gerry•life

Category: temp

  • Going with the flow

    While I was hiding from COVID, I spent a lot of time writing, usually using one of the three fountain pens I acquired during the first month of ‘sheltering in place.’

    Of course, I could have written with one of the many pencils I own — I have a bit of a pencil addiction.

    Still, I felt this past year —more than any other year —was worth memorializing in ink on nice paper.

    For the ink, I settled on Pilot Iroshizuku Kon-peki. An ink that is not too light, not too dark. It’s just ‘right.’ And, it comes in a gorgeous, aesthetically pleasing glass bottle.

    I did try some green ink. I thought it would be a light, happy color to counter the gloom of the ever-increasing pandemic deaths. But, I soon realized green was more suited to writing a manifesto than recording my time at home.

    I also bought some notebooks filled with Tomoe River paper. This is the paper that gets positive reviews on every YouTube channel with fountain pens as a focus, And, they are not wrong. It is very, very nice to write on.

    So, what did I learn from all this writing on fine paper with my not too-blue ink?

    Firstly, and most unexpectedly. Writing with a pen and ink really — and I mean really — improved my writing on electronic devices. I’m not sure why. But, it did. Secondly, I did feel the pace of writing with a pen made me more aware of what I wanted to record. That, of course, was expected.

    Now, as the pandemic is drawing to a conclusion in my part of the world, I’m hooked on pens, ink, and paper. I just bought ‘one last fountain pen’, a few more bottles of ink, and a load of paper and notebooks from Asia. Hopefully, I keep going along this route. The benefits are well worth the time and (growing unecessarily) expense.

  • Remember?

    This was a writing class exercise.

    I remember

    I remember Miss Gallagher, my primary school teacher. She was the best daytime Mom.
    I remember my childhood dog, Kim. He was afraid of everything.
    I remember soccer games at school. I hated that stupid game.
    I remember fighting Bobby McDonald when I was six years old. My first and only playground scrap.
    I remember wearing shorts and Wellington boots on cold, rainy days. And the red marks the boots left on my calves
    I remember sitting on top of a double-decker bus with my parents. Everyone was smoking except for me.
    I remember helping my father dig the vegetable garden in the Spring and having to smell turnips and cabbage being boiled in the Autumn.
    I remember throwing my younger sister’s favorite toy over the garden fence. She also never forgot.
    I remember getting my long hair shaved off. My father was happy and said I looked like a soldier.
    I remember connecting a battery-powered radio to the AC mains. It never worked again.
    I remember the moon landing and my Uncle telling me it was historic.
    I remember listening to Russian broadcasts on my Short-Wave radio, even though I didn’t know what a five-year plan might be.
    I remember telling my mother that lightning could shoot along phone lines and into her ear. She was afraid of phones for the rest of her life.
    I remember pretending I was a DJ by turning my radio volume down and talking between tracks during the Sunday evening Top 20 chart show on Radio 1.
    I remember getting a guitar for Xmas and finding out I would never be the next Eric Clapton.
    I remember being unable to sleep on Xmas even when I knew Santa didn’t exist.