toto
2005-04-30 18:36:58 UTC
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, "Paul 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
call 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 Paul?" "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.
--
Dorothy
There is no sound, no cry in all the world
that can be heard unless someone listens ..
The Outer Limits
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, "Paul 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
call 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 Paul?" "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.
--
Dorothy
There is no sound, no cry in all the world
that can be heard unless someone listens ..
The Outer Limits