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From my youth up I never liked the city.
I never forgot the mountains where I was born.
The world caught me and harnessed me
And drove me through dust, thirty years away from home.
Migratory birds return to the same tree.
Fish find their way back to the pools where they were hatched.
I have been over the whole country,
And I have come back at last to the garden of my childhood.
My farm is only ten acres.
The farm house has eight or nine rooms.
Elms and willows shade the back garden.
Peach trees stand by the front door.
The village is out of sight.
You can hear dogs bark in the alleys,
And cocks crow in the mulberry trees.
When you come through the gate into the court
You will find no dust or mess.
Peace and quiet live in every room.
I am content to stay here the rest of my life.
At last I have found myself.
— Tao Yuan Ming (Tao Qian) Chinese, 365-427
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I know its a beer commercial too, but its also true. Handwriting is essential. Irreplaceable.
I attended a Catholic grammar school from 1945 to 1953. I learned penmanship through the first five grades and we graduated from pencil to pen in the third grade. I remember well the cork tipped pen holders, the nibs, the inkwells and the pen wipes. By the sixth grade the nuns believed that all their students could sign their names clearly and those signatures could be clearly understood. Even today whenever I sign my name in public, like at a bank or the DMV, the person across from me will often comment on my signature. A clear signature is so rarely seen these days.