Ever since I received my first pink Shaeffer fountain pen, at around age nine or so, with its standard blue ink cartridges, I have loved writing with them. In my twenties, I graduated to the much coveted Waterman fountain pens, nestled in a royal blue case with gold lettering and a white satin lining. Oh, how beautifully the nib slid across the page when I wrote with it. Such happiness from something so simple. A few years ago, I wandered into a Montreal paper shop that sold ink cartridges in exciting new shades marked violet, south sea blue, orange indien and vert olive. Oh the joy! I immediately purchased them, but did I try them upon my return home? No I did not. I put them in a drawer and eventually forgot about them.
But now that I am looking at small ways to improve my lot, I remember how much I loved writing with fountain pens. So why shouldn't I allow myself to experience that happiness on a daily basis by carrying a fountain pen with me? I have pulled out my pens and those gorgeous coloured inks. And I will use them, maybe even every day. How many times do me forgot what beings us happiness, the small wee things that take almost no effort to include in our daily lives?
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