Telephones

This is in response to the Writer's Post Blog Hop hosted this week by Cat Graham at "Cattitude and Gratitude". 

        Growing up the telephone was the only way we had to keep in contact with my Dad when he was on the road.  He was an over the road truck driver most of his life.  Back in those days they didn’t have cell phones and when they finally invented them they were so bulky and expensive that most folks like my parents couldn’t afford them.

        Because of that my Dad was forced to use payphones to call home, his dispatcher, and brokers.  My Dad would call home every Sunday and Wednesday night like clockwork, no ifs or maybes about it.   He would share where he was and where he had been, ask how school was going for me, and end the call with an “I love you, be good!”  To be perfectly honest, those destinations and places went in one ear and out the other.  I never remembered where he said he was or where he was going.   After a while my parents invested in a toll free phone number for the house and finally a pager to make communication a little easier.

         Things have sure changed since those early years with cell phones being inexpensive and readily available.  At this point, we no longer have a land line, just a cell phone.  That cell phone is my life line.  It allows me almost constant access to my husband at any hour of the day or night.  We talk, we text, and send each other pictures.  My son, daughter, and I talk to their Dad every night.  It makes the time apart bearable.  It keeps us connected.  I never have to wonder if he will call, only when.  My husband is the only other man besides my Dad that I could always count on to call me hell or high water.  Once again, no maybes about it.  It is not the same as being together, but it is the next best thing and a far sight better than only talking twice a week.  Thank heavens for technological advances that continue to bring everyone in the world a bit closer.

     

           

Wrong Number- BFF 244

      When I was a kid it was tradition for my family to wake up at 5:00 am Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought.  My sister and I were so filled with excitement for the surprises of Christmas morning that we couldn’t wait to get the party started.  My Dad insisted that no one would have Christmas before 5:00 am.  That was law, as written in stone as any rule could ever be.  My sister and I would set our alarm clocks and as soon as that first blast from the clock roused us from sleep, we raced out to the living room to see if Santa had in fact come.  The bulging stockings would seem to magically sparkle. Once Santa’s arrival had been confirmed, we raced to my parent’s room to wake them.

      It used to drive us crazy how my dad in particular took his sweet a$$ time getting out of bed and ready for opening presents Christmas morning.  He knew how excited we were.  He would stumble into the bathroom and stay in there so long you would swear he had fallen in.  How can a person honestly sit on the toilet and meditate while taking a $hit on Christmas morning knowing your kids were biting at the bit to get to those presents?  I mean, drop your load, wipe, and hurry the hell up!!  Santa had been there for crying out loud!  He always took his time.  The door would open with a blast of foul smelling air that he had tried to camouflage with Old Spice as he sauntered out to the kitchen right past the presents like he didn’t have a care in the world.  Once there he would start the coffee maker and we would have to wait until he had his first cup of coffee.  In the time it took him to move his bowels and fill up with his morning dose of caffeine my mother had managed to dress and join us in our impatient vigil staring at the bounty that awaited us to open.

       My sister and I always phoned my Grandma first thing in the morning to wish her a Merry Christmas and in turn tell her what we had gotten for Christmas.  Even 
though we always celebrated Christmas with her a few hours later with breakfast and more gifts, it was tradition to make the call.  We would tear through our Christmas stockings and gifts, and then rush out to the hall phone to make our annual call.  My sister being the oldest dialed the number and then held out the receiver.  It rang once, twice, three times, and then after the fourth ring Grandma picked up.  Before she could even say hello, we screamed “Merry Christmas Grandma!!!” at the top of our lungs.  The only problem was it wasn’t Grandma.  A very annoyed male voice demanded “Who the hell is this?”  Oh my G0d!! It wasn’t Grandma!  With eyes the size of saucers my sister hung up the phone.  Several seconds passed in silence as we stared at each other with our jaws dropped and our hands up on our mouths in dismay.  We both screamed and ran into the living room laughing hysterically.  After that, my sister was afraid to dial the phone again and insisted my mom call Grandma.  The second phone call was met with a quieter Merry Christmas from the both of us and a full retelling of what we had done peppered with giggles.

          It could have only been a little after 6 in the morning when we roused that random guy out of his snug bed to scream in his ear that Christmas.  I bet he was wondering why.  In retrospect, while he couldn’t have appreciated our holiday cheer and exuberance at the butt crack of dawn at least we didn’t wake him out of a deep sleep blasting profanity in his ear.  That would have been unforgivable until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Telephone

NaBloPoMo asks:

When you are speaking with someone do you prefer to look them in the eye or talk to them over the phone?

       If I had to choose whether I would rather talk to someone on the phone or look them straight in the eye, I would pick the phone each and every time.  I have been shy my whole life.  Afraid of saying the wrong thing or having anyone scrutinize me a little too closely, I have found the real me comes front and center when talking to people on the phone or online.   I hate when people stare at me.  It drives me batty and makes me wonder whether my fly is open or my breasts are hanging out.  Do I have a horn in the center of my head?  Take a picture, it will last longer.  Just please don’t stare at me!!  It freaks me out!!

       With the protective barrier of the telephone or the computer, I am no longer self conscious about my appearance because whoever is talking to me on the phone or internet can‘t see me.  There is also the added extra bonus of hanging up and logging off if you want too.  If you are speaking eye to eye it is a little harder to run away!

    

        Fortunately as I have aged I have become more outgoing and gained a little more confidence.  I am more apt to speak up and tell people just how it is with few qualms giggling more easily to hide my nervousness until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.