Where Has All The Cursive Gone?

I've found something new to add to my ever growing "you know you're getting older when..." list. There it was. Sitting in my mailbox. A hand addressed envelope. Actual cursive writing. Those lovely swoops and loops, swirls and serifs nearly made me swoon. I considered saving the envelope and tossing the card. OK, so I'm a cursive traditionalist.

Never mind that some of us suffered at the hands of ruler-wielding nuns who had no qualms about wrapping our young knuckles for even minor violations of the Palmer Method. Our classroom had examples of the entire alphabet, upper and lower case, pinned above the blackboards. There was even a place on our report cards to grade handwriting. That's how seriously we took penmanship.

As a left-handed second grader learning to write with a fountain pen, I was particularly challenged. Oh, I could form the letters correctly, bring the descenders below the line just far enough and the ascenders above it with equal skill. "A" for form. "D" for neatness. I held the invention of the ball point on a par with the wheel. No more smeared papers.

With the unstoppable popularity of the computer, cursive has become an endangered species --practically a dinosaur. All hail the keyboard!

Frankly, I can type way faster than I can write so the keyboard serves me well in a multitude of situations. I am hardly anti-keyboard. But when the message is more personal, like a journal entry, a birthday card or a thank you note, I reach for the Mont Blanc medium point blue ink.

Most of my Palmer Method lessons have been forgotten and my handwriting has morphed into a potpourri of cursive and printed letters. The mix varies depending on the space available and how much time I have to fill it. Yet, even with all my penmanship variations, I have never dotted an "i" with a heart -- a habit I find particularly annoying for anyone older than 14.

There's a hilarious scene in "Take the Money and Run" where the inept Woody Allen hands the "put the money in a bag, I have a gun" note to the bank teller. The teller asks what a gub is, even calls over the manager to decipher the message. Thus the drawback of cursive. As elegant and romantic as it might look, it still has to be legible.

The Workplace Geezer Factor

What part does the geezer factor play in the workplace hiring process? Are companies truly looking for someone with our vast experience or are they afraid we'll either take --- or keel ---over?

Since, at 61, I am back on the job market I decided to make myself the subject of this self-imposed sociological experiment.

Thanks to an impressive resume --- and selective distribution --- I had three interviews in a week. One of the tricks of resume writing is to leave off certain dates that, well , date you. My resume shows that I graduated from the University of Wisconsin but it doesn't say it was before the first moon landing. And, since the latest in resume writing says to only include ten years of experience, I just might be one of those career women eager to climb the corporate ladder and give up a life outside the office to succeed -- you know, like we did in our 30's.

Of course, no company can say outright they prefer younger workers, but there are signs. The suppressed look of surprise on the youthful face of the HR director when he first meets you is a dead giveaway. He feels like he's interviewing his nana. I want to tell him to sit up straight and stop gnawing on his pen .

It's been more than a decade since I've been on a job interview and, surprisingly, the questions haven't changed. Do I prefer to work alone or with a team. Please tell us about a time you had to think on your feet. What would you do if (include relevant scenario here).

I answered the questions enthusiastically and wisely, but from the arched eyebrow, minor eye roll and copious note taking by the interviewer, I assume my words were interpreted as the rantings of an old lady rather than the wisdom of age.

Final question -- "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" I babbled something appropriate like if I'm happy in a job I tend to stay, blah, blah, blah. But my mental image pictures told a different story --- retirement, baby, retirement.

If the HR child thought my wide grin was brought on by dreams of having him for a boss, I didn't disabuse him.