January 14: Handmade
I got my first fountain pen on Valentine's Day of 1998.
It was a Waterman pen, black, shiny as polished ebony, with gold accents. It was given to me by my then girlfriend. It was more than a gift. She was telling me she believed in me as a writer.
Since that day, the pen has been through hell. It broke once and I had to send it to a repair facility in New York City. Then I dropped it on its nib, causing permanent damage. I don't know where that pen is anymore. I think it's in a motel room somewhere in San Jose.
Ever since, I've embarked on an unsuccessful campaign to replace that Waterman. I DO have another Waterman but it's a cheapie - a five dollar plastic job that leaks all over my fingers. I bought a Visconti fountain pen in Calgary a few years ago but that broke on me and the cap won't go on right. I bought another one from a woodturner in Martintown and while I like it - it just ain't, you know, boss.
I was planning on splurging on a really nice fountain pen sometime in 2014. Heck, I'd even spend a thousand bucks on a nice model from Montegrappa. I don't have a thousand dollars to spend on a pen, but I was going to try to do that anyway.Then my brother surprised me on Christmas by sending me a fountain pen he made himself.
He knows I'm a Prince fan so he used purple and gold as his colour scheme. I love my new pen. It writes smoothly and is easy to refill. No one but me has ever written with it. I hope no one else ever does. It is my pen.
*
When we were kids we never knew what to get our parents for Christmas.
What delighted us about Christmas and birthdays was that we received presents that we knew we couldn't afford. Our parents could afford them, but would usually not avail them to us unless it was a marked occasion like Christmas. When you're going to the grocery store, mom and dad probably won't buy you a $300 Star Wars play kit.
We knew that our parents had money and we knew that we didn't have it. This made shopping tricky because we thought a gift had to be expensive in order for it to be worthy.
So we were happy when we learned that there was no connection between wealth and happiness. Something handmade, something from the heart, will be more fondly remembered.
*
When I was in Grade 1, I made my dad a drawing of the Calgary Flames logo because he worked as the play-by-play announcer for the Flames.
It stayed on his bulletin board for years. It may still be there now.
There is a steamer trunk in the family storeroom that is filled with Mother's Day and Father's Day cards I and my siblings made in elementary school. They are memories, handmade souvenirs of happy times.
When I was in Grade 8, I bought my mom a candy dish for Christmas. No idea where it is right now. I don't think anyone cares, really. Those cards in the trunk are worth more than an item that was mass produced in Honduras.
*
Seriously, is there anyone out there who thinks a trip to McDonalds, or even a trip to Olive Garden, beats a homecooked meal?
I'll put my mom's roast beef and yorkshire pudding up against any T-bone from any steakhouse in the world. I'll put my grandma's puffed wheat cake up against any pastry house in France.
*
I'm not sure why the term 'homemade' is so often greeted with derision. True, I don't want to buy a homemade TV set (I want one made by exploited factory workers in China) or a homemade car. But I'll buy homemade fudge or a homemade potholder or a homemade sweater. Once a lady on the street gave me a homemade bracelet. There was no reason for it. She just said she wanted me to have it because I had a nice smile. That made my day.
Oh yeah, I'll also take a homemade fountain pen. I'll put it up against anything Waterman offers me anyday.
It was a Waterman pen, black, shiny as polished ebony, with gold accents. It was given to me by my then girlfriend. It was more than a gift. She was telling me she believed in me as a writer.
Since that day, the pen has been through hell. It broke once and I had to send it to a repair facility in New York City. Then I dropped it on its nib, causing permanent damage. I don't know where that pen is anymore. I think it's in a motel room somewhere in San Jose.
Ever since, I've embarked on an unsuccessful campaign to replace that Waterman. I DO have another Waterman but it's a cheapie - a five dollar plastic job that leaks all over my fingers. I bought a Visconti fountain pen in Calgary a few years ago but that broke on me and the cap won't go on right. I bought another one from a woodturner in Martintown and while I like it - it just ain't, you know, boss.
I was planning on splurging on a really nice fountain pen sometime in 2014. Heck, I'd even spend a thousand bucks on a nice model from Montegrappa. I don't have a thousand dollars to spend on a pen, but I was going to try to do that anyway.Then my brother surprised me on Christmas by sending me a fountain pen he made himself.
He knows I'm a Prince fan so he used purple and gold as his colour scheme. I love my new pen. It writes smoothly and is easy to refill. No one but me has ever written with it. I hope no one else ever does. It is my pen.
*
When we were kids we never knew what to get our parents for Christmas.
What delighted us about Christmas and birthdays was that we received presents that we knew we couldn't afford. Our parents could afford them, but would usually not avail them to us unless it was a marked occasion like Christmas. When you're going to the grocery store, mom and dad probably won't buy you a $300 Star Wars play kit.
We knew that our parents had money and we knew that we didn't have it. This made shopping tricky because we thought a gift had to be expensive in order for it to be worthy.
So we were happy when we learned that there was no connection between wealth and happiness. Something handmade, something from the heart, will be more fondly remembered.
*
When I was in Grade 1, I made my dad a drawing of the Calgary Flames logo because he worked as the play-by-play announcer for the Flames.
It stayed on his bulletin board for years. It may still be there now.
There is a steamer trunk in the family storeroom that is filled with Mother's Day and Father's Day cards I and my siblings made in elementary school. They are memories, handmade souvenirs of happy times.
When I was in Grade 8, I bought my mom a candy dish for Christmas. No idea where it is right now. I don't think anyone cares, really. Those cards in the trunk are worth more than an item that was mass produced in Honduras.
*
Seriously, is there anyone out there who thinks a trip to McDonalds, or even a trip to Olive Garden, beats a homecooked meal?
I'll put my mom's roast beef and yorkshire pudding up against any T-bone from any steakhouse in the world. I'll put my grandma's puffed wheat cake up against any pastry house in France.
*
I'm not sure why the term 'homemade' is so often greeted with derision. True, I don't want to buy a homemade TV set (I want one made by exploited factory workers in China) or a homemade car. But I'll buy homemade fudge or a homemade potholder or a homemade sweater. Once a lady on the street gave me a homemade bracelet. There was no reason for it. She just said she wanted me to have it because I had a nice smile. That made my day.
Oh yeah, I'll also take a homemade fountain pen. I'll put it up against anything Waterman offers me anyday.
My pen
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