Note to Self

POD_feb4Note to Self, February 4, 2010

My car is a bona fide traveling office, complete with file folders, extra pens, breath mints, hand sanitizer, kleenex and important school fliers.  Juggling three kids with varying (read: crazy) schedules has my mental filofax bursting with information.  My newest little trick is to leave myself notes on the dash of the car.  It’s akin to tying a string on my finger or writing a note on my hand, only better.  Every time I’m dashing around town, I will always remember that, yep, we have to bring cheese for Kate’s valentine party.


Today I arrived early at one of my many destinations, and with time to burn, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time.  I dialed my father’s cell phone.

My mom kept his number live for at least a year after he passed, and every now and then I’d dial his number.  Sometimes it would be out of habit;  other times it would be just to hear his (recorded) voice. Today I called his number hoping to hear his recorded message, but instead was greeted by a stranger’s voice:

Voice:  “Hello?  Hello?  Hello!

Me: “………..”

Voice: “Yo, who is this? Who calling me?”


I knew that my father’s phone number would eventually be recycled, but I never expected it to happen just yet.  A few minutes after I hung up, my cell phone rang.

Me: “Hello?”

Voice: “Yeah, um, you called?  For D’Angelo?”

Me: (stammering) “Um, no. I…I, uh…no, I’m sorry I must have misdialed.”


Dad, I was just calling you to say hello.  And to tell you I’m fine.

Photo of the Day, dad

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