Do you remember address books?
A book full of addresses and phone numbers listed alphabetically?
My grandma had a huge black book full of numbers and addresses. I thought it was magical. I can still see her beautiful handwriting. Here and there. And there, there, there. Lines crossed through street names and more written in the margins. Birthdates. Deaths. A book packed with information about loved ones.
When heartfelt cards and notes were penned and ready for delivery, to the trusted black book she would go. I so enjoyed looking through the book to see how many people I knew; when she would ask me to make a call for her, I would get so excited. I would carefully thumb through the pages to just the right name, place my finger so I would not lose my place, and dial.
How I loved talking! Holding the phone so professionally, hearing the familiar voice on the line, and delivering the intended message.
I still have a million phone numbers and addresses from 1989 in my head. Do you?
But, today, I basically know the phone number of nobody. If I was in jail and needed to make a call I'd be toast. And, if anyone actually sends a card or package, we have to send out an APB for an address.
As a writer, I am of course, a fan of written words. I want detailed communication. Paper trails. Evidence. Write it all. Hearing a familiar voice brings a smile. To everyone.
I would make a daring proposal. In these final days of the year. I propose we take a look back at 1989.
Maybe write some personal notes in the next few days. Make a personal phone call.
Wouldn't it be special? Wouldn't it make a wonderful gift for a new year?
Share your heart. Share a piece of your soul. With an old friend.
Buy a book of magic. One by one fill the pages with love. And keep it.
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