My Ride's Here

In the ob/gyn office the other day I pondered why the nurses always ask me how many pregnancies I've had. They follow that question up by quizzing me on the number of times I've given birth. It's the ob/gyn office - shouldn't this information be in bold letters on page one of my chart? Besides, now it's getting confusing. Do twins constitute two births or just one? After some consideration I've decided the questions are more of a litmus test to see if, as a new mother, I'm still sane. Similarly, at the hospital as one way of checking for confusion they ask patients if they know who the president is.
Yesterday H insisted on bringing our red rotary phone in the car with him when we left for afternoon preschool pickup. The red rotary phone no longer works, unlike the white rotary phone that I still keep in the guest room for when the power goes out or I can't find where I've left the cordless phone. I've been keeping the red phone for use in a still life painting that hasn't materialized yet. Beyond being a prop, any parent can tell you that no toy is ever as interesting as real things: old telephones, a keyboard, a typewriter, or tupperware. As so, the red telephone sits on the bottom shelf of our built-in bookcases, waiting to be called into action like it was yesterday.
I drove through North Falmouth while H placed imaginary calls to Nana and Papa.
"Hi Nana, how ya doin?"
I felt like I was the secret service driving the president around while he placed informal calls to foreign heads of state.
That's President Bush in case you didn't know.

song: My Ride's Here • artist: Warren Zevon