It was about the third grade when we were introduced to fountain pens as writing instruments. That was…well, a lot of years ago. We were encouraged to use what was known as “cartridge pens.” I felt like they were the “modern” version of the fountain pen that my dad used in his daily work. While he had to fill his from a bottle of Schaeffer blue ink, I had the ease of popping in a new cartridge when the pen ran out. A couple of grades later, we were introduced to ballpoint pens, but my affection for the fountain never died, though it did not express itself by the use of one.
My appreciation for the pen returned in the mid-‘80s, when I re-connected with the joy of writing with an instrument that transmitted ink through a nib instead of a ball. While the early years of using cartridge pens sometimes resulted in blue ink on fingers and hands, and white school uniform shirts stained from pens whose tops got separated in the jostled life of a young boy (I don’t know my mom’s magic, but she always got the stains out), the rejuvenated use of such a pen resulted in only the pleasures of writing with such an instrument can provide. I also carried a ballpoint pen so I could meet the frequent request that occurs at meetings: “Can I borrow a pen?” I would never loan out my favored pen.
There are many pleasures to be found by using a liquid ink pen: the sound of the nib as it slides across the paper, the scent of the ink (I have discovered that there is scented ink nowadays, but that is not what I’m talking about!), the short-lived glisten of the ink on the paper until it dries, and the re-found habit of blowing gently across the paper before folding it, like when using a correspondence card, to prevent smudging.
Because of those attributes, I delegate my fountain pen to special writing such as correspondence, journaling and creative writing. For notetaking, I generally use pencil, and sometimes whatever else is nearby, be it ballpoint or roller ball.
I still have my first two cartridge pens and the cartridges for them are still available, but I keep them tucked away because I’m a nostalgic old feller. I still have the pen that renewed my enjoyment of the pens several decades ago, and I have one of my dad’s fountain pens. I have a newer generation of fountain pen for my regular use.
About 30 years ago, I met with a grant officer at a major foundation in Dallas. She had a glass-topped coffee table that was actually a showcase for a number of beautiful fountain pens. I imagine that they never saw ink, and that’s a shame. While many pens are beautiful, the real pleasure of them is in their use.
I love these pens, for the memories associated with them and for where they take my mind when I am using them – calm, relaxed, joy-filled and “in the moment.” That is a lot of power in one little, often under-appreciated, instrument.
This blog section is titled Philo, which is Greek for loving, as in love of: for example, philanthropy: love of people/humanity; philosophy: love of knowledge or wisdom. My writings for Philo examine “love of” many things — both subtle and sublime — that comprise life and living.
Check out my photographic project for the year, The Year of 70: Decades of Joy and Thanks.