I have an incredibly bad handwriting. It’s something everyone can agree on. Nobody ever says, no, no, Mike, you’re being too hard on yourself; you have an OK handwriting. Nobody’s ever said that. The parts that are legible in my writing are like the scribblings of a three-year-old. The parts that aren’t legible are worse. I take notes all the time, but I never go back to my notes. Why would I? I can’t read them. People say, just slow down when you’re writing. That makes it worse. (I can’t sing either; I’m no more on key when I sing slowly.) The handwriting problem has been lifelong for me; the shaky hands thing is new. My handwriting is so bad, I can’t even say the shaky hand makes it worse.
In all my blog postings, the thing that got the worst reception–worse than my thoughts on religion or politics–was my admission that the note I was writing to my granddaughter–the note she’d open in eleven years when she turns 16–would be typed. I was told over and over again all the good reasons the note should be handwritten. I agreed with all of them. They didn’t change my mind.
I continue to get wonderful handwritten notes from a number of people. I hope the senders know how much I appreciate them. (Of course, maybe they’re sending them to make sure their comments don’t get posted here.)
Someone told me she thought it was “horrible” that I even send condolences via emails. I hope it’s not worse than sending nothing.