How I Cherish My Land Line Phone Time

Our land line telephone loudly rings throughout the house, to the tune of one of Mozart's famous pieces. Please don't ask me which one. A computerized voice speaks to me, acting as my secretary, telling me exactly who is calling. She lets me know if it's worth it to even look for one of the four hand sets that are spread among several rooms, hiding under couches and beds, blankets and stuffed animals.

Mark Cell.

Stacey Home.

Walgreens.

Cris Tina. (The computer lady splits this name into two separate words).

Private Caller.

Grandma Home.

Kara.

MI FOP (They sure do call us a lot).

Many times, I run around the house, hunting down one of our phones, desperate to talk with someone I haven't spoken to in days or weeks. No matter what I'm doing, I perk up my voice and consciously tune in to what I know is about to be a fulfilling conversation. Mark often questions why I don't answer phone calls from him in the same way.

Other times, I ignore the call all together. I know what Walgreens wants...to remind me that my refill is ready, and private callers obviously don't deserve any attention.

Once I hold the phone in my hand, brushed against my cheek, I tend to keep busting through my day...for a while. Toss in a load of laundry; scrub gloopy globs of watermelon toothpaste from the bathroom sink; open the blinds to let in the tiny flecks of sunlight that peek through our shaded yard; maybe make a bed or two...maybe.

Eventually, I grow tired of the multitasking. I know that running the dish water and focusing on my friend's new work story are too much for me to handle. I don't want to do both. I make a shift. I reheat my coffee for the fourth time or make myself a fresh glass of iced water.

Then, I settle into my spot.

My talking-on-the-phone-spot.

I tune out the world around me, glance out at the beauty of nature through my front window, and immerse myself into the life that is coming at me through my phone line. Listening with careful consideration to the voice on the other end, I'm happy to be engaged with someone who isn't physically here. Sitting in my spot, my phone spot, helps me to forget about the busy-ness of my mom life. My school leader life. My wife life.

While we have lived in this house for only five years, this spot has existed for many, many more. I sit in my gliding chair, where I've spent countless hours, day and night, nursing and nuzzling and nurturing our four babies.

Rocking.

 

Reading.

 

Rejoicing.

Our chair is no longer situated in a child's nursery. Gone are the pastel colors, intoxicating smell of newborn Pampers, and our light-haired golden retriever resting at my feet. Instead, the chair now serves as a regular piece of furniture in our living room, where everyone can enjoy its lasting comfort.

 

Still a favorite reading spot, we can all fall into it with a book or magazine and forget real life for a while. Mark plays guitar from the couch across the room, while I simply rock and listen to his strumming. Each child takes a turn sitting in the spot while I write at my desk. They tell me stories about their days. Although much too big to rock in my arms, they will never be too big to share in the closeness that the chair promotes.

It relaxes us. It hugs us. It holds us.

If you call me on the phone for a chat, be sure that while we talk, I treasure those moments together. If you hear me making noise at first, just know that it's because my mind races through my to-do list. Just hearing your voice will quiet down those nagging feelings. Having a few giggles, confessing that you forget to send in field trip money, too, or checking on my carefree summer status will remind me to seek out my spot.

To sink myself into our family's spot and just listen. Just share. Just be.

Do you have a special place in your home for reading or knitting or talking on the phone? Why does it mean something to you?

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