Calling It

The image of a teen girl, smiling and eyes aflutter, sprawled out on her bed with a phone to her ear?  Yeah.  That has never been me.  Maybe it's the shape of my ears, but I've always found phone calls to be an uncomfortable form of communication.

Not last night, though.

For some reason, I was still conscious when my mom called around 9 p.m.  I'd meant to call her a half hour before, but didn't know if it was too late to call (yes, I realize that this is an absurd thought for most people, but I'm pretty sure I am a farm girl long ago transplanted to the city--all "early to bed and early to rise").

Ah, but last night's call--the phone's unsettling disruption of night-time rituals and reading in bed?  It was pretty wonderful.  After I'd determined that there was no medical emergency or mental lapse behind it, I settled in contentedly to the comfortable back-and-forth, verbally walking the ambling path my mom had set out for us.

The topic of our conversation ranged from Thanksgiving-Day reflections ("I had such a nice time being with everyone")  to cumbersome bunions ("What are those things called, anyway?!" we laughed).  Somehow, we also managed to cover past and future trips to Hawaii and how good my brother Steve is at creating entertaining events for the family.

"Ambling" really is the perfect description of our conversation last night.  And, just like an ambling walk outdoors, I found myself wanting to extend the event, to keep shuffling my feet through the colorful family leaves that had gathered around me.

That phone call was a quiet love song magically delivered through wispy copper wiring, its lyrics forgettable to everyone but my mom and me.  Like a bedtime story, carried by the lilt of my mother's surprisingly cogent voice, it lulled me into a happy, warm place.

I'm pretty sure I fell asleep with a smile on my face, my heart filled with love.