Category: communication

I’ve discovered the joys of using a fountain pen. It gives me a unique sense of pleasure to feel the pen tip moving across the paper. The paper’s texture enters my brain in a way it never could if I was using my super-smooth ball-point pen.

My sister and her family raise chickens. Sure, it takes a lot more work to keep those birds happy compared to simply buying eggs at their local supermarket. I am sure that the eggs taste better – and that their kids are learning responsibility in a way that schoolwork alone could never do.

The book Words Onscreen (by Naomi Baron) advocates moving away from electronic books – and back to the old paper variety. At least one of the reasons is that printed typography can be better. I’m not sure I am willing to ditch my old Kindle, but it’s worth considering.

Walking or riding a bike to get somewhere takes a lot more time. Time is money, so it can be expensive too. But you’ll smell the roses along the way.

Brewing coffee with a French press takes longer than an electric drip machine. But I like the taste better.

I’ve started sending old postcards, by snailmail, to friends. I like using my fountain pen and making that small analog connection with humans. (Who doesn’t like to get something in the mail?) If you’d like to get a free postcard, send an email to me (with your address) at phmerrill at gmail dot com. Apologies, but if you live outside the USA, I can’t afford the postage – about four times more!

The photograph was taken by my daughter Rachel.

I always feel a tension about how much is appropriate to share. If I lean toward the vulnerable side, my experiences may resonate with some of my readers in a deeper way than otherwise possible. If I lean toward the surface level, I won’t alienate anyone. And how much disclosure is too much?

I’ve been struggling with how to share a significant life event. Last week, my mother-in-law died after a long struggle with many illnesses. Her release from a body that was not working anywhere close to what it did earlier in life was a blessing to her and others. But we greatly miss her – the woman we remember who was funny, loving, nurturing and much more. How can anyone sum up the life of another in a few short words?

I was the first to visit her room at the hospice. I saw her frail form lying with her hands folded, holding a pink rose. I walked to the lobby to wait for her husband to come. Then we went to her room together and cried. I cry, even writing this.

Life is a blessing. Love those around you today.