Ink Trails

As I thumbed through my old address book today, I realized 
I have new information to add.

 Two of my sons now have their own mailboxes, the perfect accessory for their new lives.

It's too bad that Millenials keep their personal information on digital devices, so easily edited and updated. 

The history inside the cover of an "old-school" address book is, to me, priceless. 

There's something magical about the decades-long ink trails of life scrawled 

across its lined and lettered pages—

the house numbers and street names ignite destination-tethered memories:

3905 Gilbert Avenue, where the train track was only a block away. 

2305 Memorial Parkway, where we honeymooned to the blast of the Friday-night football cannon. 

208 Eastern Avenue, where my brother started his family and first cousins learned to play.

285 Collins Road, where my grandparents' farm was the heaven-on-earth we longed to visit. 

514 Hallam Avenue, where I found friendship around a table of open Bibles.

I'm thankful to have these touchstones of smeared ink that remind me to remember; 

grateful the street names and house numbers weren't simply deleted and forgotten. 

The perfect housewarming gift for my sons might be ... address books.