the kitchen phone

One of the things I love best about my parents house is their stationary telephone.  It’s been in the exact spot, in the kitchen, ever since they built they house almost thirty years ago.  The cord has been changed several times and is now extra, extra long.  My husband walked by it the other day and furrowed his brow with a quick, “why don’t they get rid of this thing and put a portable phone here?!”  I immediately yelled, “No way!” not even sure of exactly why I had such strong reaction.

But having thought about it later, I realize that I have too many fond memories of that phone; too much important news has been delivered in that very spot — sicknesses and death, birth announcements, the principal’s office, etc.  Growing up the four of us had a bit of a memorized dance we would perform particularly if my mother was on the phone while cooking dinner.  The cord, strung across our galley kitchen, was constantly being raised and lowered for the passing (or interfering) patron, all the while never breaking stride in the conversation.  The one talking on the phone would converse and twirl, becoming entangled in the cord until finally the conversation ended and we could begin the detangling process.

And just like old times, I found myself walking into my parents kitchen yesterday spying my father at his end seat at the bar, engaged in a jovial conversation with an old friend, cord wrapped twice around his wrist ready to be moved.  I kissed my mother as she floated back and forth between stove and sink and before I could wave hello to my dad his arm was already in the air — raising the spiral bridge that I’ve walked under a thousand times.

There’s no way we could get rid of that phone.

But I wouldn’t mind adding this beauty to my home.  We can buy them here!


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