Typer
June 14th, 2006
Until very recently, my mother typed everything on an ancient manual typewriter, which was her high school graduation gift.
The red and black ribbon wiggled round trips from spool to spool, clunking out fainter and fainter messages about whole wheat and recycling. Sometimes she’d splurge on a new ribbon.
After decades of jerking the ribbon back and forth, the machine gave up the ghost, and the digital age dawned in the form of a Formica-toned period piece from the dot com era. It was given to her by a friend, and though you can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you shouldn’t buy it dentures either.
Somehow she managed to have it serviced…but most often she sends me hand written letters.
-Adam
