22 years later.....

She gave it to me for Christmas when she was 15. I don't recall asking for it, so she must have thought I needed it, the brown leather address book with gold lines running around the edges. It was an ordinary book, yet special because she gave it to me.

I think another part of the gift was for her to write all my addresses in it, because as I turn to the A section, I see Ashbill's TV Service, Dave & Jean Arnold, Doris Anderson, Roger Allenbrand, and Linda Affholder, all in her handwriting. Turning to the B's, I notice Helen Betts, Boschi Family, Blue Valley Schools, Dr. John Berry, Dermatologist, Blue Valley North, and Blue Valley High, again in her handwriting. Curious, I flip to the C's, and--nothing. She had good intentions, but some holiday vacation activity lured her away from the task.

Taking over the task, I completed the book in a few weeks, or so I thought. Little did I know it then, but that address book would chronicle our lives for the next twenty-two years.

Ten years after receiving my beloved address book, I realized I needed a new one, and during that time I bought several that ended up on a shelf. Two years ago, an address book caught my eye as I wandered through Border's. On the cover was a blonde bombshell from the 1930's. The title, "Born to Be Bad" was emblazoned in large letters on the front cover. Hidden in the bombshell's tresses were the tiny letters, Address Book.

"Now this is an address book I could like," I said to myself, as I purchased it without looking at the price. I took it home and stuck it in my closet, still in its sack.

The next year, I was getting more serious about my new address book. I took it out of its sack and vowed that whenever I received a new phone number or new address or made a new friend, I would write this information in the new book. I would do this with pencil, I vowed, so I could erase people who died, people who got married and needed to change pages because they had a different last name, or just plain eliminate people with whom I had lost contact over the years. It seemed like a workable plan.

Then my emotions took over. I didn't want to erase people who died. I wanted to remember them. I didn't want to forget about people I hadn't seen nor talked to for years. The people who got married were no problem. This emotional stall lasted another year.

This Christmas, when it was time to send out my Christmas cards and letter, I got tough with myself.

"Okay, whenever you write a card, simply write the address two times--once on the envelope and once in the new address book," I told myself. This actually worked, although I loved looking at all the people who died, people who had changed names, and people who no longer made the cut for Christmas cards, all in my old book. I realized that my old brown leather address book, now held together with packing tape on the outside and hole reinforcers on the inside, was a chronicle of my life and by eliminating it, I was moving on to a new life.

So, today, twenty-two years later, I closed the old brown address book for the last time. I can't bring myself to throw it away--not yet, at least. That will take more mental toughness than I possess right now. I'll still have it, but not be using it. I'll love it forever, that silly thing.

It's just one more reason I'll love Ashley forever for giving it to me.