I normally blog first thing Monday and Friday mornings. I have a little ritual on those mornings. I get my older kids off to school, I get my youngest child engrossed in an activity, I make another cup of caffeine, and I sit down at my computer and write. But, that’s not what’s happening today.
Instead, the change to our internet, which I have a letter stating shall take place after 5 pm, rendered my Internet null and void at something closer to 8 am. Also, being my children are on Spring Break, my peace and quiet is also null and void.
So here I sit. On the kitchen stool, one-fingering this missive out on my iPhone, hoping this works. I know, part of that previous sentence may be causing you to ponder “why?” but trust me. Some things are better unknown.
However, since we all know I can’t resist over-sharing, I shall now explain why my hiney is currently acquiring a stripped pattern as I sit in my hallway with an aching index finger.
I happened to be walking from the laundry room into the kitchen when I noticed a phone number on the white board. Did I lose you? Let me explain. My laundry is in my converted kitchen-turned pantry and laundry. Opposite the door is the original singular phone jack in my house. It now powers my router and technological hub. I got tired of hunkering down before the router and dragged over the step-stool from the kitchen. The time lapsing between rebooting and giving up on the process was long enough that I became bored. And subsequently read some phone numbers written on the white board hanging above me.
The feeling that some productivity could be salvaged over-came me. So I picked up my dry-eraser and set about updating my list of phone numbers.
And it turns out that every number now currently disconnected was written in Sharpie. In handwriting not my own.
Rather than focus on the appointment of guilt, I shall instead focus on the real message here: the past is never truly gone.
Because even though I managed to scrape the damn permanent ink from the board, a shadow of a once-dialed number remains. Just like the lost friendships and marriages that those now invalid phone numbers remind me of….
No matter how far we move forward, our past is still with us, even if it is only a hazy shadow of its former self.