Pencils

Among writers, a fondness for pencils runs deep. For example, John Steinbeck began every day with 24 freshly-sharpened pencils. Henry David Thoreau and his father manufactured the hardest, blackest pencils of the day. And, Jack London said,

"Keep a notebook. Travel with it, eat with it, sleep with it. Slap into it every stray thought that flutters up into your brain. Cheap paper is less perishable than gray matter, and lead pencil markings endure longer than memory."

Although I post here with keyboard beneath my fingertips, I keep a stash of sharpened pencils close at hand for the sake of nostalgia and superstition if no longer for practicality. Of course, as far as I can tell, love of person, place, or thing has a tendency to be deeply personal rather than imminently practical in my book.

Rudimentary Mechanics for Elementary Minds

In grade school, we arrived early to sharpen our pencils before the bell and opening pledge lest a dull utensil impede flowing script on manila paper, broadly lined and center dotted.

Erasing thoroughly with tip or cap or block easily tore through the rough fibers

and left pink rubber shavings in abundance on the page which we blew to the floor with a great flourish of frustration.

Sloppy work would require a rewrite as lead darkened fingers and easily smudged across the page, cutting into recess and one’s allotted time with hula-hoop or four square.

During the day, the teacher reluctantly gave us permission to sharpen a pencil

and one can only presume she found the sound of the hand crank Sanford distracting.

Secured to the wall near the classroom door with a dial of incremental holes for insertion, not too tight not too loose, metal met wood and caught shavings in the belly of the tool.

No job was more coveted than emptying the catch which overflowed with curled shavings and graphite dust, requiring a wastebasket be situated underneath at the janitor’s behest.

As you turned the crank, you turned your pencil counter to insure an evenly sharpened tip, but not too sharp or it would break off immediately and provoke a reprimand for wastefulness.

Dixon Ticonderogas were never thrown away but collected in the metal lip of the pencil holder beneath the lid of each desk, a prized collection of yellow nubbins to be counted at the end of the school year.

Evidence of great exertion, this first exercise in quantity over quality led to

great angst as we switched from pencil to pen along with buildings in junior high,

leaving such rudimentary mechanics for elementary minds behind.

*****

Other sharpeners I have loved....

Daguerreotype

So much drama ensues around me as I garden and work in the yard. The fox ran by mid-morning with a catch in his jaws. The songbirds jostle and vie endlessly for a perch at the feeder. The neighbor cat lies in wait almost daily, certainly too fat to do any harm but persistent nonetheless.

Last week, the drama took place right beneath my feet in the raised flower bed that runs along the back property line. I would have missed it but for the sand spilling onto the stone wall as I weeded nearby. I tried to snap a photo but was unable to get a good shot. No matter -- the scene is etched in my mind like a daguerreotype.

Daguerreotype

What were the ants thinking building homes of sand among the irises?

The design showcased turrets and tunnels and alleyways with hints

Of early Southeast Asian architecture in shades of brown and grey.

What a shame for the building site shifted hourly as the earth quaked

And the city trembled in the midst of waking giants at the sun’s behest

For the irises came to work on their own time clock set by warming earth.

The bulbs pushed forth multiple shoots that soon towered like tall, leaning

High rises with penthouse blooms in purple and white.

Each millimeter of growth sent the ants into frenzy as grains of sand

Gave way to gravity only to undo their heavy labor.

Dusk shed light on the futility and fleeting beauty of their endeavor

And cast shadows on the brilliance of their intertwined work

As the insects slept and flowers dozed before the heavy rains fell.

By chance alone, I was in the presence of greatness aware

That a city such as this had never been built before and would not last but

For the daguerreotype in my mind which I intend to keep.