We didn’t have a phone for quite a while. It is inscribed in my memory that one had to wait for 12 years to get a number. We waited for 6, at the beginning of the 90s. And once again I’m not really sure whether it was 6 years.
It’s funny that a memory is such a frisky tool and nonetheless, with all my responsible attitude towards life, I tend to build my todays based on it. And the days after tomorrow too.
I remember there’s a phone at my grandparent’s house, lightgreygreen, with a turning dial. Sometimes parents called us during the summer holidays. I’m not sure whether they called from the post office, telephone booth or from work. A telephone receiver next to my ear caused that all the stories worth sharing were suddenly disappearing. And I was surprised observing the adults that kept talking into it.
I can also remember when my father worked abroad. We’re running one floor up to the neighbors when he’s calling. We’re standing in the hallway trying to find a way to say that he means the world to us. My parents used to say to each other: Ik hou van jou – I love you, in Dutch, so at least this part of the conversation could stay unhallwayish.
Long after the time when the mobiles had become common, I still didn’t have one. Until the day when the unlimited forbearance of my loved ones came to its limits. I got a phone. And still for many months kept this fact secret not giving away my number.
Telephone conversations make most of the stories worth sharing disappear from my mind till today. Luckily some time ago I discovered that drawing helps in these ear to ear conversations. I listen and draw. And sometimes monstories come out of it. Like the one above.