Perhaps not an issue now that we are in self-isolation (or, at least, we should be). However, I still carry one with me, even if I’m just walking the dog. You never know when that spark of inspiration is going to strike.

Every time I leave my home, I carry a notebook; not the thin, plastic, automated type that so many people flaunt with pleasure and certainly not the i-pad fav of the day. My notebook is real, complete with a cover, binding, and pages on which to write – longhand, with a pen or pencil. Some of the pages are already full. I have spent my time wisely at every doctor’s appointment, every dentist appointment, every time I have to sit and wait. While I wait, I write. Longhand. Cursive. The secret code of the future.

There is power in the act of writing longhand, with pen or pencil on real paper. It’s not merely the mysterious qualities of the cursive letters. Writing cursive allows one to ponder their thoughts as they carefully set them down on paper. It allows the writer to relax and actually savor the moment of creation.

With the annoying clatter of texters all around us, the simple scratch of a pen as it makes its way across the surface of a sheet of paper is somewhat soothing. And it gives one a sense of purpose to the entire procedure as a page, once blank, fills with swirls and squiggles. Meaningless thoughts? Perhaps. But once on paper, these squiggles do project a certain depth of meaning.

That’s what happened with this little inspiration. It all began in a doctor’s waiting room, long ago when doctor’s waiting rooms were packed with patients seeking medical reassurance without worrying about catching the deadly virus of the day. As I waited, I wrote. I don’t always arrive at my appointments with a planned topic on which to write. Sometimes, it’s a spark of randomness, of precarious thoughts, like this one, that send me on a spiraling expansion of patterned squiggles. I filled a page in my notebook. And, the cursive is so secret in its rendition, even I have trouble deciphering what I wrote. My handwriting. Not the best. But it doesn’t matter. The mere act of writing passed the time productively and with a sense of purpose. All was not wasted and lost as I waited. And waited.

When an idea takes hold, all you can do is grasp on and record it, in writing, before it dissipates into thin air. Unfortunately, many of the world’s greatest ideas spark at the most inopportune times: like in the middle of the night when you’re in a deep sleep or when the water is comfortably hot in the shower. You can keep a notebook beside the bed. And, I mean a paper notebook, the real kind, with a pen or pencil handy. But have you ever tried writing in the dark? Perhaps this is where a tablet would come in handy as it would light up for you to write your thoughts. I’m stubborn, though. It’s entertaining (and sometimes frustrating) trying to decipher my handwriting in the daylight, what the squiggles should really mean, is a challenge for even the best cryptologist in the world.

Yes! I know! I can turn on the light. But that requires the effort of sitting up and putting on my glasses so that I can see. Then I have to wait for my eyes to adjust to the sudden glare. By the time I’m ready to jot down my famous idea, I’m fully awake. And, most likely, the great idea has vanished. I could invest in a smartphone or tablet, better known as a stupid device because it really does make you stupid. And I could keep this so-called smart device handy beside my bed, close by so that I can text my idea when it pops into my head. But I still need my glasses. There’s still the glaring light to contend with when the screen flashes up. And, in my state of half-awareness, who knows what I’ll type let alone what I’ll accidentally delete. Or, worse, I might send it to some person unknown so that they can claim my brilliant ideas as their own. Nope! Pen and paper is the best option for the middle of the night scribing.

Now, the shower. Or the bath, whichever you prefer. What to do? Neither paper nor high tech is waterproof. Do I write my idea in soap suds on the shower wall and hope it doesn’t wash away? Or keep muttering it repetitively until I dry off in the hopes that I don’t lose or misconstrue the memory? I’ve taken to muttering. Some people sing in the shower; I mutter.

And then there’s the waiting game. Even now, with Covid 19 dominating our every waking moment, all we can do is wait. Wait for test results. Wait for friends to respond. Wait to know more about the situation. Wait in line to get into the grocery store. Wait! Wait! Wait! I hate waiting. I like to be doing. Something. Always. Idle hands are the work of the devil or something like that. As others text noisily on their smart/stupid devices, I write in my secret code – cursive writing – with pen on paper. Very old-fashioned. I know. That’s me. But it’s worked for decades. Why change it now?’