Antique | Inside the Mind of Isadora

If you think about it, typing on a computer is remarkable. The device is extraordinary.

Just tap the keys and watch letters instantly appear on the screen right in fromt of you.

Recently, I was browsing through an antique shop on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
In one of the back rooms, I came across this old Corona typewriter.

My ever-ready camera started doing what it does best. It captured the moment.

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I learned how to type in high school. I had very little interest in learning how to type. I was going to be a professional dancer. I didn’t need to know how to type. But, I needed some credits. I thought it would be an easy class.

We used a newer version than this one pictured above. It wasn’t an electric typewriter. The electric typewriter came out much later. My first experience with an electric typewriter was during my first office job.

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There wasn’t a date on the typewriter. The antique dealer thought it might have been made between 1918 – 1923. He said there were several similar models made during this time period when LC Smith and Corona were merging.
The condition wasn’t very good. There wasn’t an ink ribbon for it. But, I imagine anything can be found on the internet; especially, for those who love to restore collectables.

Gazing at the typewriter, I began to reflect on how far things have come. We went from a machine that was primarily used for the business world to a computer that’s a part of everyones daily lives.

I wonder how many children would know what this typewriter is.

Do you think they’d call it an old computer?
Isadora
2016©Isadora DeLaVega

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Do you see the back seat in this Chevy Impala?

Do you think it was my seat in the back of the car?

No, it was not.

My older sister sat in that seat behind my mother. My younger sister sat in the middle. My brother sat on my mothers lap. Yes, you read that right. He was 2 years old then. It was before car seats for children were mandatory. If there had been an accident, he would have been mashed potatoes. The dashboard on the old cars were as hard as a wall.

I was in the back seat but on the other side right behind my father. There wasn’t any air conditioning. The windows were wide and rolled down the minute you got in the car.
For me, it was always ‘The ride from hell’. My fathers was a chain smoker. He smoked the best ones from that era. You know ‘Camels’. The unfiltered cigarette kind. They were very short which meant you had to pop another one in your mouth as soon as the first one was finished. I had the pleasure of inhaling nicotine and carcinogen chemicals on every car ride. As the wind blew into the car, along came the smoke and ashes right at me.

Have you ever tasted burnt ashes??

I have. It’s disgusting.

I was always car sick. There were many times he had to stop the car so I could vomit. It wasn’t pretty. Everyone would mock me for my delicate system and the tactics I had of spoiling everyones enjoyment of their Sunday drive.

The seats in the summer were always burning hot. There wasn’t a summer day I didn’t scorch my skinny legs on those seat. Eventually, after a lot of complaining, my mother decided to take a towel and lay it on the seat for us just before we’d leave. But only after spoiled favorite daughter #1 – the oldest – complained.

We’d arrive at our destination – a park, the beach or one of their friends house and I’d have to sit until the dizzy feeling would pass. Seltzer was the beverage I had to drink in order to settle my stomach while the others drank cokes.

I think about the fact that I do have those Sunday drives as a memory.
I just wish they could have been more fun for me.
2014©Isadora