THE OLD PHONE

Something that was emailed to me?, thought is was sweet.

 THIS HAPPENED IN THE 'GOOD OLD DAYS' WHEN PEOPLE REALLY CARED ABOUT
EACH OTHER.

 When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our
 neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall.

The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach
the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked
to it.

 Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an
 amazing person. Her name was 'Information Please' and there was
nothing she did not know.   Information Please could supply anyone's number
and the correct time.

 My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while
my Mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in
the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible,
but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give
 sympathy.

 I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally
arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in
the Parlor and dragged it to the landing; climbing up, I unhooked the
 receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.

 'Information, please,' I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

 'Information.'

 'I hurt my finger,' I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily
 enough now that I had an audience.

 'Isn't your mother home?' came the question.

 'Nobody's home but me,' I blubbered.

 'Are you bleeding?' the voice asked.

 'No,' I replied. 'I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.'

 'Can you open the icebox?' she asked.

 I said I could.

 'Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,' said
the voice.

 After that, I called 'Information Please' for everything. I asked her
for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia  was. She
 helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught
in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

 Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died.  I called,
 'Information Please,' and told her the sad story. She listened, and
then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I

 asked her, 'Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring
Joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of
a cage?'

 She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ' Wayne ,
 always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.'

 Somehow I felt better.

 Another day I was on the telephone, 'Information Please.'

 'Information,' said in the now familiar voice.

 'How do I spell fix?' I asked.

 All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I
was nine years old, we moved across the country to  Boston. I missed my
 friend very much. 'Information Please' belonged in that old wooden box

 back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone
that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of

 those childhood conversations never really left me.

 Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene
sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding,
and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

 A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in
 Seattle.  I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15
 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then

 without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and
 said, 'Information Please.'

 Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
 'Information.'

 I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, 'Could you please
tell me how to spell fix?'

 There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, 'I guess
your finger must have healed by now.'

 I laughed, 'So it's really you,' I said. 'I wonder if you have any
idea how much you meant to me during that time?'

 'I wonder,' she said, 'if you know how much your calls meant to me. I
 never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.'

 I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked
if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

 'Please do,' she said. 'Just ask for Sally.'

 Three months later I was back in Seattle;  a different voice answered:

 Information.' I asked for Sally.

 'Are you a friend?' she said.

 'Yes, a very old friend,' I answered.

 'I'm sorry to have to tell you this,' she said. 'Sally had been
working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks

 ago.' Before I could hang up she said, 'Wait a minute, did you say your name

 was Wayne?'

 'Yes.' I answered.

 'Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you
 called. Let me read it to you.' The note said, 'Tell him there are
other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'

 I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

 Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

 Whose life have you touched today?

 Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long
 for.

 Life is a journey ... NOT a guided tour. So don't miss the ride and
have a great time going around.  You don't get a second shot at it.

  With thanks to Barbara Edwards

    For the Christian Prayer is not an option but an opportunity.