A Dusty Old Book on the Shelf
When I began to write, it wasn’t for anyone’s eyes except for mine and someday my grandchildren. This mindset came from my own grandmother, who told me stories from the past, and some were even funny. One of the most funniest things about my grandmother was when she would listen in on the party line. Back in those days, you shared a phone line with multiple people who lived in the same vicinity of each other, courtesy of Ma Bell. My grandmother would lift the phone to her ear put her finger to her lips, indicating that I needed to be quiet. When she finished eavesdropping, she would gently lay the receiver down and tell me about Mr. and Mrs... so-and-so who is having marital problems or someone is sick and in the hospital. Other times a person would talk about how their child was misbehaving, or someone in the neighborhood just had a baby. Some of the chatter was as simple as letting each other know there was a sale at the corner grocery store. It’s worth mentioning that although everyone knew each other’s business, everyone was respectful towards one another.
I’m glad my grandmother shared all her rich stories from a simple time that had long past. I wish I had a dusty old book on my shelf with my grandmother’s words inside the pages. Now that I have grandchildren, I decided to write my own stories creatively in a novel filled with interesting characters. A party line of people as far back as sixty years. So when I’m long gone and time has forgotten me. Someone, somewhere, will have my words inside the pages of a dusty old book on the shelf.
© 2022 Ann Marie Piche
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