I found this old typewriter and as I was cleaning it up, I started to wonder who had this beautiful machine in its glory days.
Was it a lawyer, secretary, novel writer or journalist? Having to use such a wonderous machine, each word had to be thought out precisely.
I imagine them sitting up straight in a wooden chair, tapping away on a sturdy desk. A wire basket full of onion skin paper ready for use.
I think typing on such a magnificent machine is a lost art.
Now days, we are hunched over our laptops, smartphones and tablets. Speaking in letters and abbreviations. Just a quick little quips sent out into space. No real pride in typewriter etiquette needed.
I was going to sell this beauty. Even though it doesn’t work fully, I like the clack, clack it makes when I type on it.
It makes me happy, so I think I will keep it and maybe even reburbish it to its former glory.