Slow day at the coffee shop. Bailey and Nat were behind the counter. No customers were behind me. I asked Bailey if she wrote cursive.

Yes. She told about learning it, she thought when she was eight, in Washington. “Then we moved to Tennessee. I was just learning how to write cursive then.”

“Can your children read cursive?” I asked.

“My daughter can. She’s thirteen and she just learned to read and write cursive. My son can’t, yet. He’s younger and I think they’re going to teach it this year.”

I then explained why I was asking. We’d been at the DMV in Medford where the agent joked about the need to read cursive. Her children couldn’t read or write it.

Bailey asked Nat if she could write cursive. “Yes,” Nat agreed. “But we were the last class to be taught, we were told.”

I said, “I’m happy to hear they’re still teaching it.”

Bailey volunteered, “Yes, but I think it varies with the district. I’m 38.”

Nat said, “I’m 24.”

“You learned in California, right, Nat?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes, and my teacher was like, you will learn cursive. I’m not changing my writing. You will learn it.”

Her imitation had us laughing.

So, cool. Here in Ashland, at least, cursive remains alive.