In anticipation of moving out of our home and into a different house, my wife and I have been going through a lot of stuff, deciding what to discard and what to keep.

It is exhausting work, as those of you who have been through this process already know.

It's not heavy lifting. But it's an enormous mental exercise, one that tests the limits of your emotions.

That, folks, is hard work.

In the downstairs bedroom of our house is a small lamp table. That's what we use it for. It is wood. It is old. It was used by my wife's father. It was the table where he put his radio to listen to baseball games.

My father-in-law loved listening to baseball, even more than watching it on TV. When we lived in the Kansas City area close to Royals stadium, I would take him to games. He let me know that it would be just fine to listen on the radio -- if that was OK with me. And it was.

There is a drawer in the table, and somehow, sometime that drawer was designated to hold the corpses of deceased cellphones. Now it's time to clean out that drawer.

Looking at its contents, I see a history of mobile phones. Maybe some museum would like these old discards for a special display. Maybe not.

The first cellphone I ever had was provided by the newspaper in Topeka where I worked. Several department heads were given these clunky cellphones. Topeka had one cell tower, which meant you could use the phone just in the downtown area.

But, the clunky cellphone was a step up from the bag phones. Remember those? People who had bag phones thought they were a big deal. Maybe so. But does anyone really want to lug around a small suitcase that rings?

I got my first cellphone in late 1993. The next year we moved to Cape Girardeau, and I got a clamshell phone that was small enough to fit in my pocket, even though it made me look like I had a hernia.

Since them I have had maybe a dozen different phones. The drawer in the old table is stuffed. It cannot hold any more phones. So, I guess I'm stuck with the so-called smartphone I have now.

It really is a smartphone -- a lot smarter than I am, no question about it.

This morning a friend and I golfed at the Jaycees course here in Cape Girardeau, and as we were finishing the first hole a wind and rainstorm swooped across the course. We headed for shelter, where a few other golfers were waiting out the storm. All of us had our phones out checking radar. Because we used different apps, it was interesting to see the variations in how radar is tracked by today's phones.

I've become a big fan of cellphones and the many tasks they can perform. But I almost refuse to use a cellphone in a public place. As I look around any restaurant, grocery store or doctor's waiting room, I see folks everywhere holding a cellphone to their ears, talking loudly, saying things that sometimes should be left in private.

One reason I don't use my cellphone in public is the simple fact that I still can't get used to the ring tone. On more than one occasion I've said to my wife, "Where is that ringing phone? Why won't someone answer it?"

The phone in question, of course, is in my pocket. Sometimes complete strangers come up to me and tell me my phone is ringing.

Really?

The future of cellphones is open to so many possibilities that it's hard to think of what they can and should be doing.

I've lived through phones with no dials. You simply lifted the receiver and listened for the operator to say, "Number, please."

I've lived through rotary-dial phones and area codes.

I've lived through push-button phones and tangled cords.

And I hope to live through many more advancements in smartphones and other communications devices upon which we are growing increasingly dependent.

For now, my big task is this: I have to empty that drawer in the little table. And I'll be reliving a part of history that has had a profound effect on all of us.

Gotta go. I think -- maybe -- my phone is ringing.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.