Seldom do people come into your life without having an impact – often a lasting one. When I was quite young, my
father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to
the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to
listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person--her name was
“Information Please“ and there was nothing she did not know. “Information Please” could supply anyone's number
and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a
neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was
terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I
walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway--The telephone!
Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it into the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver
in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please", I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger."
After that I called “Information Please” for everything. I asked her for help with my Geography and she told
me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk - I had caught in
the park just the day before - would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary, died. I called “Information Please” and told her the sad
story. She listened; then said the usual things grown-ups say to console a child, but I was unconsoled. Why is it
that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up
on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other
worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"How do you spell fix?" I asked?
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the
country to Boston - I missed my friend very much. “Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back
home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.
Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in
moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciate now how
patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so
between planes, and I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking
what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I
heard myself saying, "Could you tell me how to spell fix."
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during
that time."
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to
look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back
to visit my sister.
"Please do, just ask for Sally."
Just three months later I was back in Seattle... A different voice answered "Information" and I asked for
Sally.
"Are you a friend?"
"Yes, a very old friend."
"Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick.
She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is; I'll read it--'Tell him I still say there are
other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'"
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.
-author unknown
father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to
the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to
listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person--her name was
“Information Please“ and there was nothing she did not know. “Information Please” could supply anyone's number
and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a
neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was
terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I
walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway--The telephone!
Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it into the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver
in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please", I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger."
After that I called “Information Please” for everything. I asked her for help with my Geography and she told
me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk - I had caught in
the park just the day before - would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary, died. I called “Information Please” and told her the sad
story. She listened; then said the usual things grown-ups say to console a child, but I was unconsoled. Why is it
that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up
on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other
worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"How do you spell fix?" I asked?
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the
country to Boston - I missed my friend very much. “Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back
home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.
Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in
moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciate now how
patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so
between planes, and I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking
what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I
heard myself saying, "Could you tell me how to spell fix."
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during
that time."
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to
look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back
to visit my sister.
"Please do, just ask for Sally."
Just three months later I was back in Seattle... A different voice answered "Information" and I asked for
Sally.
"Are you a friend?"
"Yes, a very old friend."
"Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick.
She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is; I'll read it--'Tell him I still say there are
other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'"
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.
-author unknown
Soundtrack: Clair de Lune
Sometimes people come into your life and you know
right away that they were meant to be there, to serve
some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help
you figure out who you are or who you want to become.
The people you meet who affect your life, and the
success and downfalls you experience, help to create
who you are and who you become.
"Happiness in life is not measured by the things we achieve,
the places we go, or the route that we take to get there.
Happiness in life is measured by the people that we share all
of our experiences with." -Chris Needham
right away that they were meant to be there, to serve
some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help
you figure out who you are or who you want to become.
The people you meet who affect your life, and the
success and downfalls you experience, help to create
who you are and who you become.
"Happiness in life is not measured by the things we achieve,
the places we go, or the route that we take to get there.
Happiness in life is measured by the people that we share all
of our experiences with." -Chris Needham
Dawn Cove Abbey - Inspiration Bench - June '07
MorningStar for people
To submit comments, requests or materials,
contact me at outreach@dawncoveabbey.org
contact me at outreach@dawncoveabbey.org
For empowerment workshops, seminars and lectures, see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
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MorningStar Inspiration from Dawn Cove Abbey
Article, haiku, humour and poem contributions are welcomed, and gratefully received
Layout & Design by DawnStar
__________________________________________________
MorningStar Inspiration from Dawn Cove Abbey
Article, haiku, humour and poem contributions are welcomed, and gratefully received
Layout & Design by DawnStar
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