More writing about writing (writing tools)

They have a pen store here in Boulder. It seems, too, that my hand is no longer too shaky from the operation to write with a fountain pen. I have a kid’s pen, which I can and have labeled with my name. There seems to be a primal urge to paste my name over everything I own.

Memory of Mom sitting in her chair in the golden light of the floor lamp, sewing name labels in all of my camp clothing: PATTIE WILLIAMS. I would keep the E on the end of my name until eighth grade possibly the last time that my identity was still fluid enough to allow for such a change. The change of a surname in 10 years was an external, not an internal procedure. I had not envisioned it.

A new pen and a new pencil: new objects fly through my life like a flock of pigeons, never staying long enough.