While I’m in Florida this week, I’m running some pertinent posts from the archives.
You see, it all began with a typewriter, quite like the one in the banner up above. Picture, if you will, a chubby four year old with dark, curly hair, perched at a battered brown desk in front of a round attic window, her pudgy fingers jamming down the keys, and looking in astonishment at the letters which appeared on a white sheet of paper.
Three and four letter words, which eventually became three and four syllable words, which she memorized from the books she was (forever!) trying to get someone to read to her.
Which she strung together in meaningless, pretty sentences, and finally into endless stories, usually filled with dark images and scary feelings.
Which she tapped out on the old typewriter, her fingers gaining strength as she got older, taking on more than just made up stories, words which spoke to her feelings about justice and peace and the future of this world she was growing up in.
For a while, the old typewriter keyboard took second place to another keyboard – one of black and white ivory keys, that, when pressed, created not words on white paper, but lifted sound from off a page of black and white music, sending it spiraling into the air.
Now the words are tapped almost effortlessly onto a screen, gently clicking keys releasing the flow of images and ideas that seem to overflow her mind, her fingers no longer pudgy, but slightly worn from time and the activities of life, all the things which find their way onto her page, find themselves expressed in the way she loves and knows best.