Granny; or, Opening An Old Machine

So first there was a period near the end of June where a bunch of ideas were simmering, or gestating, or generally floating about in my brain like the various nutrients in a pond which might contribute to a functioning ecosystem or perhaps may simply lead to the growth of Icky Green Things and total stagnation.

Then came a point in July where the nutrients nourished nothing and the stagnation started.

Now comes August, and by now it was clear that my brain was in a mood to produce green slime any second…

(“I see no point in living if I can’t be beautiful!” it seemed to say)

…then Thalia bought a typewriter on a whim, and told me about it, which brought to mind the fact that there was at least one typewriter simply languishing on the stairway to my boudoir.

Tonight I opened it.

It is not as old as Thalia’s, and is electric rather than a strictly traditional sort of affair.  But I plugged it in, inserted the first piece of paper that came to hand, and behold what I found:

The ribbon has ink.
That blank button to the left turns on capslock, and the button below it is the shift key.
There’s no way to delete mistakes, but you can try pushing the whole thing over and typing the correct letter several times if’n you like.
You can switch it from red to black.
And when you’re done typing one of your favorite songs, you can shut the cover and see, by the lock, my father’s initials; in an extravagant mood he had had them placed there…

(not really.  He initials everything himself…)

(with the possible exception of that Panasonic contraption lurking behind the typewriter.  Can anyone identify it?)

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