My mother has a new phone number for the first time in sixty years. She has had this “little phone for my purse” a while. But I never even bothered memorizing that number. I could pull it up on my own cell phone if I needed to, but I never thought of it as my mother’s number. My mother’s number was the one that had rung in her house for as long as I could remember.
The number has morphed a little over the decades. We started out as Belmont-9 back in the days when numbers were marked by short and long rings. By the time we got a rotary dial, that had been shorted to B-E-9, though you never had to dial that part. Nobody called long distance unless it was an emergency.
Eventually, the Chariton Valley Telephone Company came across the country and cut straight through our barnyard to lay cable so everyone could have their own private line. (A crew came behind them to fix the fence so the cows wouldn’t get out.) We couldn’t keep track of one another nearly as well without the party line, and B-E-9 became 239. But, we managed.
Now, my parents aren’t able to manage quite so well anymore. Things like driving and cooking and keeping house have become very hard work for them. They can’t quite manage the trek to the mailbox, so neighbors have been bringing in the mail. (Thank you, Neighbors.) It seems even without the party line, we’re keeping track of one another pretty well after all.
When I wrote Thirty Days to Glory, I dedicated it to my mother because of her ability to embrace every season of life.
“She taught us that every Christmas tree was the best one ever.”
I didn’t expect her to be facing my heroine’s housing dilemma quite this soon. But, once again, my mother is a champion. Last Saturday, she and my dad left the hilltop they had shared for a lifetime and allowed us to drive them into town to a new, efficiency apartment.
For one, tiny moment her resolve faltered. And mine threatened to break into a thousand pieces if hers did. But she took a breath, nodded her head, and moved on.
Into the next season.
Into the new day.
Toward the best Christmas Tree Ever once again.
I’ll be memorizing that new telephone number now.
❤️
I am happy they are moved into a cozy apartment before the winter arrives, but I also know the heartache of them leaving behind the familiar. Your mother said she told your dad they lost everything in the fire, so they could get through this, too. They know things are just “things” and people are important.
So absolutely true.
tears……….remembering the same with Mother……it’s all gonna be o.k…..
Oh my….
So, you’ve moved approximately a hundred times in your life, without complaint – usually downsizing, too. Either we’ll be moving you to a shoebox when you’re 80, or it will go the other direction, and you’ll finally get that sprawling ranch. I mean, you’ll certainly be due. I’m proud of Grandma. And I’m inspired to take all things with grace.
You know I’m suddenly a fan of the tiny house movement…
Just read this with tears in my eyes, Kathy. Wonder why?
Oh, Sara Beth! I know you are embracing the transitions of life with grace, as well.
I was just talking to a friend this week about not being able to get rid of some stuff because I have collected things I really love. Tonight I look around and ask myself, “What would I grab in case of fire?” and am thinking of letting the rest go.
I’m trying to get down to only things I love and then actually using them. Like my grandmother’s dishes. Why store them in a cabinet so my granddaughters can store them in a cabinet? I’m using them!