When I was a young boy, 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.
“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 maths.
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, ” Wayne , 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.
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 Wayne ?” “
“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?
Why not pass this on? I just did….
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 loved this story and just had to pass it on.
I hope you find it lovable too.
CUT! Try again!
I WILL HAVE –
CUT! Try again!
I WILL HAVE
FIREARMS AND WEAPONS AND BULLETS!!!
I WILL HAVE
BONDAGE!!!! Where’s the fuzzy handcuffs?
I WILL HAVE FIRE!
No you’re not.
Yes, I will have that from you!
Okay – so first off, right off the bat, I am NOT an extreme weather avid movie goer. I’m not. I lived in Oklahoma my formative years and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in a storm cellar. I remember at the ripe old age of 9 looking out the back huge family room picture window, into the open field behind our house and asking my mom if clouds had tails. This one had 4. My parents had all four of us kids out and around the to storm cellar in nothing flat. When Spawn was a baby, the rain woke me and my mom up and we stood in his room and listened to the train that ended up being a tornado that took out one of the greenways and a house, along with several trees, that was across the street from our sub-division.
I like comedies. Or romantic stuff. Or Sci-fi and Fantasy. Star Wars. Tolkien. Harry Potter. That kind of stuff. I am NOT an extreme weather movie fan.
But my son is. My son LOVES that kind of stuff. He’s worn out THREE vids of Twister. Really. He could probably recite the entire script from beginning to end. When whatshisname died a few months back who was in it – he was desolate. Completely.
And truthfully, he holds ALL extreme weather movies to the high standards of Twister.
According to him, Into the Storm surpassed it. And I agree – it was really good.
Of course I went to see it for one reason and one reason only. Had HE not been in it, I would have suggested my son take a date. But… HE was in it. So I was happy to go.
So was someone else….
Where’s the popcorn?
You will fall in love with this damaged family, who has real issues that many of us can relate to.
No really. Where is the popcorn? Why am I in this silly circular seat?
And then there is Donk and his insane friend. Really. Stay to the very end. The VERY end.
Richard’s Mid-west American accent isn’t bad. He’s grumpy. But he also did excellent convincing us he was beyond concerned and really terrified for his son, who is NOT real happy with dad at this time.
And then we had…
Yeah and by the boo-koo. Excellent and realistic affects.
I’m not an extreme weather movie fan. Spawn will take a date next time he sees it. The theater was 4/5ths the way full, we got there just as the previews were coming on and we still had good seats at the top where we like. But there weren’t many open seats – except the few down in the bottom where one gets a bad cricked neck and sees pretty much nothing but nostrils on the big screen.
But I liked it and I’ll go see it again. And so might Thorin.
He liked it too!
(Look! Guy doesn’t like the new WordPress setup either!)
I just do.
Please note WordPress – this post under the old set up would have taken me about 3 minutes. However, since you decided to make mobile uploading easier at the cost of making those of us who upload on a computer, I have fussed with this for 30 minutes. I am NOT a happy customer. It really doesn’t make me want to wait around until you get your shit together – because apparently your best shit takes 2 weeks for you to respond to (to perkily tell me ooooooooooh sorry you’re upset! You’ll get used to it) or total dipshits on the forum, who can dish it out, but can’t take it back.
Making my old livejournal look better and better.
Looking at all the knitting magazines I have. really. The more I see, the more I want to do. I might have to stop writing if this keeps up.
Really. This needs to stop.
I also need to stop eavesdropping on my parents.
I had a glass of Coca-cola this afternoon with my peanut butter and honey sandwich and apparently they think I’m attempting to kill myself.
So while they whine about my lack of self control, we are ordering pizza for dinner. Yeah, THAT will help my blood sugar!!!
And lastly (almost lastly) I will more than likely post the last chapter of ‘Loving Gin’ a few hours early this evening. Typically, I feel wrung out and rather sad when I post the last chapter of a fic, but this time, it’s weird. I feel like I’m closing the book and walking away. I’m not. Not really. But this piece has been unusually dark for me and it has wrung a lot of feels from me I normally do not allow. And rather than start something new, I’m going to focus on the ones I’m working on already (manna, anyone?) including the ones it appears I’ve abandoned. (*coughcoughTelLindarTheVacationcoughcoughcough* Not to mention, I have a slight desire to return my beloved Rohirrim.
What is it with me and hairy males??? Short, tall, who cares? They are all the same height when you lay ’em down.
Actually, I’m thinking of taking some time and watching a lot of Jane Austen stuff and knitting. I just feel like I’ve been on a creative whirlwind as of late and I’m tired. Simply tired.
And just because….
As a heart attack.
I’ll quit now…
Wish he’d quit…
for my own personal filing information… under the folder I like, in folder YES YES YES I WANT – Knitting Simple Jackets – 25 beautiful designs.
Will take roughly 1500 yards of yarn.
Yes, there are things I want, really bad… but THIS is the jacket I first saw that did it for me.
And just cuz….