Driving home the other night I caught the most wonderful sunset which reminded me about the messages left on my answerphone by mum when I lived in York. I left them there for years and even transferred them onto my ipad as a ‘best of’ but sadly don’t have them anymore.
.. but from memory
“Richard, I’m just ringing to tell you to go and look at the sunset.”
“Richard, it’s your mam. Just ringing to see if you are ok” (To dad or possibly the dog) “eee I don’t know where he gets to.”
“Hello son, your records have arrived.” (Loved getting that)
“Hello son, your dad says there’s a Bruce Springsteen documentary on tonight.”
I sometimes despaired of the phone ringing as mum didn’t do quick calls. Average was about 26 minutes and usually there would be a long and seemingly endless story of what one of the dogs were up to that day. She had an amazing ability to know exactly when I’d just got in the house as the phone was often ringing as I got through the door. I longed for her to text so we could impart quick messages to each other without a half an hour discussion on how the doggie had got through the fence. I knew then that however busy I was I had to at least take the call as one day I’d miss that familiar number coming up on the screen.
That day has arrived and I’d do anything to be half listening, trying to get on with a few jobs as mum went off on one of her stories.