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A heavy 1937 Underwood typewriter perches on a dedicated shelf in my office. Steel levers and margin stops, iconic round brass keys with letters stamped into their centers. Its presence is regal. For years, my grandmother used it nearly every day, even to type a short grocery list. When she passed away, the typewriter passed to me. This vintage machine is a physical reminder of her. Formidable. She stood four-foot and ten-inches tall in her stocking feet. Short, silk-fine, light-brown hair with a wave. Sharp, laser-focused eyes, like a judge’s or a general’s, offering her brand of wisdom—wanted or not. Righteously Lutheran. Put no stock in the Age of Aquarius or being a Capricorn, born on January 18th. My grandmother and my godmother. The significance of and has played out in in my life...