Touching Base

      

I talked with all three of my children yesterday.  That may not seem like a sentiment worth mentioning, but I find it fairly remarkable.  My children are grown and live scattered about.  One lives in our hometown of Elizabeth City, NC.  One lives 3,000 miles away on the west coast.  And one lives in our state capitol, Raleigh, NC.  I live in Farmville, VA.

With the dawn of cell phones, email and social media, staying “in touch” is easier than ever.  Friends text to connect all day long, often interrupting work or sleep or just about anything one finds themselves doing while toting a phone.  I’ve seen people who should know better, crossing a five street intersection while texting.  And, we’ve all encountered the distracted motorist looking into his or her lap while waiting for an already green light to turn green.  Or, worse still, careening down four lanes astride the middle line. These days you can “reach out and touch someone” as fast as your fingers can move.

I remember when I left home for college in 1968.  My parents suggested that I call home on Sunday evenings – only.  Using long distance more than once a week would have been considered too indulgent.  Like most girls’ colleges of that era, there was one pay phone on the hall.  There were no pre-paid phone cards.  You either had a roll of dimes or you called “collect” through the operator.  I always called collect. 

It was a time I looked forward to…a chance to share my week and find out about things at home.  Just hearing my mom or dad’s voice over the line often put a lump in my throat and tears weren’t far behind.  There’s an intimacy that comes with talking on the telephone.  It’s a precious familiarity of speaking in hushed tones and hearing laughter and noticing pauses in conversation.

We all can recall those special phone calls…the ones that change your life for better or worse.  The good news of a new grandchild, or the relief that she’s (he’s) home safely, or the test results were negative.  All too often however, the phone is a channel for bad news.

During the days before telephones were common at Nags Head, we used to occasionally receive word from the grocery store up the road that they had a phone message for us.  I learned that my x-ray had indeed indicated that my foot was broken, and I must travel back to Elizabeth City to have it casted….for a month, in mid-summer.   And far worse, my mother learned of a dear friend’s fatal accident.

 There have been times when I dreaded answering the phone.   Seems there is no good news at 3 AM.  But regardless of what the call might reveal, I always answer.  We now have the marvelous benefit of caller ID and can anticipate before the “hello” whose voice we’ll hear.  Lately the news is all good.  I feel blessed, and oh - so lucky.

Kate, the youngest, called first thing yesterday morning (as she always does before leaving for work.  She was walking her new puppy and just checking in.  She likes to hear my voice just as I like to hear hers.  You can tell at lot by listening closely.  All is well in Raleigh she reported.   Son John (middle child) called about 5:00 (2:00 Pacific time) as he was riding his bike home from work.  He’s working as a prep chef in a restaurant these days and loving life.  He’s doing a fair amount of surfing on his day off.  Santa Barbara is hard not to like.  He was just touching base I imagine because he knows how much it means to me.  Then low and behold, Jenny (senior child) called me to talk about her day.  She unfolded her day for me as I fried fish (yeah, fried!) for dinner.  Just reaching out.  It was nice.

 

There’s a feeling of completeness after I’ve spoken with all of my children.  I can visualize them in their lives, doing what they’re doing and I know that for now, this day and moment, all is well and right in my world.