I always loved the clicking sound of the keys and the ding when I came to the end of the margin. I received my first typewriter when I was five years old from my grandparents and I would type little stories on it. I have always loved typewriters.

When I was a pre-teen, Grandma and Grandpa gave me the typewriter that I wrote hundreds of short stories, poems, letters, and terrible character descriptions on. I was obsessed with living in the south when I was a teenager and all of my characters wore bell shaped southern gowns and took place in Georgia mansions, all of them named Anne or Emily. That was, until my high school writing teacher recommended, gently, that perhaps I should write about what I know. 

I typed on Grandma and Grandpa’s typewriter at their house all of the time after school. I took a typing class in high school and could type sixty words a minute, a fact of which I was so proud. I adored my type writer at home until the dreaded day that I could not find ribbon for it. It seemed the days of typewriters were gone. Computers will not be replaced, but there is nothing quite like typing on a typewriter. I have wanted one for years. For thirty years, since I said goodbye to my beloved typewriter. 

My grandpa was a writer as well. He wrote a few books that were in the publisher’s hands, when something would always unfortunately come up. A change of editor, or a change of ownership, that would cause his book to not make it after all. I published a poem of his on my blog many years ago. I have written quite a bit about my grandparents on this blog. They were beloved to me. My grandpa died yesterday morning at the age of 96 and broke my heart. Perhaps irrevocably. I am not the only one whose heart was wounded. He was a legend, so loved, so kind, and everything a grandfather should be. Doug and I made it back to Colorado just in time to see him. He was a man of little emotion from a world war generation. I held his hand, looked into those great blue eyes, and said I loved him. He smiled back and said, “See ya later!” 

My daughter, Shyanne (my characters Anne and Emily in my stories became Shyanne and Emily in real life), Doug, and I took our pup and our new grandbaby down to old Main street where we had our first shop to visit and look for treasures. In an antique store that is ridiculously overpriced typically, was an old 1930’s typewriter with a brand new ribbon in perfect condition for $58. Shyanne immediately bought it for me. 

I love the loud CLICK CLICK DING! I am so pleased. That was a gift from Grandpa and Shyanne. It was not a coincidence that on the day my fellow writer died, I found something I had been looking for for years. What a gift. (The ones like it online are listed at $650) Thank you Grandpa. 

Last night, my Grandpa came to Shyanne in a dream and showed her an image of me typing a book on the typewriter and he was telling me what to say. I can’t wait to hear it. 

Rest in peace my grandpa. Happy Yule everyone! 

Click here to see Grandpa’s poem.