Spring, 2007

No Boom Today. Boom Tomorrow. There's Always A Boom Tomorrow.
(Susan Ivanova, Babylon 5)

Before I even moved into Ducky's house, he enlisted my aid in excavating his desk. Not the one at work—that was, by necessity, neat and organized. The one at home? Oy. Indiana Jones, at your service.

"When did you move to Virginia?" I marveled as we dug through the drawers. I was finding carefully banded checkbook registers from the 70s, among other vintage papers.

"Nineteen-eighty…something," he trailed off with a rueful chuckle.

"What did you do, pack this sucker without cleaning it out?"

"Possibly. Mother was in charge of that move." I rolled my eyes. "Now, now, she was far more 'put together' at that time. She was still driving, even."

I shuddered. But, yeah, to be fair, I only knew her now, in her sunset years. I continued to pull out dead rubber bands, pocket calendars, a couple of pairs of broken glasses, all the detritus that everyone accumulates and swears they'll take care of next month…season…year…decade. Well…most people, anyway.

"Mood ring? Vintage gum? Ugh, uber dead batteries." I gently picked up the leaking package and the ruined papers beneath. "You're lucky, the drawer isn't damaged. A box of…" I scribbled unsuccessfully. "Dead Flair felt tip pens. Box of…mini twinkling Christmas lights?" I burst into laughter. "Sweetheart, I think you just won the prize. Not even my desk—" I pulled out a small, black, plastic box with a clip on the back. "Pager?" Pre cell phone, makes sense for a doctor.

Ducky rolled his eyes—and laughed. "Oh, heavens. I haven't seen that in years." (Color me shocked.) "Back when mother was still able to stay on her own, before I started hiring housekeepers and then aides, I still wanted her to be able to reach me when I was out of the house but not at the office. So I picked up this pager and we devised a code: if she just wanted to ask me a question, she would dial the number and input 411. Information. Call her when it was convenient, she had a question."

I nodded. Made sense to me.

"If it was urgent, but not the kind of emergency that warranted police or EMS, she would put in 911. Please call as soon as you can safely stop."

"Pretty smart."

"We practiced all day. I would give her scenarios and she would tell me '411' or '911.' Then I had her dial and put in the code, probably fifty times. When I went out to the market, I was absolutely sure she knew how to use the system."

I knew there was another shoe waiting to drop. "I'm waiting. What happened?"

"I don't think I got six blocks away. The beeper trilled and showed 911. It was faster to simply come back home—which I did, with great disregard for the speed limit—and burst through the kitchen door."

He shook his head and I wanted to shake him. "And? And?"

"And there she was, sitting at the breakfast table, sipping her tea and wolfing down a raspberry Danish. 'What's wrong?' I almost yelled. 'Oh, nothing,' she said. 'I just wanted to make sure it really worked.'"

It behooves one to keep an eye on this old lady, that's for sure.