01 May 2009

Lost "Fountain Pens"


"Have you seen me? I am a fountain pen that used to belong to a decent bloke who
took good care of me (well at least he didn't pick his teeth with me). He wrote semi-literate notes to his friends and even kept a couple of journals for his sons with me and my indelible emerald ink (as proof that they once loved him after they turn on him in their teens). If you find me, please return me to Gramercy Carriage House in Los Angeles."
-- Thus Spoke Penathustra.
I lost this overly philosophic (admittedly self-important) pen recently. Disappeared into the ether. Have no idea where it could have gone (I've checked my car, the last restaurant I remembered being at, around my kids' XBox360 where I was practicing to kick my kids' butts next time we play).
I love a good bargain, and when I see one I spring into action like a stealthy ninja or hungry jaguar. I circle my prey not giving away my position to other interested shoppers, and then pounce on bargains 40%, 50%, and 75% off with feral aplomb. Armani jacket 90% off? Mine. Montblanc fountain pen 50% off? Gone. Two-for-one on Puma kicks? Done and done. That's a weakness we all share, I think, right?. I (like you, I'm sure) don't acquire trinkets or junk because it's on sale. It has to be value-laden, well-made items that will last. Something about getting a name-brand on the cheap can make a Saturday morning; but, then losing it later, knowing that someone else now has it? That'll stick with you for a while.
And, now that I've lost my fountain pen, I see her all over town. She's looking good, though a little older, but still with a timeless elegance and matching curves. When she stares at you, you see beauty, even if she is standing on her porch with arms crossed, pissed that you brought the boys home again 15 minutes late. And, it just kills me, rips my heart out sometimes, to see her with another. She and her new "owner" have a new little one, and are happy, and have new large savings accounts (they are about to buy a new house). She still comes to mind, lo these years later, with memories sad and happy. But it's the way I lost her, that puts a bitter memory on my tongue. The thing that has helped me get over this loss, though, is just letting it go. I used to sit up many sleepless nights wondering who was writing with her, and at which fancy hotel on some sun-drenched stretch of the Cote d'Zure. Was this new scribe writing better stories with her? Were they going to write a better ending together? Are his lines as witty as mine, and does he flourish at the end of his splendidly crafted sentences?
These wonderings don't plague me with sleepless nights very much these days. Time does indeed work wonders, like an ocean break just pounds away at the rough boulders and smoothes them out. Hold on to those bitter pills and you'll soon overdose on the misery of it all. Let God work a new life for you, my friend, and before you know, you're on your way. Not sure where, but at least not where you were sitting there in a self-induced personal coma. Which reminds me, it's Friday night, and I'm going out to World Cafe in Santa Monica to meet some friends. Wait ... you gotta be kidding me! Where are my car keys?!

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