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The Old Phone
THE OLD PHONE
>
>
> When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our
> neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The
> shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the
> telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to
it.
> Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an
> amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing
she
> did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the
> correct time.
>
> My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my
> mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the
> basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but
> there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give
> sympathy.
>
> I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at
> the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the
parlor
> and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the
> parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the
> mouthpiece just above my head.
> A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
>
> "Information."
>
> "I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily
enough
> now that I had an audience.
>
> "Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
>
> "Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
>
> "Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
>
> "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
> "Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
>
> I said I could.
>
> "Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the
> voice.
>
> After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked
> her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She
> helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in
the
> park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
>
> Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
> Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then
said
> things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked
her,
> "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all
> families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
>
> She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul always
> remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
>
> Somehow I felt better.
>
> Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
> "Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I
> asked.
>
> All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was
> nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend
> very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home
> and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the
> table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood
> conversations never really left me.
>
> Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense
of
> security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and
kind
> she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
>
> A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in
Seattle.
> I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on
> the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what
I
> was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
>
> Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
> "Information."
>
> I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell
me
> how to spell fix?"
>
> There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your
> finger must have healed by now."
>
> I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea
how
> much you meant to me during that time?"
>
> I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.
> I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
>
> I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I
> could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
>
> "Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."
>
> Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered,
> "Information." I asked for Sally.
>
> "Are you a friend?" she said.
>
> "Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
>
> "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working
> part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks
ago."
>
> Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was
> Paul?" "Yes." I answered.
>
> "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
>
> Let me read it to you."
> The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
> He'll know what I mean."
>
> I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
>
> Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
>
> Whose life have you touched today?
>
> Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.
>
> Life is a journey ... NOT a guided tour.
>
> I hope you get a blessing from this today.
__________________
Cindi
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