I had a typewriter. It was my first, and I was about, oh, maybe four. I remember that when you pressed certain keys, full words would appear. Of course, the only word I have a distinct memory of appearing before my eyes was “apple.” I suppose you had to push the “a” key for that one.
In any event, the second typewriter I ever got my hands on was this one:
It belonged to my grandparents, and it was the one thing of theirs that I really, really wanted when they passed away. I’m not sure if it was Granddaddy’s or Grandma’s, but I do know that every time I visited my grandmother, I eventually ended up typing some story or other on this incredibly heavy machine.
In fact, my first memories of the once ubiquitous white out involved me sitting at my grandparents’ overly large desk next to the adding machine (on which my brother and I used to total our Monopoly earnings). The spring green colored white out was my particular favorite. It came in colors, you see–pretty pastel ones: cream, green, pink, blue. I think I even painted my fingernails with it once in elementary school. Do they even make white out anymore? I had a white out pen a few years ago, but I haven’t used it in forever. Am I dating myself here?
Years later–5th grade– I got my very own real typewriter. It was plastic. It was blue. It was my favorite thing ever. I wrote story after story after story. All of them revolved around a toy teddy bear that lived in our house. I really should sit down and write one again. It might be better than the ones I wrote when I was eleven. No?
I’m not sure why I’m even talking about this. I think it’s because I’ve been looking for interesting things to photograph lately for both my photography blog and for my Project 365 folder on flickr, and my Granddaddy’s old typewriter came to mind.
It has lots of interesting pieces parts.
It even has buttons to reassure you that magic does, indeed, lie within the margins.
The keyboard is stiff, and the keys make a satisfying “click, click, click, clack” sound as they strike home.
Though, I must admit to not remembering how to set the margins. I only remember how to temporarily ignore them, and that took me a few minutes. Maybe if I press the tab clear button. I’ll have to try that. I’m still impressed that the ribbon possesses any ink whatsoever, let alone enough to allow me to type the few short sentences that I did.
And I must admit that when I reached the end of my first real line, I laughed with pure unadulterated delight as the “ding” sound rung out through the living room.