It's the little things ...

Saying the final goodbye to a loved one also involves dealing with the material things that are left behind. Which is why my front bedroom windows are now inhabited by matching aspidistra plants that are older than I am.

And then there is other practical stuff, like giving notice to have the phone disconnected ... and realising that you are never going to ring that number again and get an answer. That number has been with me for most of my life. My Mum took it with her through three house moves. I can remember the excitement when the phone was installed for the first time. It had to be in the kitchen as that was closest to the telephone pole and it had pride of place on top of the fridge. It was a chunky affair, made of cream plastic, with a rotary dial, of course, with that lovely whirring sound as the dial moved around. With the current interest in all things retro you can get modern push button  reproductions, which is one of the things on my wish list for when I reorganise my work room. When I was talking about my ideas for that, Mum confessed that she still had that original phone. She couldn't bring herself to throw it away. So I'm going to find it in a cupboard somewhere ...

Of course the number has nothing to do with the instrument itself - that's had numerous incarnations since that first one. It's the line that is the bit with the number attached. So many of the dramas of my life have come down that line - it's heard laughter, tears, secrets, frightening things and joyful ones. And now it's going. Presumably, in due course, it will be re-allocated to someone else who is still old-fashioned enough to want a land line. And the cycle of laughter and tears will begin again.