An Ancient and Trusted Book of Information

I have a shabby old address book but it is a real treasure. It has reason to look as tattered as it does. It is well on its way to being an antique. And, like any antique, the value is enhanced by, as they say, the provenance. This  book’s provenance has more to do with its life experience  than its origin. It is filled with road signs that  mark the passage of certain people along life’s way. My son practiced writing his name on the inside cover long before he started to school.  In fact, he has decorated several of those dog-eared and ragged pages with scribbles. I’m guessing he rendered these artistic efforts before he was three years old.  His scribbled name would never appear in another address book so I guess I’ll just have to keep this one.

The old book has names of people who are no longer with us; names and addresses of family, friends, professional people, pediatricians (how long have I not needed that?) As I look through these pages, I remember that some of my friends are, if not actually quirky, at least one of a kind.

For example, there’s the name and address of the friend who lived down along the Red River. She grew gourds of all shapes and sizes and my mother and I stopped by her house on the way to Texas one day to buy some gourds. Now, growing gourds is not all that unusual but not a lot of people share their home with a family of owls which live in the attic. She also kept her Christmas tree hanging upside down in her living room from one Christmas to the next, covered with a sheet. She gave me a small dog bobble head which  now bobbles on my kitchen windowsill. I can always count on that little dog to agree with everything I say. I miss that dear owl lady who grew gourds.

I turn a page and there’s the elderly gentleman who lived in Texas and had old books. He was in the business of selling books. I once went through a Mary Roberts Rinehart phase and bought many books from him. That was a lot of years ago.

The address book is rather like  an atlas. Many of my nieces and nephews moved from place to place before they settled down. My book bears record of the universities attended, their military addresses, and of course a lot of phone numbers.

Another page bears  the name and address of the relative in California I met one day as she came through Oklahoma. She gave me lots of genealogical information.

The name and address of my grandmother’s first cousin reminds me of family roots.  This Georgia/Florida cousin died only a few years ago so I’ll have to wait ’til I get to Heaven to meet Jennie  in person.

There’s the Tulsa address of a special relative of my mother’s. After Mom died, this lady took remnants of some of Mom’s dresses and pieced a beautiful quilt top. The name of the pattern is Country Wife.

Admittedly, I sure don’t need the addresses of those who are no longer with us but it’s kind of nice to keep their names and the places they lived as reminders. Just in case this book sounds like a dusty relic, special only to one in the throes of nostalgia, let me say, it is still useful. On its pages, I write the names of new friends and the book is continually evolving with changed addresses as family members move from one place to another.

So, of course you can see why this decrepit book is special. A trip through its pages is a trip down memory lane. True, it does look disreputable but it also looks serviceable and it has fulfilled its purpose wonderfully well. Not many books could contain as many memories as this humble little address book.  Like the people whose names it holds, this book has character. It is truly one of a kind.