I felt really grown-up when I bought my first gold-writing felt-tip pen for what was a small fortune to me. You had to shake the pen and press the point a few times for the ink to start flowing....but carefully, or you'll end up with blotches of gold paint splattered all over!
My special pens today still remind me of the smell and excitement of that first golden acquisition, and I imagine that writing has a better quality when produced with a special pen.
Just this morning I rediscovered an old favourite fountain pen, filled it with black Indian ink and with the sharp smell of the first lines immediately got transferred back to that place where I'm keen to write carefully and reverently, not scribble like the many everyday scriptural tasks- like updating a grocery list or filling out a school form, require.
I got to love some people in my life a bit better just for the sake of their unique handwriting: I would always be spellbound watching my mother write- practical, though tidy and creative letters; my grandmother's beloved writing, a decade after her death still left on cards and letters everywhere in the books and boxes of my life; my mom's best friend with her artistically scrolled alphabetical digits; my daughter's tall, typewriter-perfect script, and even my husband for the almost illegibly light pencil of our love letters.
Some women love handbags, other clothes. Me, I like a stationary shop and a good pen.