I’ve looked through, what appears to be, all my Wannaskawriter and Wannaskan Almanac posts of the past eight years 2018-2026 looking for a story I thought I wrote about my white German Shepherd, Jake. I must have written it in THE RAVEN: Northwest Minnesota’s Original Art, History, & Humor Journal 1994-2018, but I’ll not go looking for it there. No point, because although this is a true story about my dog, the reason I’m publishing it in this form is purely for its penmanship; a craft I once did in profusion, that I can no longer do due to the atheosis of my right hand. Some days I can write as well as I ever did, but other days it’s barely-readable script.
I went to an inner-city trades/technical high school in Des Moines, Iowa, back in the sixties thinkin' I was going to become a veterinarian. Instead, I let mathematics intimidate me; (if you saw my math scores, you'd understand.) Mid-stream, I decided I might as well do something that seemed innate to my skill set, than endure more blood-letting test-wise, so I switched to Commercial Art instead squeezing 10th, 11th, and 12th grades into the latter 1.5 years and still graduated one out of thirteen of the 200 wannabes that started, thinking 'art' was an easy 'A'. But I might be lying; memory at 74 isn't the best.
One of my nieces claimed she started using architectural style writing because she liked the way I wrote. She might've been lying too. (It runs in the family, off and on.) Actually her mother, the late Ginger Wilson, was fond of stating just that very thing to fend off accuracy-seekers; I now see her wily ploy.
The following pages were written by hand; learned the hard way. The year I started Commercial Art (before the computer age, mind you) blueprints and other technical drawings were done by hand, and lettering class separated the wannabe Art-Is-An-Easy-"A" students from those who were serious, but where were we going to go? Back to General studies? All we had to do was get through 9 weeks of Lettering 101 every day for three hours.
Although I did a few jobs after I graduated high school: truck doors, commercial signage and the like, I lacked the discipline it required to make a business out of commercial art. Writing was something I enjoyed whether it made me money or not.
This is my white German Shepherd, Jake.
Jake is buried here on the farm. He was 12 years old.
ReplyDeleteHighly readable.
Highly readable if you have the time, that is; its length is hardly acceptable to read on a phone -- unless you're flying somewhere and have no place you have to be for an hour. Even at that, I shortened the story in defense of readers sensibilities.
DeleteI have great admiration for good handwriting and love that you referred to it as a craft. I have no find motor skills, myself and always have penmanship envy. We will read this later and look forward to it, in the meantime, we want to know want to know if this was your first draft.
ReplyDeleteYes. It's not without corrections.
DeleteNo fine motor skills
ReplyDeleteI MISS HIM TO THIS DAY JEFF B
ReplyDelete