I was young during the rotary dial days. I didn't realize how long ago and far away that technology was until we got a retro phone for the children with a clicking, rotary dial and my niece asked me how these phones worked. I explained that each number on the dial had an associated number of clicks and the clicks told the switching office how to connect your call.
Later, I was thinking of phone memories from my childhood. I was able to use the phone at a fairly young age to call my best friend across the street to see if she could come play. As I grew older, we learned about some phone numbers that you could dial and hear messages. I wasn't much of a prank caller. I just had no interest. But calling a phone number and listening to a recorded message was a pretty neat thing to do. There were two numbers I remember.
The first was a bank that had the time. I'm wondering if they also gave the temperature, but I think it was only the time. You could call the number, hear an automated message that told you the time, even though there was a clock right by the phone. This probably annoyed my mother because I would call it and then tell her her clock was off by two minutes. I liked to make sure her clock was correct. That, or I just wanted to call a phone number.
When I got to junior high school, one of the boys told me there was a number you could call to hear a message from the KKK. I didn't know what the KKK was, and when he told me I remember thinking there was no way. People aren't hateful, are they? Well it turns out, there was a recorded message. I thought it was a prank, but the voice was that of an older man. I have no idea what he said, but there was a number, and I guess in the early eighties someone cared enough to pay for a phone line and record meeting messages.
When I got to high school, we had a cordless phone. Cordless phones were just so darned cool. I have vivid memories of our Radio Shack one I about wore out from talking to my high-school friends. Every now and then, my phone would connect with my neighbor, who was in the super popular crowd. I've never really been interested in hearing what other people said, but I did listen in once for about five minutes to see what being popular was all about. Popular people talk about boring stuff I realized and hung up.
The Big Boy Update: Will I have to visit him in prison? It's so easy to blame behavior on, "the terrible twos," or "it's because he's a boy," but it does worry me that he seems to have no moral compass some of the time. The good news is that every single parent I talk to says this is normal, and their son(s) did the exact same thing. Yes, they spent more time yelling than praising some days, and that it will work itself out and not be concerned that I'm raising a budding psychopath.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Happy food dance. Both children do this thing where they sway back and forth when they have a food item they're particularly pleased with in their little sticky hands. You can see the happiness on their face when they're smiling and shoving something they love in their mouth. My daughter has a happy song dance that matches the happy food dance as well. Put on a good song and she'll sit on the floor and sway back and forth to the music and beam at you.
Fitness Update: Toes. Ouch. When I did the long run of phone death on Thursday, I should have stopped and tightened my shoes when they got completely drenched. My feet were sloshing around in them too much and I rubbed two toes too much. I had an inkling something was going on, but I was too preoccupied with the phone and the rain and getting home to take the time. Tomorrow I'm scheduled to do a long run with my neighbor and her friend. It's been healing well, so I think I'll be fine. Next time, I'll pay more attention.
Someone Once Said: Anybody can see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl she used to be. A great artist can look at an old woman, portray her exactly as she is…and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be…more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo see that this lovely young girl is still alive, prisoned in her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart. (about Rodin’s “Caryatid Who Has Fallen under Her Stone”)
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