When I was a reporter, the bosses always cautioned me to have a pen handy in case I stumbled across a good story. The idea of sitting in Washington, staring at a computer all day, did not appeal to me; I’m glad to have missed that nightmare change in journalism. But I did get a pen fetish, and ever since, I’ve been obsessed with pens and always have a bunch around; I keep telling Maria it’s better than drinking. She agrees – most of the time. The other day we drove down to the Fiber Mill to drop off the wool, and we stopped in a diner.

I always have boxes of pens nearby when I work or write. Most dry up and get thrown out. Some still work.

Maria noticed that I lit up right away, and she couldn’t figure out what was exciting me and triggering such a smile. I spotted some colors up on the counter near the kitchen. Someone had made some homemade pens for kids. “I have to get that pen,” I said.  I loved the blue one (above)

Marrying Maria was a gift in many ways, one of which is that she just laughs at my strange quirks and fetishes.  (I laugh at hers). She took this in stride and laughed. I told the waitress I was getting it for my granddaughter. Then I confessed I was getting it for me. She laughed; she said she had the same obsession. I asked my daughter Emma when I got home if Robin, my granddaughter, likes pens. Emma said she wasn’t sure she had ever seen one.