Three things stopped my grandmother in her aproned tracks — Paul Harvey, Days of Our Lives, and Open Line. No matter what she was doing, cooking, driving, playing dice, all came to a haunt to listen to these programs. 

Open Line was on our local radio station. People were free to call in to say what they had and/or what they had to give. If you needed a lawnmower, you called in. If you had a tractor for sale or some extra Tupperware to give away, you called in. Even if you just wanted to wish a public birthday to your friend Gladys, you called in.  

Perhaps this was our first form of social media. Although we never would have called it that. People seemed to be respectful. Though I can’t be totally sure, Grandma was quick to the volume button with her freshly wiped hands. Perhaps she, we as a community, did our own policing. 

I think of it now because of my friend, Patty. She has been the voice on the radio for as long as I remember. Her niece recently sent her a card that I made long ago. It reads, “Sure it’s a big lake, but you don’t have to sail it alone.”  And we are still connected. Still sailing, this one of 10,000 lakes. And isn’t that what friendship is? The open line that connects us. The open line through which we offer what we have, and ask for what we need. 

I hope it is the case. I have to believe it. So I wipe my hands on my imaginary apron and type. All lines are open.