FOODFORTHOUGHT: A LITTLE INSPIRATION

Friday, March 03, 2006

A LITTLE INSPIRATION

F O O D F O R T H O U G H T

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A LITTLE INSPIRATION
Author Unknown

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 anybody'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 to 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," said
the voice.

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. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught
in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts. Then, there
was the time Petty, 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 soothe a child. But I was UN-consoled. I asked her,
"Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all
families, only to end up as a heap of feathers 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."

"Information," said the now familiar voice.

"How do you spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific northwest. 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 somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new
phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations
ever really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would
recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated 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. I spent 15
minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then
without thinking what I as doing, I dialed my hometown operator and
said, "Information, Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well,
Information."

I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell
me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess
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, she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered
"Information." I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" She said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, she said. Sally had been working
part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks
ago." 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 in case you
called. Let me read it to you." The note said, "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 knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

PRAYER
"Let me love you, my Lord and my God, and see myself as I really am -
a pilgrim in this world, a Christian called to respect and love all
whose lives I touch, those in authority over me or those under my
authority, my friends and my enemies. Help me to conquer anger with
gentleness, greed by generosity, apathy by fervor. Help me to forget
myself and reach out towards others." (Prayer attributed to Clement
XI of Rome)

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