It sure has been a long time since I saw one of these. Empires rise and fall in less time.
Do you know what this is? Do you remember? Here’s a hint to give the game away: carbon paper.
Yes, it’s a typewriter eraser. Then along came Wite-Out… and those strips of whatever that you stuck in between the ribbon and the paper and typed over your error.
I kind of miss the soothing clackety-clack of a manual typewriter.
But I don’t miss carbon paper!
My dad had one of these but I don’t think he used it much. The eraser ring was as hard as a stone. It was another one of those things I played with when, as a kid, I messed around with the stuff on Dad’s desk. And, yes, I also do not miss carbon paper.
Yes, yes, I remember those erasers. And I remember carbon paper — not to mention trying to get all the carbon paper smears off my hands and avoid getting them on my clothes. Ditto changing ribbons. There was a lot to be said for those old manual typewriters, though — not the least of which was the ability to repair them myself, without having to mess with electrical connections, let alone electronics and code.
And didn’t you just love the “ding” of the bell as you reached the end of a line? And then the hearty slap you gave the carriage return to start a new line?
Oh, yeah! Ding! Whack! Always a satisfying sensation.
Ah, yes! I do remember these 🙂 And I’m with everyone – I miss the old Underwoods. I didn’t even really mind the carbon paper. It was fun to read it backwards lol.
My dad had a Remington typewriter. Every payday he’d type a new entry in a little loose leaf binder he had. Mostly he kept records of his pay but occasionally he’d note something else worth remembering. An entry for a day in 1950 simply stated “Mom died today.” Dad kept up with that little notebook until the last few months of his life when he became sick. My sister has it now. Where the Remington is? That’s a good question
Marge, that is poignant–I have to fight off the tears. Saturday is my day to go to the nursing home and see Aunt Joan, and that always leaves me kind of brittle. Just about everybody in my family has gone on ahead, and I miss them awful bad. And that news about Georgia’s little kitten–ah, Lord, Lord! We so very deeply need You!
All creation is groaning because of our fallen world.
Lee, it’s strange now being the oldest member of my family. My sister and brother are younger. In the last few years the numbers of friends, brothers and sisters in Christ, relatives crossing over into eternity has grown. So many of my friends now have elderly parents in their homes as was the situation with my mother-in-law. Death is nearby and I know that one day I’ll go home as well. I don’t fear it as I did when I was younger. I know that it may or may not be a stressful situation. But I see it now as a spur, as a goad, to finish the race and to leave behind something encouraging, some gift. I’ve been working on my childhood memories of growing up in Kensington, in Philadelphia. I’ve also wrote down the funny immigrant stories that my dad told me. And my walk with Christ and how He led me through the years. Those will be my gifts that I’ll leave — besides all my paper dolls! I’ve no idea who is going to get those or who will want them. Decisions, decisions!
Yes–who ever thinks, “Someday I’ll be the oldest member of my family”? When Aunt Joan goes, that’ll be me. How did that happen? Just a few days ago–or so it seems!–I was sitting by the back porch steps playing with my toy animals.
I’m in somewhat the same boat, being the eldest living person to bear my father’s surname. I was actually 46 years old when I came to possess that distinction; it’s not a distinction which I relish.
I kind of wish I had a typewriter. We actually had an old one several years back that someone gave us, but we never got around to getting all the stuff we needed for it.
The title of being the eldest fell to me three years ago when my mom crossed over. Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, even a younger sibling and many cousins have gone.
As I was growing up, I gathered many family recipes from my grandmothers, aunts, close family friends and my mom. No one else in the family did, so all of those wonderful recipes would have been lost.
I assembled them all and bought three spiral bound, college rule, triple divided notebooks and sat down to write. I hand wrote all three – one for each of my three daughters, adding family anecdotes and funny stories connected to each recipe so they would also have a bit of family history and tradition. Then, in the front of each book, I wrote a personal letter to each one of my girls. When I gave them the books, they all cried – and those books are well worn and are all still used till this day (I completed this project in the mid ’80s when my daughters were still in their teens).
That’s a very thoughtful thing to have done. I came from a big family, and most of its heritage is now forgotten because no one has taken the time to preserve it.
Thinking of it brings me joy even today – especially since my girls treasure and use them 🙂
Linda, I really like what you did. A labor of love. I’m so glad for you that your girls appreciate what they have been given.
What you’re doing, and what your father did, are labors of love too, Marge. We can only hope to pass on some of what we’ve learned, and hopefully some useful information to help the next generations on through their journeys.