I lost my pen. My favorite ballpoint. Not my Parker 51 fountain pen, thank goodness, but another Parker and a very good pen. Other than simply losing a good pen, two things bothered me the most this past week. One was that I’d just bought a pack of six refills specifically for this pen, and I’d only used up one of them. More important was that the pen had been bought for me by my beloved many years ago. I could replace the pen, even if the replacement would only be approximate and the price would be high, but it wouldn’t really replace it.
We searched everywhere. All the places it could have hidden itself in and around the house. In the car. Everywhere we could think of. Yesterday we were down to our last hope: returning to the shop where we buy our weekly newspaper. We love to do the crosswords on Saturday. I looked in the gutter where it might have fallen into the snow and slush when I got out of the car. I walked into the store and up to the counter with the newspaper. “Good morning,” I said. “Did you by any chance find a pen after my visit last week?”
“Was it silver?” she asked, digging in a drawer.
I got my pen back. I’ve been catching myself smiling ever since. A little thing, but it means a lot.
Cheers
rjb
