phoney baloney

Something happens here in this house when the phone rings. It is best envisioned somewhere between oblivion, determined denial, and utter contempt. We are, as a family, not phone people. Which is odd, since we both spend a lamentably large portion of time during any given day ON.THE.PHONE.

You see, I am a Realtor. This really means I am a psycho~therapist who sells houses to or for typically overwrought, stressed out people who may or may not genuinely need professional help (which may or may not be a result of trying to navigate this difficult and rather obscenely expensive enclave of California). Granted, the current Real Estate market and the consuming process of transacting business within it is enough to cause a mental breakdown. But must you feel compelled to call to share the intracacies of your Real Estate-induced mental breakdown with your Realtor in excess of eleven times a day? And at my HOME, no less, which is a number I give out only for emergencies. An emotional seller calling me at 9:02 p.m. to ask me to choose between two colors of sage green paint for the walls in her master bathroom (an actual call I received this week, complete with photos sent through my cell phone of both color choices) does NOT constitute an emergency. I mean it. I have learned the value of screening every single call. Because otherwise, it would be me who needs the therapy. A lot of it.

And Copper, my beloved soul mate, is a Police Sergeant. Which, according to our son, Dash, means he spends his working days "catching the bad guys". But it also means that every manner of judge, D.A., officer, dispatcher, supervisor, and administrator calls him at all hours. If I make the diasterous mistake of picking up the phone and speaking with these callers, I am bombarded with a barrage of numbers which are supposed to make potent sense to me: "This is OFC 16734, OIC on the 514 incident at 0937 on Road 14 involving the PC549 and a 5150 subject. Please have Copper call me at my phone: 555-0913."

Sure, got it. Right.

That message, when translated through my brain, ends up as something like this: "Hey Copper, one of the officers called - his last two numbers were 43 or 34. He wants to talk to you about buying a vowel." I just plain give up and don't answer anything that could be from the Police Department under any circumstances, lest I be repsonsible for the destruction of mankind with my inability to decipher and properly relay police speak code.

So Lachen stays away from the phone in general. Couple this with actual WORK going on at my house in addition to the business of parenting, teaching, and loving (often involving rolling around on the ground playing an elaborate game of Jay Jay the Jet Plane) two delightful children, and the phone becomes a fairly perpetually annoying little interruption device. Not a luxury. More like that barky little neighbor's dog that just goes off in the corner about 8 times an hour for no reason whatsoever. That's enough to make bats fly out of your nose some days.

Today was one of those days - can anyone tell? (insert wan smile here)

So I have developed a minor brain storm: get rid of the phone in our house! As in, altogether. Copper and I each have cell phones which are generally stapled to our body most of our waking hours, so why do we need the home phone as well? Because we never answer it anyway, it has become a message repository, not a communication device. And if each of us has an individual cell phone, I will never be forced to impressively blunder an important phone message for my husband from a uniformed officer or court personnel again. I think this NO PHONE concept is not so much desperation as inspiration. Even though I doubt Copper will go for my genius plan, I am getting excited about the possibility.

Because I would like to dream of a home without the constancy of the ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing...

telephone.