I’ve always found it handy to tape significant phone numbers inside the cupboard door nearest the kitchen phone. There you may find current numbers, but also numbers of the girls on Kelsey’s 1994 softball team, of stores no longer in business, of friends or relatives long dead.
“I think all this needs to be thrown away!” Steve says when I go there to get him a list of favorite family entrees.
But I’m not discarding that cluttered mess any time soon. When I open that door, I’m briefly transported to a time when our house was busier, our schedules more hectic, our time not our own. I love the life I have now, but I loved that one, too. All those outdated phone numbers and lists remind me of the days when I was introduced as “Kelsey’s mom” or “Josh’s mom.” Those were good times, worth remembering—worth honoring for a few moments before this life picks up the pace and I’m off again.