Treasure

What a delightful discovery I made while on vacation to see my Dad! I love old things -- always have. I was the only teenager I knew who had an oil painting (painted by a relative in the 1800s, no less!) hanging in my bedroom.

I love thinking about whose hands touched something old...how it was used...was it well loved?

So as I sat down to share my new/old typewriter with you, I got to thinking about its history.

Letter Press

I wonder whose fingers touched your pretty keys,

Were they fingers full of pressure and strength?

A rough journalist's? Whose fingers paused to puff on cigarette as deadline inched closer?

Or were they gentle, light fingers who touched you after tucking children into bed?

You are so dainty, that I believe the fingers who touched you were much like mine.

A mother -- daring to move her struggles and prayers...and joys, from heart to paper.

Perhaps a mother who, by the soft glow of candlelight, found in you a listening ear of sorts

when the house was perfectly quiet.

Except the rythymic clack-clack-clack-clack.

The words pouring from her heart,

diligently being recorded on cream-colored parchment paper that

was carefully slipped out of your grasp as the candle burned low.

I bet she felt lighter in spirit as she laid head on downy pillow.

You were a reliable friend to another woman who lived somewhere in time.

You inspire me this afternoon as you grace our home.

Y-o-u _ A-r-e_A_T-r-e-a-s-u-r-e.