Tip – Tap – TING!

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

My fingers gently grasp the 37-year-old sheet of onionskin paper. On it are the sentiments of a woman whose life was cut short, whose voice I sadly did not have time to commit to memory. Rarely does a mistake surface on these delicate pages — a testament to her pre-word processor typing skills. These saved letters are from my late mother-in-law, Phyllis, to her son. The only audible conversation available now between us is the tip-tap-TING of her 1946 Smith-Corona typewriter. 

I have kept this device in plain view devoid of its protective carrying case. Displayed in a sheltered nook, this piece of memorabilia with its vintage round keys elicits a pause and smile every time we pass. It deserves pride of place, not just because it is interesting to look at, but because of the woman it represents. The model’s name is “Silent” – and was a gift to my mother-in-law as she departed for college. 

A northern farm girl who possessed wisdom beyond her age, Phyllis attended a single semester of college before choosing marriage and a move to Naples, Florida as her future beyond high school. She tap tap tapped on her typewriter to document life’s big and small themes — its ebbs and flows — and especially to keep her son informed of life in the subtropics during his college years and when his vocation moved him permanently away from home. 

With impeccable grammar, Phyllis chronicled neighborhood happenings, life cycles of her beloved roses, the natural world, and her daily joys and frustrations. Through it all, she expressed optimism, mindfulness and gratitude for the existence she chose, and only a few passing thoughts about her cancer. Her last letter to her son was dated only three months before her death. Her demise was sadly precipitous. Oh! What he or I would give to receive another of her gossamer pages in the mail.

Despite their age, I am convinced those old Smith-Corona keys harbor quite a bit of shrewd wisdom still waiting to be expressed. I have no doubt my mother-in-law’s strong hands had little trouble banging out her sharp, dry wit and practical thoughts, in a vibe of swirling cathartic energy. Phyllis was a force to be reckoned with, never afraid to speak her mind, while, with elegant vocabulary, delivering her signature sarcastic sting. Elevating communication and confidence to an art form was her superpower, in equal tandem with a gentleness of knowing when to nurture.

Now, the drying typewriter ribbon merely whispers words and every so often a bold letter or word will emerge when the keys are plucked, as if an ethereal voice is vying for attention. I feel akin to that old typewriter, my inner voice often pale and shaky with an occasional, boldly errant stamp. While laptop keys may require much less force, they, too, have weathered aggressive strikes when I have brain dumped or ranted on the page. But strength comes with practice for both the audible and physical, and the effort required to move the old keys along with its sturdy frame remind me of the strong woman I emulate as my personal decibels (and use of bold type) rise. 

While I have many precious examples of my mother-in-law’s handiwork, the old Smith-Corona and its onionskin legacy remains the most prized. But “Silent” is no longer the model I want to be. Along with my late mother-in-law, it is clearly time to purchase that freshly inked ribbon to bring both our countenances into a modern world. And end each of our collective thoughts with the pronounced “TING” and vigorous carriage shove to start another line.