olution, and part of my new style was my own mandate that it be legible.

My friends begged me to write "notes" for them from their "parents" when they came in tardy. In junior high school, I taught myself calligraphy, supplementing other artistic pursuits, and immediately procured freelance work, including doing invitations. I made A's in all of my English classes because I worked at it

I have long noticed the decline in legible handwriting (and it did not just begin with the internet), and the decline in general literacy of American youth. As a former teacher, I noticed a correlation between these skills (or lack of them) in the work of my students. I see misspellings and typographical errors on television news reports, on billboards, in magazines-everywhere. Every time I see an advertisement for a product or service with errors, I assume that the carelessness in executing something so simple will also translate to carelessness in manufacturing or customer service or maintenance, and they don't get my business. Applications bearing illegible scribble posing as handwriting are to be deposited directly into File 13.

My parents were schooled through the Depression and World War II. Both had stunningly beautiful handwriting. My mother's was clear and flowing, despite punishment for being left-handed; she later taught other "south paws" her method for smear-free, legible writing. My father's looked like it hailed from the Declaration of Independence. I always admired it. I was taught cursive in 3rd grade, circa 1975. The repetitive drilling was, of course, boring to a third-grade mind that wandered to doodles in the margin, but I was also excited to learn and master a new skill, driven by love of my parents' writing. As I progressed through the grades, I revised and re-invented my handwriting into something more personal and aesthetic than traditional cursive (I critiqued the standard), but it served as a wonderful foundation for that evolution, and part of my new style was my own mandate that it be legible.

My friends begged me to write "notes" for them from their "parents" when they came in tardy. In junior high school, I taught myself calligraphy, supplementing other artistic pursuits, and immediately procured freelance work, including doing invitations. I made A's in all of my English classes because I worked at it;

ee an advertisement for a product or service with errors, I assume that the carelessness in executing something so simple will also translate to carelessness in manufacturing or customer service or maintenance, and they don't get my business. Applications bearing illegible scribble posing as handwriting are to be deposited directly into File 13.

My parents were schooled through the Depression and World War II. Both had stunningly beautiful handwriting. My mother's was clear and flowing, despite punishment for being left-handed; she later taught other "south paws" her method for smear-free, legible writing. My father's looked like it hailed from the Declaration of Independence. I always admired it. I was taught cursive in 3rd grade, circa 1975. The repetitive drilling was, of course, boring to a third-grade mind that wandered to doodles in the margin, but I was also excited to learn and master a new skill, driven by love of my parents' writing. As I progressed through the grades, I revised and re-invented my handwriting into something more personal and aesthetic than traditional cursive (I critiqued the standard), but it served as a wonderful foundation for that evolution, and part of my new style was my own mandate that it be legible.

My friends begged me to write "notes" for them from their "parents" when they came in tardy. In junior high school, I taught myself calligraphy, supplementing other artistic pursuits, and immediately procured freelance work, including doing invitations. I made A's in all of my English classes because I worked at it

ssion and World War II. Both had stunningly beautiful handwriting. My mother's was clear and flowing, despite punishment for being left-handed; she later taught other "south paws" her method for smear-free, legible writing. My father's looked like it hailed from the Declaration of Independence. I always admired it. I was taught cursive in 3rd grade, circa 1975. The repetitive drilling was, of course, boring to a third-grade mind that wandered to doodles in the margin, but I was also excited to learn and master a new skill, driven by love of my parents' writing. As I progressed through the grades, I revised and re-invented my handwriting into something more personal and aesthetic than traditional cursive (I critiqued the standard), but it served as a wonderful foundation for that evolution, and part of my new style was my own mandate that it be legible.

My friends begged me to write "notes" for them from their "parents" when they came in tardy. In junior high school, I taught myself calligraphy, supplementing other artistic pursuits, and immediately procured freelance work, including doing invitations. I made A's in all of my English classes because I worked at it

course, boring to a third-grade mind that wandered to doodles in the margin, but I was also excited to learn and master a new skill, driven by love of my parents' writing. As I progressed through the grades, I revised and re-invented my handwriting into something more personal and aesthetic than traditional cursive (I critiqued the standard), but it served as a wonderful foundation for that evolution, and part of my new style was my own mandate that it be legible.

My friends begged me to write "notes" for them from their "parents" when they came in tardy. In junior high school, I taught myself calligraphy, supplementing other artistic pursuits, and immediately procured freelance work, including doing invitations. I made A's in all of my English classes because I worked at it

olution, and part of my new style was my own mandate that it be legible.

My friends begged me to write "notes" for them from their "parents" when they came in tardy. In junior high school, I taught myself calligraphy, supplementing other artistic pursuits, and immediately procured freelance work, including doing invitations. I made A's in all of my English classes because I worked at it; I paid attention in class; I did the homework; I asked questions. I was the geek who thought that diagramming sentences was fun. In high school (mid-80's), I excelled at typing and shorthand classes; later I learned numeric keypunching and could do over 17,000 keystrokes an hour when in practice (with 99% accuracy). I started learning computer programming as a junior. In college I learned manual hand-drafting and the precise style of printing that came with it, and then I learned AutoCAD.

I never abandoned handwriting, despite the fact that I am not foreign to technology or "writing" aids. I typed 80 wpm and wrote shorthand at 90 wpm. These were useful skills for note-taking and research paper-writing. But I always took notes, wrote drafts and outlines, and took tests in longhand--legibly and articulately. Taking notes on paper is much more portable and convenient. But it isn't just the writing that was important. Little building blocks depend upon each other and cannot exist alone. There is more on the table than merely learning individual skills. One learns persistence, knowledge as its own reward, a proper attitude to carry through life. The tenacity cultivated by learning mundane skills and then progressive ones--and to follow through with each--enabled me to develop into a person who could complete two college degrees and begin a rewarding career.

Today strangers consistently compliment me on my handwriting. I am a prolific poet. I am also studying my third language: Russian--I have long since learned the Cyrillic alphabet in print and a l