I Really Miss Home Phones

I was watching one of my favorite favorite favorite movies the other day—Because I Said So with Diane Keaton, Mandy Moore, and the actress who plays Lorelai Gilmore. I never remember her name. She’s just Lorelai to me. In the early aughts rom-com, Diane Keaton plays Daphne Wilder, an overbearing, polka dot-wearing single mother with three daughters. The plot studies mother/daughter relationships as well as romantic relationships in the most honest and beautiful way. I just adore it.

And what I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older is that every time I re-watch a movie, I notice something new. I’ve watched Because I Said So dozens, if not hundreds of times, but it wasn’t until now that I really took notice of an incredibly beautiful scene where Daphne leaves four voicemails on her daughter Milly’s home phone after the two get into a fight. The phone rings, Milly doesn’t answer, her voice mail picks up, we hear “hey it’s Milly leave me a message”, the machine makes that homephone beep we all remember, and then Daphne’s apologetic voice comes through a little speaker. I transcribed my favorite parts of the voicemails below:

“It’s your mother. Hopefully you still have a mental picture of me. We have the same hands and earlobes. And love of Bauer pottery.”

“I know that you asked me not to call you and I respect that. I just thought that you just might like to know that I found Grandma’s recipe for your favorite Lady Baltimore Cake. The one from your third birthday.”

“Milly? I never meant to hurt you, sweetie. And I promise I will never ever interfere ever again. I was, I was only, I mean. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was just trying to protect you from becoming me. My sweet girl.”

Milly finally picks up because how could you not forgive Diane Keaton? After this scene, I thought… well damn. I really miss home phones. I really miss voice mails.

Ever since the rise of the smart phone (I feel sooo old calling them this), humans have been connected like never before. 150 years ago, if you wanted to profess your love to someone, you’d have to haul ass on a horse and tell them in person. Or you had to write a letter and wait weeks to hear back. Or telegrams? Remember telegrams? I don’t because I wasn’t born yet (unfortunately) but something tells me I would’ve loved them. Today, you can just send a text without putting any thought into it and get a response in seconds. And in 2007, the year Because I Said So came out, you called someone on their home phone. And if they didn’t answer, you left a voice mail. There were flip phones in this era too, I know, but that is beside the point.

I remember as a kid racing in the front door after being gone for the day and walking over to our home phone on the table next to our red floral couch. Sometimes, there would be a little blinking light that signified yes, someone did indeed call while you were away. You’d hit the play button, and the voice of someone you loved would echo through the room. My eyes are welling with tears as I write this, imagining hearing the voice of my dad or my grandpa or my childhood best friend calling to say hi. Calling to check in. I would pay good money to get my hands on my childhood home phone and listen to whatever was stored on there.

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I think what I miss the most about the home phone era is the feeling of being untethered. Today, there is this expectation that you’ll always be available. I reject this a lot in the sense that I take hours to respond to texts. Because oftentimes, I am happy in my own little world without somebody chiming in or interjecting. I get so sidetracked so easily that the second I put down my task at hand to text someone back, it’ll take hours before I can remember what I was even doing before. But the flip side of that coin is that if someone else doesn’t text me back, I spiral. I don’t hear from my mom for 4 hours? I call her and make sure she’s alive. My best friend doesn’t text me back for a day? I assume she hates me. So I’m no saint here.

My friend Kate Synder (hi Kate!!) often goes on long walks and just leaves her phone at home. When she told me this once I gasped. What if something terrible happens or what if your mom tries to call you? But then I thought back to the centuries of people who left the house untethered to an iPhone, and they were alright. So I’ve been doing more of that. Grocery runs with a list written down on paper instead of my phone. Walks to the park without headphones and music. Etc. If you’re still reading this, call someone you love today and leave a voicemail. OK?

xo,

Claudia