Lucky Tucky
People give me things. Seriously. I don’t remember quite when it started, or how, or with what, but I realized today that it happens surprisingly often. Sometimes it feels like I’m conjuring up my desires — last month I was talking about wanting a longer lens, and lo and behold, last week, a friend who’s decided to switch from Canon to Nikon passed on a fine 70-300 zoom that would otherwise be sitting unused in a closet. Other times, it’s just randomly delightful. One of my neighbors gave me a bookshelf that fits perfectly into the corner of my living room where I most needed a shelf. Another neighbor passed on the Parker 51 he used as a college student back in the ’50s, which was ready to go again once I gave it a good soaking to remove 50 years of encrusted ink. A friend with a knack for shopping once bought a cocktail dress for me just because it was on sale and looked like it might fit (it did). It just happens. And I’m surprised and grateful, every single time.
A couple of months ago, I blogged about buying a beat-up old fountain pen at the flea market and tracing its former owner with the help of a reporter at the Chron, who then wrote a fun little feature article about the whole thing. Not long after that, I got email from a guy in Washington, DC. I have no idea how he came to read the article all the way on the other side of the country, but it apparently inspired him to find me online and drop me a note offering a pen of his own in return for the one I’d let go. I replied that I couldn’t possibly take a pen of unknown value from a stranger who might later regret getting rid of it, but he insisted, so I accepted. And when the box arrived, my goodness, what a lovely little gift it was: an adorable little Sheaffer Tuckaway, brown striated with a gold-filled clipless cap, with a matching pencil. The body was in beautiful condition, but the innards were wrecked — so off it went to the Nashua Pen Spa for Richard Binder’s loving ministrations.
When it arrived at his workbench, Richard sent me an estimate and warned me that technically, the pen didn’t justify the expense of repairs — but that he was very excited to see it, because it was a first-generation Crest version from 1942, and were it his, he’d repair it just for the pleasure of using it. Twist my arm, I replied. Let’s bring it back from the dead.
Richard’s repair queue was up to 19 weeks last time I checked, but for some reason, he was nice enough to bump mine up in line. So this afternoon the mail brought my Tuckaway back home, restored to working condition. It’s absolutely lovely, a wee gem just a hair over 4″ long capped and about 5.5″ long posted (i.e. with the cap put on the back), and it’s a pleasure to use. Of course I inked it up right away. How could I not?
First I need to write a thank you note to the person who sent it to me, for no other reason than that he wanted me to have it. Then I think I need to find something delightful to pass along. This whole giving of gifts thing is more fun when it keeps going.
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