When something’s greater than the sum of its parts … 

"... fountain pens 
are to be savoured 
like that first morning coffee 
freshly ground 
preparing for the day’s
thoughts to surface 
from within ..." 

I’ve been sorting through clutter, which is proving more of a challenge than it should be.  If you live with someone who wants to keep everything,  you’ll understand. That said, occasionally I find something in a box or drawer that I’d forgotten.  I recently found the two fountain pens that were purchased as wedding gifts by me and my husband.  Neither of us knew what the other had bought.  We no doubt congratulated ourselves heartily for our supposed originality, only to laugh when we realised that we’d both bought the same thing.  

I do still use a fountain pen, but had forgotten how beautiful my wedding pen was.  It’s a Waterman with a tortoise shell casing, and a medium nib.  It feels good in my hand, and the soft click as you return the cap is immensely satisfying.  The pen I bought my husband is a Sheaffer, with a stainless steel barrel and cap, engraved with his name.  He used it occasionally in the early years, but he prefers a ballpoint.  It was thus consigned to a dresser drawer for the best part of 3 decades.  Having rediscovered both pens, I determined to give them a new lease of life.  

There are certain objects that command respect just for what they are; they amount to more than the sum of their parts.  They carry a certain aura, that only deepens with age.  Binoculars, for instance, fit into this category, as do musical instruments, manual typewriters and, of course, fountains pens.  Perhaps everyone’s list of revered items is different, but I bet you can think of some.  A brand new guitar may well be a thing of beauty, but an old classic has something more, don’t you think?   

I love the way that the old and new can co-exist.  I like to think, when using classic pieces in new ways, the past and present are uniquely connected.  It’s just better, isn’t it, to use the binoculars that belonged to your dad, rather than the new pair you bought, even if the new pair are technically superior.  Perhaps it’s just me.  

Even though both wedding pens were completely dry, traces of old ink mingled with the new.  It felt spooky; in my hand and on the page, they served as a bridge between my younger and present self.   It took longer than I expected for the new ink to take hold and present true to colour.  A lesson right there perhaps: we think we’ve let go of the past, but it lingers in our subconscious longer than we think.  Okay, enough, I think I’ve stretched this metaphor as far as it will go! 

Of course, it isn’t only old objects that can trigger memories and associations.  I attended a family wedding in the spring, which was a joyous occasion.  Inevitably, weddings always take me back to my own wedding day which, again, left me appreciating those pens and their rediscovery all the more. It also left me wondering what the modern day bride and groom had bought as gifts for each other.  I hope those gifts, whatever they were, will be deeply appreciated for years to come.  Then, even further down the line, when they rediscover them in a drawer or cupboard, they’ll bring renewed pleasure as they enjoy a new lease of life.