After spending yesterday in bed, trying the get the better of the cold I caught from Dennis, I am mindfully spending time out of bed today. I just came in from outside, where I roamed the yard with my camera in hand, shoveled part of the driveway, and got fresh air in my lungs and on my cheeks that is still refreshing me.
I’m tempted to step away from this keyboard and create my words on either the pink Contessa typewriter Dennis got me for Christmas or the coral Tippa typewriter Luke, Isabel, and Julien got me for Christmas. I’ve used and enjoyed both, and neither one is as much of a finger workout as Mom’s old Remington Travel-Riter. Dennis is working on repairing the 1921 Remington I picked up somewhere long ago, and one of these days, I need to get a new ribbon in the old Underwood No. 5 and see if it’s still in working order.
I write and think differently when I’m using a typewriter. Since I can’t make the unwanted stuff just disappear, like I can when I’m sitting at my computer, I write more deliberately, and that changes the way I think. How many people stop to consider the way they think? Do they ever question what those thoughts are based on? It can be a dangerous exercise, because you may well find yourself in a different world, one with a teeny, tiny door that most of the people you know either can’t seem to locate or have no desire to go looking for.