(This is a late post but if I don't post it my head will explode again)
My head exploded Wednesday night from too many firing synapses. The revelation of too many details in two hours was just too much for my soupy brain to handle because evidently I watch too much television. My feelings regarding this milestone in life: I have no purpose for the next seven months. No updates till 2010! Well, not really. I plan to do all those things I'm supposed to do during the hour of 8-9pm Wednesday night and the next day instead of scouring the internet for
clues and theories.
Because I've just clipped my finger nails and can again type as fast as a New York Times editor I can now write a little something about our past week's experience regarding gift shopping. The gift is to be a pen because a pen is a gift that literally lasts as long as you, your thoughts and your will to write your thoughts down on paper instead twittering exists. I can say my fondness for a good pen is with me because of seeing my mom with her pen writing her thoughts. I'd ask to borrow it sometimes and would marvel at its weight, its glamour and history. If a pen could talk I thought.
A pen too worthy to be loaned to someone asking to borrow a pen. The Faber-Castell Rollerball Pen.So if this pen should happen to be seen clipped into a shirt pocket don't bother asking to borrow a pen from that person.
I wanted to hold this pen in person to gauge it's buy-ability so I did a search of dealers here in Houston. I came up with a couple of dealers. The dealer I chose:
Jeffrey Stone, Ltd. When we walked into the store the first sensation experienced was the rich smell of tobacco, then the deep smell of new leather, then the aroma of perfumed oils, notably-lavender. I thought, "This store's so amazing I want everything. I want that leather rifle-case for a shotgun I don't have, I want that stainless-steel propeller letter opener for hand written letters I never get, I want those five-hundred dollar pens to clip into a shirt pocket because I've instantly decided to collect fine pens."
The pens: these pens were not the pens you get from Office Depot. They were the kind people with a disposable income collect. I wouldn't even call these pens pens, I'd call them Instruments of Penmanship. So why were we there oggling over the man toys clearly in over our heads? To buy a pen of course. A good pen. So we came to the right place. Jeffrey was the lone salesman. He owns the place so he was uniquely familiar with all the pens under his glass counter.
The glass counter. There is an etiquette to handling things of value such as pens, watches and such. An etiquette I wasn't familiar with until I noticed how Jeffrey picked up, un-topped, wrote with and put back down on the leather pad. So not until after I grabbed a pen, popped the top off, scribbled my name and lobbed it down onto the glass surface did I feel really stupid and change my ways.
Jeffrey if you read this and remember me please accept this as my apology. Finally after holding many we chose one that had a good weight, a fine line and looked expensive but was within our budget.
Hopefully the recipient of this pen has as good a history as my mom had with her pen. Maybe the pen should even bear a name for itself like other valued possessions gain names. Why not? The pen the pad & your mind can sometimes be the world to which you belong and are the sole survivors so naming the pen can be a good thing. Go ahead and name that pad as well. If anyone else reads this and is looking for a good pen take my advice and go to a professional, Jeffrey Stone.
