Handwriting - Written March 21, 2025 - Published April 2, 2025 -

Handwriting 

Written By Wanda Rodriguez

Written March 21, 2025

Published April 2, 2025

Penmanship is a bit of a lost art.  I have the good fortune of being in possession of an autograph book that belonged to my grandmother (Circa 1876).  The well-aged pages hold beautifully written sentiments from long ago.  I love to gently stroll through the fragile pages to catch glimpses of a bygone time.  One of the standout qualities of this little book is the lovely script in which it was written, each more beautiful than the last.  Clearly people took great pride in the presentation of their written communication.  So many curls and swirls that some were hard to read, though the pencil lead used stood up very well against the test of time, especially given it is nearly 150 years old.  With all of the required testing these days, the expectation of elegant penmanship has fallen by the wayside, along with teaching cursive for that matter.  It probably doesn’t help that everyone can type or text information rather than writing it.  How often do you really get handwritten correspondence?  Except for my mother in law, it is almost nonexistent for me. 

I’m not really one to comment on the subject of handwriting as mine is atrocious!  It is not one of my giftings and it is hard to say why exactly, but I think the main reason is that I have always tried to hurry and write as fast as I could to get my thoughts done or to finish writing something like, “I will not talk in class” 100 times as fast as possible, so that I could go to recess (haha). I also apply a lot of pressure when I write to the point that my hand usually hurts in short order and the lead pencil tip breaks off (side note - this is why I despise using mechanical pencils!  The lead is garbage and I send lead flying across the room like I’m a beaver repurposing some wood. Side note number two, I really wanted to say woodchuck chucking wood but, as we learned from the rhyme, they don’t actually chuck wood! Boo!).  I have tried to slow down and concentrate on my writing, but it still looks like I am in kindergarten.  I used to joke that I should be a doctor when I grow up because I already had the handwriting for it.  Thank goodness I did not aspire to be an engineer or an architect.  Their clean, succinct block writing is something to be admired for sure. 

I’ve got handwriting on the brain (and on the heart) because yesterday I was going through some of the dozens of notebooks that my late husband, Dave, had stored in the basement.  He was a software engineer and thus very organized and thorough in certain areas of his life.  Most of the notebooks contained information on past training, certification work, or independent work he did to learn a new coding language or web system.  Others contained more personal information like ancient taxes, old medical records and outdated warranties, etc.  Most materials were obsolete and relocated to the trash or the shredder as appropriate.  All were highly organized with dividers and often a table of contents.  He was nothing if not detailed with paperwork.  I assume that comes from the nature of his job and the all-important CYA (Cover Your Arse) factor.  Here we are different in that I would take notes or, more recently, screen shots and seldom (never?!) go back to revisit them but he would most definitely pull-out old training material to help him sort through a programming problem at work.  His mind was always spinning on such things.  It was a beautiful thing to behold. It made the nature of his illness, glioblastoma (brain cancer), even more cruel because his beautiful, logical, hilarious, thoughtful, God loving, often binary (black and white) brain power diminished, as his ability to speak, recall and communicate was gradually slipped into oblivion.  I could see the frustration on his face and through his deep sighs when he could not clearly communicate, and it was heartbreaking. Equally exasperating to him was the rapid rate at which he was no longer physically or verbally able to do what he could so easily do just days or weeks before. 

Apologies as I digress.  I am still working through grief and understanding at the loss of someone with whom I have shared the majority of my life.  Trying now to get back on track, the point of this post has to do with handwriting.  Dave’s handwriting, though infinitely better than mine (that’s not saying much when you break it down and consider the source, haha) is not at the level of the autograph book mentioned, nor is it that of an engineer or architect but it was distinct to me and usually quite legible.  (Praise blast - Dave was also a skilled doodler and a well-versed creative writer.)

As I went through notebook after notebook filled with Dave’s takeaways, insights and notes on whatever the subject was of that given notebook, I was struck by several things.  First was my appreciation of his organizational skills and level of detail with information that he considered to be important.  I am much more of the classic “free spirit” and as such I tend to be more of a note maker than a documenter (often on soon to be lost/misplaced/forgotten pieces of scrap paper).  I often flutter freely from one thing to the next.  I am a classic idea person!  A great project starter but not always a great finisher.  Dave, however, clearly worked things through to the finest detail and he was highly efficient in that regard.  We complimented each other because I would typically flitter in with an idea to which he would reply with his typical knee jerk response, No.  But then he would sit down with his logical mindset, and together we would figure out how we could make it happen. Teamwork makes the dreamwork!  The problem is that I still flit and flutter about, but I seriously miss my sounding board to help me work through things, to keep up with paperwork commitments, emails and bills (NOT my forte!!).  I miss my partner in all things.  I miss my love. 

The other takeaway came as a bit of a surprise to me.  As I was going through the notebooks, I found myself reaching out and touching some of the pages, gently placing my hand atop it and letting it rest there.  My heart swelled as I choked back tears.  It was not the words on the page (yadda yadda programming yadda web interface yadda amazon services yadda…) it was the fact that it was done by Dave’s hand.  Sort of like Kilroy was here, only it was Dave and it made me pause and sit alone in the empty space knowing that this is it, Dave will be here no more, write no more, CYA no more, document no more, organize thoughts, paperwork and finances or anything else ever again.  I was struck by the finality of it all and it hurt.  My hand on a piece of paper hurt.  It didn’t hurt because of the paper or the words on it but because I could see Dave’s presence there and all that it represented, and I was engulfed by the emptiness now left behind in its stead. 

Only for a moment did I hesitate on tossing it, but toss it I did, because I must keep moving forward.  It is not always easy, and rest assured that there are things with his handwriting that I will not let go of but this sort of blindsided me I guess because it is another goodbye, another realization of a closed door, a reminder of things forever lost.  Thankfully Dave left many memories written forever on my heart and in my mind and they play out often.  I remain thankful for our time together and for the eternal graffiti he imprinted on my soul.  You are missed, My Sweet Baboo. 

Bible Verses that come to mind as I write:

Psalm 147:3 NIV

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

Isaiah 25:8 NIV

He will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces;