She nudged my arm and with a tiny wink she pointed to the card on the table in the letterpress room. Unicorns. It’s our little secret, a club of sorts. There’s magic, dreams come true and no one can ever rob us of our childlike wonder. We were touring the letterpress room at Oblation. We took a step back in time and joined in National Typewriter Day. The beginning of the kind of day that lingers in your memory long after the sunny days of Portland, Oregon have caved to winter’s rain and darkness. Today was magical. Today was tangible “to be touched or felt, substantially real”. Every single thing we came across today was real. Nothing electronic. No clicking. The only headlines in front our our yes were the ones we chose to put there. And right there in the middle of it all, there were unicorns.
I typed a letter to my Mom, on a vintage typewriter, sitting outside on the sidewalk at an old wooden table. People started stopping and asking what we were doing. They set down their phones, exclaiming “I can type a letter to a real person?!” Even I have forgotten at times, there is a face on the other side of the screen. I picked up stationery and fancy pens to script for More Love Letters She picked up handmade paper and card stock for typing sweet notes.
I typed their name in bright red on one of the display typewriters hoping someone might discover the magic of hand writing a letter to a stranger in need of light in the darkness, or just a simple hand up.
We strolled the streets of Downtown, savored lunch with my sister, and licked ice cream cones, dripping down our wrists in the hot sun. And then she talked me into her favorite. Her happy place…I was less enthusiastic. Powell’s Books is a force to be reckoned with and once she is in, she may never come out! I obliged, and we got lost in the mazes, the rooms, the world of paper and bindings. No e-readers, no digital files. The bookstore has it’s own smell. It smells like books!
We packed up our treasures and stopped for iced tea. I told her I was so happy we had gone to the bookstore. I said something about how nice it was to linger…to stop and smell the roses. Then I started laughing…we were less than a mile from my happy place. The International Rose Test Garden in Portland Oregon is world famous. It needs no introduction, no explanation, and no words. There is never a time I have visited there and not been filled with astonishment.
This child of mine has taught me much in the almost 15 short years she has graced the earth. One of the most valuable lessons…slow down. She is my old soul, born in the wrong decade, lover of all things old and timeless. This was a hard week, all across this country and in the hearts and souls of many. There is good in this world, and on a simple Saturday afternoon we searched for Gold, and found treasure. As I sit here in the kitchen tonight, I’m reminded of one of her favorite authors.