Objects are just objects, until they become part of a story, and then they’re not just an object anymore. C.J. Hirschfield has this story about her father’s typewriter.
Like so many, in the 1940’s my dad came to California to make it big in Hollywood. He had a script based on a book by a friend, and wanted to sell it, and then direct the movie. He brought with him his trusty Smith Corona typewriter with its forest green keys, which he used to make countless edits over the years. He met and married a wonderful woman, and had two kids, who turned out okay.
But in his unrelenting quest to get an Oscar and fame, he failed to appreciate all that he already had, and he never cultivated close friends. He was not a happy man.
At age 90, he moved to the East Bay, where he could be closer to his kids and grandkids, where he passed away at 97, still trying to get his film made.
I kept and displayed his vintage typewriter for over a decade, but recent downsizing caused me to reconsider.