I found out yesterday that if I enter our home phone number and Don’s work number into my phone and hit send, my phone thinks I’m trying to reach someone in Russia!!!!  I have a new cell phone and I’m still getting used to it and for some reason it doesn’t always get rid of the first number I enter even after I have made the call, so when I dial the next number, my phone dials both!  I figured this out yesterday. I had called our house and then Don’s shop and I heard my phone saying something about international charges and when I pulled it away from my ear, I saw Russia blazing across my screen!  I fumbled around and hit the “end” button a bunch of times and it finally stopped trying to pry that unsuspecting Russian citizen off their couch.

A while back I remember reading something about the government wanting to implant chips into every American so our whereabouts could always be tracked.  I don’t remember all the details but I do remember thinking about all the feathers that would ruffle and then I got to thinking about our usage of cell phones and if they could possibly be a form of control among the masses.  We’ve become so addicted and dependent on these little devices over such a short period of time, haven’t we?  I’m not completely controlled by mine but I do use it.  I wouldn’t panic if I lost it or had to give it up as I choose not to store my entire existence on it.  For me it’s still just a handy way of knowing how Don’s day is going without actually talking to him and a way to check my blog and facebook and perhaps make a call…..to Russia!

Phones have really evolved.  Land lines are becoming less standard all the time.  I’m old fashioned in that sense and we do have a land line, but all of our phones are cordless.  I can’t say I miss being tied to a phone with a cord but when I was a kid, that was all we had.   I don’t remember party lines, but they were a normal part of conversing on the phone just before I had received my official training on how to make a call.  Our downstairs phone sat on the big old wooden buffet in the corner of our dining room.  It was a desk type model in a neutral tan color.  It had a very short cord so you were pretty much situated in the corner of the dining room during all of your conversations.  My mom sat our grade school pictures in their little fold out paper frames on that buffet along with the phone book and the old mantle clock dad had purchased at an auction sale.  When any of us kids were on the phone we would fiddle around with that clock and doodle on the pages of the phone book.  One time my brother decided to poke a pencil through my cheek on the kindergarten 5 x 7 glossy sitting in front of him while he exchanged words with a friend.  I knew he hated me back then, but that was then and things are beginning to turn around now, so life is good.  It only took 43 years.  We never would have had this problem if I would have arrived before him.  He really liked being the baby of the family.  He had held that position for 4 years and had no idea he would be asked to give it up.  My mom said that when they brought me home from the hospital, he sat on the steps and pouted and begged them to return me.  When he realized they had lost the receipt and I was staying, things got very interesting.

I’ll never forget the time when he talked my friend and me into standing inside the camper dad made, by the window, so he could throw water balloons at us.  We were stupid enough to agree and we both stood there with our noses pushed up against the glass posing as his target.    He was a bit of a rebel so he placed a “bullet” in each hand and what happened next taught all of us a very important lesson about quality merchandise.  Back then, anything that wasn’t made of glass was made to last, even balloons.  They flew through the air with the greatest of ease but upon impact, they DIDN’T EXPLODE but rather fell to the ground intact, jiggling like a couple of boobs!  The glass  camper window, however, shattered and sent my brother into “Dad is going to kill me!” mode.  My friend and I were fine as there was a metal screen on the inside of the window protecting us from flying glass but it was definitely something that wasn’t going to heal itself.  Jr knew the glass would need to be replaced and he knew dad needed to know what happened so he played one of his “Mom, will you please tell dad?” cards and prayed dad would let him live.  It always seemed like bad news coming from her was better than bad news coming from us.  Not once did we see him spank her and although he claimed his entire life that he only needed to give each one of us one spanking, we definitely gave him reasons to rethink that decision many times during our childhood years.  As an adult I can still remember him saying, “After each one of you got your spanking, you were expected to know better.”  He was right most of the time.  We still messed up occasionally but not on purpose.  I’m guessing our one spanking from him arrived because we were told “no” by mom and we didn’t listen.  I was so young when I got mine that I don’t even remember it.  I suppose that’s good but it does sort of make me wonder about the rotten baby I must have been.

Looking back is so fun.  Each and every one of us has a ton of memories from our childhood years and I’m so very thankful mine was what it was.  Not once do I remember dad ever threatening to kill any of us but I do remember the tremendous amount of respect we had for him and that crossing his line just wasn’t the thing to do.