Periodically, I try to get rid of stuff.  Last week, I decided to throw away my DayRunner six-ring calendar.   It’s been gathering dust ever since I got my Blackberry five years ago.

Tucked into a pocket of the calendar was a small tattered green address book, and I couldn’t resist a look at it before tossing. 

First there was Adele, my staff assistant thirty years ago.  I have no idea where she is now, but once she came to our house for a short visit when she was in town for Thanksgiving. We left Peter and the kids watching a Boston College Football game in the den to chat in the living room.  A minute later, Doug Flutie threw his famous Hail Mary pass, and we missed it.

Then there was the number for Becket—the summer camp that the kids attended for so long.  I doubt that we called very often, but the number was always with me.

Europeds—the company we took our first bike trip with in 1985-- brought back memories of more than twenty years of bike vacations. 

Muriel—almost like a sister, but not well for years, and now passed away. 

Sue, a close colleague.  She died six years ago and I still miss her every day.

I always keep addresses in pencil because people move around a lot.  But for a moment, time was frozen in place in my tattered green address book.