Things I miss.

Back when Hector was a pup and I was still wet behind my advertising ears, copywriters had IBM Selectrics.

These were big, sleek machines that took a commanding position on your desk. They were as broad as a linebacker. As heavy as a Rottweiler. And when they were turned on, they hummed the hum of authority.

The first thing I would do when I got in in the morning, back in the 80s and 90s, was turn on my Selectric. The hum of its engineering let everybody know I was open for business.

I would roll a piece of paper into the carriage. It too sounded strong and authoritative.

I was ready to work.

This morning I got in early. Well before anyone else.

A storm was brewing, or rather storms, and the opening salvo of raindrops seems to be inundating me. That could be my natural paranoia. But it could also be reality.

The reason I'm thinking of my old Selectric this morning, is I miss its hum.

There was something, like I said, strong about it. And reassuring.

And I knew, when the time came, it would be there and I could write.

And my writing would either be the answer, or not.

But at least I had tried.