“Time to give up the land line,” Cliff announced. “We don’t need to pay double for phone service.”
Give the land line?
Our phone number for thirty years?
Say you don’t mean it!
The calls I took:
From my brother: “Barb, Dad just died.”
From my daughter: “Hi! He’s born. His name is Mazen.”
From my editor: “Barbara, we want to publish your picture book.”
The calls I made:
To my husband: “There’s water pouring down from the guest room ceiling. Will you come home? Fast!”
To the doctor: “My daughter fell out of her crib. I can’t get her to stop crying.”
To my Mom: “Laura decided on a wedding dress. It’s gorgeous!”
And if I could have a penny for every minute I spent as a young mom on that line, I’d be able to buy my own phone company. That line was a lifeline, especially after I got my first portable phone. I scrubbed bathtubs, sorted out toy baskets, and baked birthday cakes (delicious ones by kid standards) while chatting away on that number.
So give up my land line?
I gave it up.
You can tell because I just wrote the number on the Internet.
Here it is again: 919-732-3108.
My grief surprised Cliff. In fact, he had the number “frozen” for a month, I guess in case I didn’t recover.
And I haven’t.
I still miss 919-732-3108.
But hey, I still miss kindergarten art on the refrigerator and our first cat.
Time mellows loss.
With the money we save, maybe we can, among other projects, repaint the guest room. That water left some nasty spots, and by golly, it’s only been twenty-some years.
What about you?
Have any of you given up your land line?
Photo: One of our first phones. I’m still amazed the cords stayed curled on those old phones. My hair sure won’t do that.
Further Information on the Flood: A hot water heater in an upstairs bedroom broke and sent gallons of water through the ceiling. (The bedroom used to be an apartment kitchen.)
An Observation: I find I no longer want to talk on the phone like I did as a young woman. What about you?