Saturday In the Park...

Not to steal lyrics from old songs by the group Chicago, but these are some photos of my recent outing to Lowry Park with Godot, including the park trail, boat ramp and some of the homes and private docks along the river's edge across from it.

The trail is fairly short, but when one does it a couple of times, it is a nice workout and an excuse to get some fresh air. I am in the second photo and yes, I call my chair Godot, after the character in the Beckett play because I waited for what seemed an interminable period for it to arrive.

Besides the park and boat ramp, there is a zoo, a bandshell for concerts, river rides and picnic facilities with playgrounds.

Happy Trails!

Theme Thursday: Telephone

Much has been written about the telephone, that precursor to the ubiquitous cell that seems forever plastered to human ears these days.

While it would be easy to report on some obscure, yet historically compelling fact regarding the telephone, I prefer a more personal approach.

It was a telephone call from South Carolina to a local sheriff in upstate New York that first alerted my mother's parents and siblings to my earlier-than-expected arrival. They were without a phone and the sheriff made a visit to the house in which they were staying while on a summer visit to the U.S.

I was born in early August, though not due to arrive until late October.

Phones in those days were used sparingly, and long distance rates being high, one had to either have very good or very bad news before making a call. I'm not sure in which category my birth fell, as all concerned were more than a bit surprised.

Later living overseas, we had few such calls from relations or friends. Letters and cards, however, were prized. When the rare long distance call heralded the birth of my niece in 1972, I was the one to answer the phone and relate the details to my parents who were not at home at the time.

I was also fortunate to speak with one or the other of my maternal grandparents almost daily during my early and middle childhood. As they lived an hour away from my mother and I, this was generally by phone, and no long distance rates applied. We were in the same country, a mere train ride from one another. Having lived with them from infancy through age four, I rarely let an opportunity slip to talk then, a situation that I'm sorry to say, reversed itself dramatically in my teens, and thereafter.

Becoming more reserved, I grew to despise the intrusion the telephone often represented. I have never been one to believe that a ringing telephone should be answered at all costs, to the great annoyance of friends and family. Today, e-mail, which one can send from anywhere at any hour, has largely supplanted the telephone for long distance communication in my household.

That said, I have never forgotten the telephone conversation in which my mother related the unvarnished story of my conception, an episode which left me with the certain knowledge that there are things one's parents should simply keep to themselves.

Of course, the jewel in the crown of these familial missives, which also occured via telephone, left me a bit shocked. I was an undergraduate on a study break and it was Sunday, the day designated for me to call home.

As our conversation concluded, and I said "I love you, mother," she responded with, "You do realise that you were the first in our family to say that before hanging up, and now, your grandparents say it to me, I to them, and all of us to you..."

I had not realised this at all, feckless child that I was...

Until Next Time...