I am sure there are statistics somewhere but I wonder what percentage of Canadian residences have such a thing as a landline or “Home Phone” anymore.
One of my goals for 2021 is to move to a cleaner, safer rental setting. Forget affordable; we will have to cut back on guilty pleasures and luxuries. I just want to have our own laundry facilities instead of dealing with inconsiderate, clueless tenants, lazy custodians and petty crime vandals – especially during a pandemic!
A sense of roots
I am debating whether to transfer our home number to a prospective new rental. I am also comparing costs of getting a bundle with major carriers for phone, Internet and TV.
To me, having a home phone number is like having a sense of roots, something that is permanent although transferable, a number where family and friends know they can reach members of your family if you are not roaming out and about. It’s not like we have the freedom to do that these days during a pandemic lock-down anyway!
One of the Millennial youth scoffed at my reference to “home phone” in conversation one day, when I used the term for communication options during logistical arrangements. “What even is a “home phone” anymore?”, he asked. Says he who had to move around the country for school and special training but still carries the same cell phone number.
This current rental is what was the last “family home” they lived in before jumping off to their various independent lives, sharing accommodations with friends or finding a quiet place to themselves. Some returned for short stays in-between engagements and the next phase in their lives.
I have to learn to let go and trust the Universe to protect and guide them. My job is done with providing a sense of family, home and convoluted roots.
It could be something deeper for me in that I have a hard time of letting go of them, of missing our small family gatherings for holidays, special meals and celebrations. The COVID-19 pandemic and regional lock-downs since March 2020 seem to have relieved me of that expectation but blessed me with the company of my youngest Millennial for the duration.
It’s time to move on after ten years, to downsize and remove emotional attachments. I have given up on waiting for the fifteen year-old cat to die; she’s going to have to survive the move. Perhaps a new home layout will provide her with more enrichment between her naps, meals and tongue baths.
Thanks for dropping by – and keeping a safe distance.