An advertisement from Hallmark Cards showed an elderly woman having to discard her stack of treasured cards.  It was an effective ad, and it resonated with lots of people who treasure and save cards they receive with birthday wishes, thinking of you sentiments, and expressions of sympathy, not to mention Christmas cards, congratulations, and thank you notes.  Recently while going through cards that have been stashed on my bookshelves and in desk drawers, I waxed a bit sentimental.  It wasn’t so much the printed messages that I considered; it was signatures.  Each signature reminded me of someone special.  In my mind’s eye I could see that person, remembered our relationship, and mused over the event that caused that person to purchase a card, address it, stamp it, and mail it – to me!
     My mother’s handwriting was neat and even. I would recognize it anywhere.  My father’s signature was more distinctive and dominant.  He used a special fountain pen engraved with his initials. I inherited the pen.  It is safely secured, but it reminds me that in my desk drawer are a number of Easterbrook fountain pens, along with a bottle of ink. I don’t use any of them, but maybe I should.  It might be fun to see those pens still work. But I digress.  The cards from my siblings have their signatures, which I would recognize anywhere. Each one had a distinctive style.
     A signature reveals a great deal about a person’s personality, attitude, and outlook about self and life. Handwriting specialists can identify traits such as ambition, laziness, optimism, depression, and even tendencies toward criminality or integrity. I had a friend who was a certified handwriting specialist, and she was a consultant to a number of large companies that used her expertise in their hiring processes.  She and I had “a field day” discussing the signatures of a number of notables and celebrities.  A few years before she died, she did a fun analysis of my then young children’s signatures.  She also found that I had a peculiar loop dealing with the letter “I,” as in “Indiana” that she said she “had never seen before.”   She asked me to practice the letter “I,” and yes, I did diligently work to improve my wayward way.
     While going through some books, I came across the signature of one of my favorite teachers. She was an English teacher and I also would recognize her signature anywhere. It had a funny little loop to it, which probably would have given my handwriting specialist friend a fit.  Anyway, my teacher’s name was Meta. In her neat but loopy handwriting she punished my lack of understanding about her assignments, especially diagramming sentences (something we had to do back then).   
     Several years after I graduated, I visited her. She was retired but sharp.  I told her I was sorry I didn’t measure up to her standards relative to diagramming sentences.  She sighed, took in a deep breath, then said, “I thought you just had a different point of view about those sentences.”  She made me happy when she told me she enjoyed having me as a student. She was busy decluttering her library and  handed me a book from her shelf.  The other day, I came across that book with her name in it.  I took time to leaf through it. Oh my, it was The Anatomy of Literature. I’ve never read the book, but I keep it because of her signature. That’s the way it is:  cards, letters, and now a textbook? I have got to get a grip.