Something I love…old phones. Something glamorous and rare…a land line. I was delighted today when I found an old milk colored phone hanging discreetly in Michelle’s kitchen. I immediately exclaimed “Oh, I want to call someone!” But alas, who did I really care to call locally and whose number did I know off the top of my head?? Instead, I picked up the phone and held it’s substantial weight in my hand. I brought the receiver to my ear and for the first time in a long time I heard my old friend the dial tone. Maybe I love land lines because they remind me of late night’s spent talking to a boy. Your ear getting hot, cradling the phone between your chin and shoulder, hoping that Mom won’t embarrass you by picking up. Or maybe I just like the feeling of something real in my hands. Something tied down. Something that I can’t take with me wherever I go.