Month: November 2024

Three of our elementary-school grands have a new landline phone sitting in their family room. They called us multiple times the first week it was installed, each time saying, “Hello, Watson?”

No, they didn’t. Each time a soft voice cautiously said, “Hello, Grandma?”

The poor things were apprehensive. A handset that rests in a base alongside a keypad is foreign to them. You might as well have given the kids a box of cassette tapes and said, “Listen to these, we think you’ll like them.”

Each time they called, and I identified myself as Grandma, they responded with silence followed by breathing. Little did they know that is how people used to prank one another on landlines.

They’re too young to have their own cell phones, but their mom and dad wanted a way for them to dial out if needed, or for others to call in to make sure the house was still standing.

The three were “home alone” for the first time, as much as kids are ever “home alone” when Dad works from home in an office with glass-paned doors next to the family room.

Mom was out for part of the day, the kids had no school and we agreed to call and check on them.

One ring, two rings, “Hello?” a quivering voice answered.

“Hello, it’s Grandma,” I said. “Who’s this?”

“It’s me,” the soft voice whispered. It was the youngest of the three.

“Great,” I said. “Is everyone getting along?”

“No. I was elbowed.” She then launched into a long story about how an older sister elbowed her earlier.

This is incredible because, though the child has never used a landline before, she instinctively, intrinsically, automatically knows its primary function is for tattling on a sibling.

Slam dunk for the 6-year-old.

There are other landline skills the girls are coming by naturally as well. The landline has a cord that they can stretch, twist and wind around their arms and legs and then spend half an hour untangling the cord.

The downside of their landline is that they only have one. The kids will never know the joy of an extension phone. They will never hear someone yell, “Get off the extension! Now!”

And because not many other families have landlines, they will never know the nerve-wracking intimidation of talking to a friend’s mother or father before being able to talk to the friend.

Here’s a question for all the philosophers reading: If you slam a landline down on a cell phone call, does it make a slamming sound or just a click on the cell phone?

The girls are growing at ease with the landline. The novelty is slowly wearing off. Who knows how their parents will top the landline.

They could always switch out the large flat-screen television for a small portable job, with rabbit ears, that you have to stand up and walk over to in order to change the channel. Just a thought.

‘Tis the season to be thankful, which is why I am hanging tight to the fourth Thursday in November. I may be hanging on by the greasy tip of a wishbone swinging dangerously low over scalding hot gravy, but I refuse to let go of Thanksgiving, the only holiday that has not been grossly commercialized.

For starters, I am thankful there is no giant turkey at the mall. If you know about a mall charging outrageous prices for pictures of kids with a giant turkey, don’t tell me. Spare me.

There is a horn full of plenty of other things to be thankful for as well.

I am thankful that not one of our neighbors has an entire cast of First Thanksgiving giant inflatable figures towering in their yards.

I am thankful that there is no tradition of stuffing turkey cavities with a glut of candy, cheap trinkets and presents soon forgotten. I am thankful that the primary thing we stuff at Thanksgiving is ourselves. Can I have an amen?

I am thankful for Thanksgivings past on my grandparents’ farm with a slew of aunts and uncles and more than two dozen cousins. I am thankful that when the adults had enough, they had the wisdom to shout—loudly and in unison—“All you kids, get outside and stay outside!”

Oh, that children today should enjoy such harsh edicts.

We were forbidden to go near the pigs or the milk cows, but we could peek in on the horses, climb into the hayloft, befriend a cat, discover kittens, play with the dogs, or wander aimlessly through the woods.

Go ahead, punish me like that again.

I am thankful for all the Thanksgiving meals my mother made, for steam rolling down the kitchen window as that doohickey on top of the pressure cooker rocked wildly, for pumpkin pies made from the recipe on the Libby’s label, warm dinner rolls, sage stuffing and a pretty table set with the good dishes and candles. The woman worked culinary wonders in a very small kitchen with, at most, 3-square-feet of counter space.

I am thankful for every year Dad paused between bites and said, “Not another house on the entire street is eating a meal as fine as this one.” I didn’t know how he knew that, but I knew he was right.

Although many of those people are gone now, I am thankful for the memories etched deep into my heart.

This year, I am thankful that I am the one hosting Thanksgiving. Between all of us, we have three 6-foot folding tables and benches. Weather providing, I am confident I can sell the group on eating outdoors as a tribute to the First Thanksgiving.

I am thankful that sometime after the meal, a son-in-law will start the crossword and not bristle when a gaggle of kids breathe down the back of his neck and clamor to help.

I am thankful that the grandkids will go outside without even being told to go outside. There will be football, kickball, basketball and steal-the-flag as daylight wanes and another Thanksgiving fades into the twilight.

I am grateful they will all take home leftovers so we will not gain five pounds each, consuming hundreds of thousands of calories all by ourselves.

As they all load into cars, Grandpa will assume sprinter position on the sidewalk and race each vehicle to the corner. I will stand in the driveway, waving goodbye and praying for each one of them until the last car is out of sight.

It is good to give thanks.