I’ve written about her before. She influenced my life as a young, single airman. Perhaps the most important thing she did – whether she realized it or not – was keeping a steady stream of letters coming to my mailbox. And each scribed with a pencil that should have been sharpened.
I keep a daily journal. It’s filled with the trivial things that occur during my day. For years I used only a PaperMate ballpoint, then I switched to a PaperMate SharpWriter. But sometime this past winter a yellow Ticonderoga #2 pencil caught my attention. After switching I began experiencing an intermittent comforting sensation, but nothing I could put my finger on as the cause.
This week – some 35 years after her passing – I’ve discovered that when my pencil lead turns blunt my cursive writing often resembles her hand from so long ago.