaintences
Also apprehensive
About things coming up
Trying hard not to worry
Letting God take care of it
But I'm only human.
Uncertainty sticks its head up
 and scowls at me
Sometimes.


Rain
Loud
Dripping
Slapping pavement
Splashing down the sidewalk
Soaking the weary stragglers
Homeward bound from
Their day of revels.


6/6/16

Sometimes having a body
Is a pain
Literally.
Your mind is trapped-
Chained to the demands
Of a pile of biology.
Sometimes a body
Is powerful
Stretching
Running
Dancing
Loving
Alive
Giving a glorious feeling of freedom
 But more often as I age
It is a limitation,
A place where my mind is stuck
Captive to its pains and whims.


This pen has not lived much,  It has been in a cup on my desk most of its life.  None of my own pens has had the adventures Pop's pen has had,  But they keep it company in the "Little joys of teaching" mug on my desk.
And perhaps
In the wee small hours,
When the house is sleeping,
It shares those stories
With the young pens gathered around.
This one is sleek, silver, and slim -
A very lady like fountain pen

This pen is more substantial,
A deep cobalt blue barrel and cap with silver fittings
Could be considered rather masculine,, I suppose
But I like it.  It makes it easier to write boldly.
Though tonight, my writing is awful due to itchy burning eyes and a sneezy, sometimes congested nose.

I know there are others out there that share my odd fascination with antiquated writing implements like fountain pens -
I have several, and these few are very balky and temperamental.  There are a few like Pop's old Parker that should be balky, but work like a dream.
Then there are these that Matt made for me - and they are so very temperamental.
The worst, though, are the two most expensive Waterman pens I own.  I didn't even get them out tonight to try to coax them into writing.  Didn't feel up to the fight.
All the pens Matt made for me will write pretty well once properly started, but some are scratchy.  Some flow surprisingly smoothly over the paper.
I have not done much inspired composition with any of the fountain pens.
They require attention and are a mechanical distraction when the muse is adamant about being heard.
Still, sometimes I like to get them out, and gather them around, make sure they are comfortable,
and listen to see if they have any stories for me.

That's about all from my alternately drippy and stuffy, sneezy and bubbly self tonight.

Fountain Pens in the Little Joys of Teaching mug.

The Things I Took With Me

The stuff I grabbed to put in the closet with us and Julie's cats on Friday night probably says something about me.  What exactly, I'm not sure.  You be the judge.

I was wearing my favorite (and I think lucky) T- shirt, called "Blue Sweater" by Michael M. Ornstein.

My "lucky shirt."

I grabbed my broken cross pendant and Matt's grandma's wedding ring, the earrings my folks gave me, every single pin and/or Christmas ornament that my friend Julie ever made for me, and my "thistle-heart" earrings.  I was already wearing all the rings I always wear, the ones Matt has given me on special days.  (Wedding and engagement rings, Claddagh ring he gave me right before we left for Germany, and the Black Hills Gold ring he bought me while we were at Rhein-Main, for our 8th anniversary, I think.)
I grabbed the usual financial papers, car titles, insurance documents, our birth certificates, etc.

I grabbed every thumb drive I own and crammed them in my purse, which I wore with the strap across my body like I do when out shopping.  Of course, I had my cell phone, BOTH my e-reader/tablets, and my laptop, all the charging cables for all of those, and the cable, etc. for my FitBit.  (Also threw my little camera in my computer bag.)
Matt had all his small electronics, his medicines, meters, the good digital 35mm camera, and his laptop.
There is a first aid kit that lives in that closet precisely because we shelter in it.  Alas, I was out of D-cell batteries, so if the big flashlights had died, we'd have been in for it.  Those two flashlights are on either side of the bed, and we grab those when we head for the closet.

We also discovered that a Christmas gift I bought for Matt purely on a whim was one of the most useful things I've ever bought.  It was a collection of small LED lamps, all sizes.  There is one that looks like a miniature camp lantern,  and it puts out quite a bit of light.  There are also two little "headlamps" with straps to wear on your forehead.  (More useful than you would believe in a pitch dark house with two frightened cats underfoot.) The two battery powered candles I bought for Christmas decorations this last year also made nice little lights for the bathrooms when the power was out.  Just enough light to figure out where you were without stubbing toes on doors and door frames.

The reason I grabbed all the pins Julie has made over the years is that they are true works of art.  I would not forgive myself if I lost one of Julie's creations.  Especially as right now, she doesn't have a studio to work in. 
 Some of these pins are miniatures of collage/paintings she has made, others are reductions of some art I own copies of that she made wearable for me.  I treasure these pins, and have them hanging on a ribbon on the wall so I can enjoy them when they are not being worn.

 I will try to find the pictures of the Christmas ornaments.  They are also pins and/or pendants, and are all original collage/paintings that she makes reduced images of for the ornaments.  She is very worried right now because if they don't find a place soon so she can set up a studio area, she won't get her Christmas cards or her ornaments made.  She was also working on a memorial piece for a good friend of Matt's and mine who lost her daughter last year.  The tornado took all the pieces she had set out of that piece.

Here are the Christmas ornaments that I have pictures of:

These are in no particular order, but you can see how detailed, and how beautiful they are.  I would have been heartbroken if I had lost them.

Some of the things that are precious to me are far too large to put in a shelter or a closet.  They are things I have had since I was a child.  My piano, which my parents bought for me in 1967 when I started lessons, and has been to Germany and back with us, and the hope chest my Pop made for me with wood from an old table we used to have, the lid is made from an old headboard that my parents used, and it is lined in cedar planks.  (It also has the majority of our bed linen in it.)  Pop made the hope chest for my 16th birthday.
I guess when faced with having to make quick choices, we grab the light stuff.  I didn't even think to put the wedding album in the closet, but I do have many of those photos scanned and on one of the thumb drives I had with me.

I also have a chair that belonged to a very old dining set my parents owned.  It is the chair I always sat in when I was a kid.  It used to be my desk chair, but now it lives in the dining room again.  It's not valuable or fancy, but it holds many memories.
So many people are sifting through what is left of their memories these days.  I pray they find that they still hold more than they can ever lose.

One thing all of this has brought home to us is that we need to buy and build a real storm shelter.  We are thinking an above ground one on the north side of the garage.  (In ground shelters here get full of water pretty quickly.  As a California girl, I have this strange aversion to being in a tight space under ground.  I can't imagine why.  Earthquake, anyone?)

 I think I will pack a special case with the paperwork, electronic records and some small items that we would be likely to want to

take with us, and will keep it handy to grab and take out to the shelter.  The only thing we will leave in the shelter is bottled water and a couple of tools. We need to have room to put ourselves in the shelter, after all, and maybe the odd friend or two who might be visiting when bad weather develops. 

The most precious things of course, aren't things.  They are family and friends.  My family all live in other states, and many of my friends do, too.  I do have lots of precious friends here in Oklahoma though, and I worry about them as they worry about us when this weather strikes.  We sometimes gab back and forth on Face Book in the midst of the storms, and certainly everyone checks in afterward.  I have discovered that I have some "friends I've never met in real life" that want me to check in after storms, too.  (I love you guys, you know who you are.  Means a lot that you care.)

So, as it turned out, I didn't lose anything in these last storms, either.  Only a little of my peace of mind.  Our favorite local liquor store has another marquee up this week that pretty much sums up what a lot of folks around here seem to be thinking.

I do know these storms were not God's choice, just something that happened because the conditions were right.  Still, it does make us wonder sometimes...

As Ever,
Katie