Sharing stories of woven tales and homely goods...

category: Everyday Objects

Metal symphony.

More times than we can count, the warm metalic sound of our well-used-well-loved Olympia typewriter has lured unsuspecting passers-by inside our store.

‘But what do you do with it?’

We type, silly.

Label names. Prices. Descriptions. Stories. Stickers for small children. Notes for friends. Love letters.


‘It certainly has been forever and a day since we heard that lovely sound.’

Memories of fathers typing away to the ticking of the grandfather clock – persistent, without rest. Memories of mothers attempting to paint away typing mistakes with ‘liquid paper’ – persistent, without fail.

What is it about typewriters that pulls at our heart strings? The symphony of metal upon metal upon ink ribbon upon paper? The honesty and openness of its mechanics.The simplicity of its ‘keyboard’. The beauty of typewriter font. The immediacy of thought to paper.The limited ability to make adjustments.

It is also the beginning of many an interesting conversation.

“What is that?”

A typewriter.

”Wow, I have heard about them but never seen one before!”

Really? Honestly? Where have you been?

”Right here, living in this century! Can you show me how to use it?”

Sure… it is easy to make mistakes, but that is part of the fun.

“Amazing!!! Unbelievable… can you type a sticker for me to take home please?”

“I’ve been recommended to visit this store – can you please help me type this out on the typewriter?”

My pleasure… what is it for?

“Description to attach to an antique piece…”

Come back in half an hour and it will be ready!

Half an hour later, he returns with two beautiful bunches of flowers, “Thank you ever so much! Do you know how difficult it is to find someone who uses typewriters?!”

Well, ours is here to stay.

 

Post by ANGEPANPAN.

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Inky memory.

Many moons ago, our grandparents owned a rubber plantation near Gemas, Malaysia.

I loved the look of the beautiful stripe pattern around the trees where the rubber resin was being tapped. We would know our road trip from Kuala Lumpur was nearing our grandparent’s town when the landscape changed from small roadside villages to acres and acres of rubber trees.Fond memories for us are not so for our grandparents, father, aunt and uncle when they used to walk or bicycle some distance to the rubber plantation to hack away at long grassy weeds whilst side-stepping snakes and battling monster insects. Dad remembers weekends doing hard manual labour at the plantation instead of making mischief with the local kids.I wonder if any of the rubber from our rubber stamp might’ve come from those trees.

 

Post by ROBOAT.

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