As a young boy, I used to sit next to my father and watch as he wrote letters and legal notes with his fountain pen on long, yellow pads. I was mesmerized by his immaculate cursive and asked him what a particular word meant. And he said, “Words mean things, Johnny. Pick them carefully.” That was the beginning, I realize now as I ponder your essay and the notion of habits and momentum. I wanted to write like my father, so I worked on emulating his handwriting. And I made frequent trips to the dictionary (a smart phone would have been handy back then but perhaps the dictionary effort led to better vocabulary retention). We don’t often pinpoint the origin of a habit, or the consequences of its adoption. But in the case of Dad’s calligraphic hand, and his advice about words, my life has been enriched as a consequence. Thanks for another thoughtful essay, Charles.
I really appreciate how the explicit instruction to use use words carefully matches the implicit behaviors that you describe: the fountain pen, the immaculate cursive. I can picture it—thank you for the comment, John.
Sadly, I am a perpetual sufferer of l’esprit de l’espalier.
I drink tea without milk. I worked in Germany for a year (decades after WW2). The office did not have a fridge, so they always had long life milk that did not have to be refrigerated. It was truly disgusting. I have had milk free tea from then on.
Perhaps the l’esprit de l’espalier sensation might be the expectation. To never feel it would be more unusual, I believe. Thank you for the comment, Kate.
It may be that the l’esprit de l’espalier sensation might be the expectation but I am in awe of the person with the ready comeback. Though I understand even the great wit Oscar Wilde prepared and practiced his witticisms, so he would be ready when the time came. As he said "Life is never fair, and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not."
As I sit looking out of my small space on a bare wintry early morning quietly reading your wonder full essay with my own black coffee onto a drizzly coastal foggy Gloucester New England coast, I am filled with gratitude. Absent the furor swirling in some small corners of this platform I find writing such as yours and others here immensely rich, life giving and provoking in a warm nice way. A new set of words ( l’esprit de l’espalier) to chew on and deposit in my own dictionary for future use to share or sharpen a thought in my own thinking and writing. Thank you Charles for giving me a new way to look at this world and opening a corner of your mind and connecting us.
My mother drank it black. My father with ample milk and sugar. Me, I chose the middle path, with a dash of cream to mellow out the bitterness. None of that sweet stuff though. I suppose it's genetics mingled with a comfort drink.
As a young boy, I used to sit next to my father and watch as he wrote letters and legal notes with his fountain pen on long, yellow pads. I was mesmerized by his immaculate cursive and asked him what a particular word meant. And he said, “Words mean things, Johnny. Pick them carefully.” That was the beginning, I realize now as I ponder your essay and the notion of habits and momentum. I wanted to write like my father, so I worked on emulating his handwriting. And I made frequent trips to the dictionary (a smart phone would have been handy back then but perhaps the dictionary effort led to better vocabulary retention). We don’t often pinpoint the origin of a habit, or the consequences of its adoption. But in the case of Dad’s calligraphic hand, and his advice about words, my life has been enriched as a consequence. Thanks for another thoughtful essay, Charles.
I really appreciate how the explicit instruction to use use words carefully matches the implicit behaviors that you describe: the fountain pen, the immaculate cursive. I can picture it—thank you for the comment, John.
Sadly, I am a perpetual sufferer of l’esprit de l’espalier.
I drink tea without milk. I worked in Germany for a year (decades after WW2). The office did not have a fridge, so they always had long life milk that did not have to be refrigerated. It was truly disgusting. I have had milk free tea from then on.
Perhaps the l’esprit de l’espalier sensation might be the expectation. To never feel it would be more unusual, I believe. Thank you for the comment, Kate.
It may be that the l’esprit de l’espalier sensation might be the expectation but I am in awe of the person with the ready comeback. Though I understand even the great wit Oscar Wilde prepared and practiced his witticisms, so he would be ready when the time came. As he said "Life is never fair, and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not."
A fantastic story. We don't often think about the generational consequences we've all inherited.
Thank you, Richard.
As I sit looking out of my small space on a bare wintry early morning quietly reading your wonder full essay with my own black coffee onto a drizzly coastal foggy Gloucester New England coast, I am filled with gratitude. Absent the furor swirling in some small corners of this platform I find writing such as yours and others here immensely rich, life giving and provoking in a warm nice way. A new set of words ( l’esprit de l’espalier) to chew on and deposit in my own dictionary for future use to share or sharpen a thought in my own thinking and writing. Thank you Charles for giving me a new way to look at this world and opening a corner of your mind and connecting us.
Thank you the comment and for the very thoughtful words, Tim.
My mother drank it black. My father with ample milk and sugar. Me, I chose the middle path, with a dash of cream to mellow out the bitterness. None of that sweet stuff though. I suppose it's genetics mingled with a comfort drink.
Thank you for the comment, Julie.
Ah, the power of positive associations... or chaos theory? Thanks Charles - well said!
Thank you for kind words, Gordon.