Early in our relationship, which is to say a long time ago, Alan gave me a very nice fountain pen. A Montblanc Meisterstuck, to be exact. I think he paid $140 for it, at a pen store on Calhoun Street in Fort Wayne. I’ve used it off and on over the years, because a fountain pen isn’t just something to write with. You gotta maintain it, too, clean it and keep the correct ink source nearby. At one point it spent several years in retirement, in the pencil cup on my desk, until I decided it was a shame to have such a beautiful pen and not use it, so I took it to the fancy-pen spot at the luxury mall in the suburbs, and they cleaned it up and returned it to service.

The thing about this pen are the details. The six-pointed white star on the tip of the cap, for example. It’s supposed to suggest a snow-capped mountain, as the company is named for the highest peak in the Alps. The pen-store clerks will tell you that in the Arab states, where luxury goods are in great demand, the company sells pens with just a round white tip on the cap, for obvious reasons. The nib has 4810 etched on it, the height of Mont Blanc in meters. Google will tell you the correct number is 4805.59, but the higher number is based on the height including the ice cap. Climate change probably has it closer to the Google number, so it’s fitting that this century-old company sticks with the bigger one.

I’ve been using it ever since. I find handwriting a to-do list is more satisfying than making one on my laptop. I also do a little journal-writing, the occasional check, this and that. When I travel, it goes along, in the elastic pen loop on my planner. I like it. The other day, I idly looked up what it would cost to replace, should what often happens with pens come to pass.

Reader, I nearly died: $810.

A friend of mine is in the Use the Good China camp. Open the special bottle, use the crystal, use the good china. What are you saving it for? Why leave it in the cabinet? And I agree, mostly. At the same time, I went to the pen place where I buy my Montblanc cartridges and bought a $35 Pilot fountain pen, plus a box of ink cartridges. I now use the two pens on alternating days, but only the Pilot will leave the house. At least I don’t have to worry about someone stealing it, although it is a cute purple. The Pilot blue ink is a little brighter, a little bluer. Here’s Fancy Pants and Purple Pop side-by-side.

If you’re wondering, I also use luxury pencils. I have a box of Blackwing 602s in my desk drawer, a sharpened one on my desk. I hardly ever write with pencils, but when I do I appreciate every little thing about the Blackwing. I gave Kate a box for Christmas, to go with the NYT crossword-puzzles book in the same package. (And a pencil sharpener, the small appliance people forget until they need one.)

It’s the little things. The things you touch. The things that are connected to the work you do in a primal way. I do nearly all my writing on a keyboard, but if you’re a writer you should have a decent pen. Now I have two.

Did anyone watch the president Wednesday night? I tried, or rather, I heard it coming from Alan’s iPad. But I noped out after five minutes, figured I’d read the NYT story the next day. Didn’t miss anything.

Happy weekend, all.