To a writer, I don't think there is anything more exciting than finding a treasure that has to do with the writing life. Saturday, I was wandering through a small town when the drizzle of rain turned into a downpour. I ducked into what I thought was a boutique, as an old fur coat lay draped over a silk dress in the window. Surrounding the area where the clothing items were posed were dainty handkerchiefs and lace gloves, a memory of a past moment.
Once inside, I shook off the water deciding to stay put until the rain softened again. Spinning around, I was mesmerized. Pockets of the oversized rooms were decorated in distinct vignettes of the past. A kitchen chair of the fifties, complete with a turquoise metal table was decorated with colorful melamine cups and plates. Two half aprons hung from a metal coat rack awaiting the homemaker that would never again arrive.
I moved through the store, a smile cutting into my face as I reminisced about the things I had seen in my grandmother's kitchen so many years ago. Glancing to my left, I caught the view of a small dark area set back in the corner of the store. Two bookcases slapped into a corner with an attached piece of weathered wood made an enticing workspace. Old books lines the shelves, their gold spines drawing me forward. An old velvet wingback chair was haphazardly pushed to the side, as though a writer had gone for his next cup of coffee. It was then I saw it. The Underwood Typewriter. Black as coal, a piece of parchment paper stuck in the coil of the spinner, keys aching to be pounded. I had to have it. Any writer would.
This particular model was built in the late 1920's, a later model of the original Underwood #1 & #2 which were built between 1896 and 1900. What a find! This little gem makes me feel like writing every day!
As a writer, finding such a treasure on a cold and rainy day, can unblock a month's worth of writing gloom. In my mind I hear the force behind the last writer who punched these keys bringing some great story to life. I am at my desk looking at the old thing now. Just makes a cloudy day sunny, doesn't it?
Once inside, I shook off the water deciding to stay put until the rain softened again. Spinning around, I was mesmerized. Pockets of the oversized rooms were decorated in distinct vignettes of the past. A kitchen chair of the fifties, complete with a turquoise metal table was decorated with colorful melamine cups and plates. Two half aprons hung from a metal coat rack awaiting the homemaker that would never again arrive.
I moved through the store, a smile cutting into my face as I reminisced about the things I had seen in my grandmother's kitchen so many years ago. Glancing to my left, I caught the view of a small dark area set back in the corner of the store. Two bookcases slapped into a corner with an attached piece of weathered wood made an enticing workspace. Old books lines the shelves, their gold spines drawing me forward. An old velvet wingback chair was haphazardly pushed to the side, as though a writer had gone for his next cup of coffee. It was then I saw it. The Underwood Typewriter. Black as coal, a piece of parchment paper stuck in the coil of the spinner, keys aching to be pounded. I had to have it. Any writer would.
This particular model was built in the late 1920's, a later model of the original Underwood #1 & #2 which were built between 1896 and 1900. What a find! This little gem makes me feel like writing every day!
As a writer, finding such a treasure on a cold and rainy day, can unblock a month's worth of writing gloom. In my mind I hear the force behind the last writer who punched these keys bringing some great story to life. I am at my desk looking at the old thing now. Just makes a cloudy day sunny, doesn't it?
