“You've got to get out more if looking through the phone book is fun.” That's what my daughter, Anne, said to me a while ago. You know, she might be right.

Well, maybe not. I was looking through the menus from restaurants in an old phone book. The selections were a bit different than what is offered now. I looked in vain for my favorite, “Liver and Onions.”

Now I am sitting here at the computer eating a breakfast of a leftover cold salmon pattie on a cold English muffin. Don't laugh. It's good, but it probably would have been better if I had nuked the muffin. That would have meant ambling out to the great room, pushing my walker, and trying not to spill everything on the way. Anne can track me by the crumbs I leave, don't cha' know?

We had been talking about coney dogs before I began leafing through the phone book looking for a particular restaurant's address. That got me thinking, reminiscing really.

I remember the time we stopped at the Coney Island Restaurant on the way home from the bar. That was almost a ritual for the-after-bar-crowd in those days. The time was about one in the morning. The year was the late 1940's. It was a Friday night. Our paychecks were cashed and we were flushed with money.

My husband and I sat in a booth. All the song selection stations at the booths were interconnected to the jukebox. My favorite song at the time was Lefty Frizzell's “If You've Got the Money, Honey.” I could listen to it over and over and over. I did. Watching the other patrons closely, I waited until someone dropped a coin in the slot. Then, before he could make his selection, I hit the number for my favorite song. Left Frizzell sang it again, and again. I was having fun.

You might say that was mean of me, but I wouldn't have cared. It was fun. Especially to watch the frustration of the other patrons when the same song played over and over. Their tunes never came up. This went on for quite a while. More people started making selections, trying to get rid of that song. Let's face it. You can have too much of Lefty Frizzell.

Finally, the waitress realized that someone was beating their fingers to the slot. She sat on a stool at the counter and began watching, as Lefty ended his song, to spot who was doing it. My season of fun came to an end. It was time to leave. After all, it was a long ride home. Thank goodness, we didn't have to be at work in the morning.

You know, there are many paths to follow down memory lane. I think I will stay at this one for a while.