Journal of a Living Lady #369

Nancy White Kelly

Spring sprang. It’s hot already. Seems like each year we skip our highly anticipated season of spring. Now it seems a straight shot from winter to summer. I have been bagging up our winter clothes and trying to find the summer stash. Buddy thinks he put them in the attic, but they aren’t there. My creaky knees barely carried me up the ladder this year. Most likely it was my last trip ever to that space over the garage which houses a treasure trove of memories in cardboard boxes. In the hunt for the summer wardrobe, Buddy keeps finding pictures of younger, happier days.
There is a bit of sadness about growing old and knowing you aren’t going to ever have the energy or strength of days gone by. Buddy is twelve years older than I. Since the turn of the millennium, I have noticed an obvious decrease in his physical agility and endurance.

A decade ago he could work from sun up to sun down and barely break a sweat. Now he requires a nap every two or three hours. That would be okay except he insists that he can’t rest without me by his side. I don’t have time to take that many naps especially since I am not a morning person anyway. His day is half over before I am semi-conscious. By four in the afternoon I am at my peak and he is beginning his shut down mode. That would not be a problem except my Buddy insists he can’t sleep unless I am in bed beside him. What a dilemma. Do I wash clothes, do dishes and write out the bills or do I give in and go to bed with my lonely man at eight thirty?

Sometimes I lull Buddy to sleep at night and slip out of the bedroom to write, read or just do my own thing without interruption. That wouldn’t be a problem except he has this inner alarm that goes off when he can’t feel my body. Many a night he has wandered into my office sanctuary to tell me I need to come to bed and get my rest. Good grief. I’ve already had three naps since sun rise.

I still haven’t found the summer clothes. Buddy insists I gave them to either the Humane Society or Safe House for re-sale. I don’t think so, but it looks as if we will be shopping there ourselves for something to wear as the temperature edges higher each day.

The birthdays and the seasons come and go year end and year out. Once we were young and now we are old. Once we were the children, then the parents, and thereafter the grandparents. The cycle will continue after we are gone just as it has for centuries before.


Charlie just turned 30 and Noah, his youngest son, 3. Seems like only yesterday Charlie was 3 himself. Then we blinked.

nancyk@windstream.net