Ever since about 8th grade or so, I've wished I was born in a different decade (hence The Elizabeth Era). Mostly, I idolized the era in which my mom and dad grew up - the days when Christian Dior was making waves with fashion, Sinatra was making his first comeback on Capitol Records, and everything was seemingly hunky-dorey (sp?). I used to study my mom's high school scrapbook - please be aware that these were not the cutesty scrapbooks of today, but the practical "this is what I did in high school, for-reals" kinds of scrapbooks that were like a genuine history book of my mom's high school experience, where I learned that, in the 1950s, there were a lot of restaurants in Chicago that were referred to as "rooms," e.g., The Blue Room, The Empire Room, and that birthday parties were real social events when girls would dress their best and throw very elegant soirees, and that any event invitation was a good excuse to compose a cute limerick or poem.
After my mom graduated from high school, she enrolled in a secretarial college and practiced her shorthand listening to Sinatra's "Come Fly With Me" album. She also used this really awesome typewriter - an Underwood Olivetti. Of course, when I was in Boise last month and she happened to dig this up in The Dirty Clothes Closet (this is the closet downstairs where our laundry chute dumps all the dirty clothes we drop from upstairs), I squealed with glee over this beautifully compact machine, radiating such a 1950s shade of blue.
After my mom graduated from high school, she enrolled in a secretarial college and practiced her shorthand listening to Sinatra's "Come Fly With Me" album. She also used this really awesome typewriter - an Underwood Olivetti. Of course, when I was in Boise last month and she happened to dig this up in The Dirty Clothes Closet (this is the closet downstairs where our laundry chute dumps all the dirty clothes we drop from upstairs), I squealed with glee over this beautifully compact machine, radiating such a 1950s shade of blue.
So here I was, thinking how cool I was for lifting this machine from my parents' house and toting it along back to Spokane, to sit on my corner desk, adding a nice touch to the other various timepiece furniture items that display my love of the 1950s.
Sitting pretty, I was.
Then, Mom mailed me the manual. Printed in Italy. Pocket-sized. Red plastic cover. Spiral bound. Absolutely amazing.
Sitting pretty, I was.
Then, Mom mailed me the manual. Printed in Italy. Pocket-sized. Red plastic cover. Spiral bound. Absolutely amazing.
Who makes instruction manuals like this anymore? The answer is NO ONE. Not even Italy. Man, this is so great. Thanks, Mom, for such a treasure.
2 comments:
That is SO COOL! My grandma has a fifties Pffaf sewing machine that I have my eye on. This typewriter is beautiful though- I've never seen one in a bright color before! :) I actually had a hand-me-down typewriter when I was younger (but not that young) that I used to use. I wonder what happened to it.
That's ridiculously neat.
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