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10/15/2004: "Called"

I am not a natural telephone user; I was trained early to avoid toll calls whenever necessary and I maintain the habit. I also feel, for some reason, that my calls are likely to be untimely or otherwise an intrusion, and am reluctant to call my friends too often for that reason. I left a mesage on Miss Trotwood's machine and she called me back within the hour, and we spoke for an hour. About how she left cleanup day early, before anyone could say goodbye: it had been their anniversary and she was tired of Rummage. Anxiety over scary incidents involving her sons. The over-the-fence friendship she is developing with her neighbor. The pool cover. Some incidents and personalities from the sale. Her daughter's pickup truck. The matchmaker at the post-office. The single life. Agnes. We wind down our conersation, get ready to say goodbye, then find more conversation. We break the connection. Even so, I think of things throughout the rest of the day I wish I'd mentioned. Mr. Bell's device occasionally makes up for all the unexpected, intemperate noises it makes. Sometimes it opens a window, and lets the fresh air in.