Answering Machine...

It's insanely cold here in the Midwest. The radio tells me all-time record cold. So we are all hunkered in today. The plan is to stay in, amuse ourselves anyway we can.

I was just sipping coffee, randomly paging thru Jay Farrar's book "Falling Cars and Junkyard Dogs." There's a brief paragraph about one of his musical mentors Doug Sahm of the Sir Douglas Quintet leaving messages on Jay's answering machine. Jay kept those messages.

Made me think of my own answering machine in the late 90's and early 2000's. Filled with messages from my father, now long gone. I didn't keep those messages. Stupidly erased. It kills me that they are gone. The machine is gone now too. Don't even have a landline anymore. Time.

I recall long rambling messages. Monologues. Funny, insightful, ridiculous. My father was a fabulous talker, a great story-teller. I loved listening to his voice. Maybe those messages on the tape were some of the best moments. I mean, lots of our conversations were actually monologues. The tape gave him a free range. I just took those messages for granted, right? He'd fill the tapes. I'd erase them, knowing that he would fill them up again. I never thought of buying a box of tapes, keeping them all, like the precious cargo they actually really were.

Now. Just a fading memory in my head. Time.