The Headline from the Washington Post read: Cursive handwriting is disappearing from public schools. C’est la vie, I think to myself while searching for a gif to add to an email I’d written in Georgia font. There’s irony in that we want our computer fonts to look like the handwriting we now toss out to be forgotten. Humans have moved from quill to fountain pen to keyboard to voice recognition. So between pen to keyboard, we end an era of gliding your hand along the page, tiptoeing over the i’s and crossing the t’s.
Edith Andersen
Welcome to my blog of ruminations and essays.
At the onset of my research, the depth of my Social Security understanding was shallow enough a three-year-old could keep his head out of the water. Diving into economists’ different views is a deep pool and easy to drown in acronyms and regulations. So it began with something I understand well, my check shows up in my checking account each month, and I always find a way to spend it.
Famous women, Marilyn Monroe, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Sarah Jessica Parker, have revealed in interviews that knitting made them feel productive and calm. The rest of us, those never interviewed, agree. For me, knitting is like writing, an act of discovery.
In the last three years, I’ve observed a promising movement. Powerful old men are speaking out in support of women as equals. Just when I thought it would never happen, like passing the 19th Amendment, the light of dawn for equal rights is shining hopeful.
And photo of a man’s face in the newspaper confirmed his guilt. Seriously, I didn’t even have to read what happened. The article’s heading had something to do with kidnapping a child.
Raising daughters in a country that upholds (some) values you don’t share can be tricky. Perhaps braver moms than I remained steadfast and spoke their mind. I opted to wait to share my views until the children were old enough to think for themselves. This was no easy thing since my nature is to question, speak up, and push against injustice. By the time I was a mom, I’d tossed out a myriad of political theories and isms. Why would anyone listen to those who talk and talk and never walk the talk? People claiming to have answers for everyone else wore down my patience, leaving no space for listening.
People push back when I express my (now) natural state of non-attachment. “I bet you miss seeing your grandchildren?” a friend may say. “No,” I say, “but it was wonderful being with them.”
