Now this I say, he who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.
2 Cor 9:6
I own seven fountain pens. Perhaps that sounds decadent, snooty, or yuppie to you. But they represent more than simply pride in ownership of nice objects; they represent a renewable way of life that is slipping away in America with nary a whisper farewell.
It started, I imagine, with mass-production and the advent of rapidly-produced but lower-quality items. No longer did people buy razors for life, re-sharpening a ten-year-old blade; how much simpler to simply purchase a new razor, or new blades, when the old became dull. Pens, too, experienced this change: how much more economical to turn out cheap Bic ballpoints at 4¢ each and have consumers use them until the pen ran out of ink or was lost. Because who cares if you lose a pen that cost less than a piece of paper? Even higher-quality pens cost $5 for three or four, and their loss may cause a pang — but not a long one, since you can simply purchase a new set of three to replace the lost one. Fountain pens do come that way too. I once found a throw-away fountain pen in a snow drift, still full of ink (its nib feels like writing with a bar of steel and the ink’s quality is laughable).