Journal of a Living Lady #118

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

            Summer officially begins today. It is my least favorite season of the year. Summer used to be fun, but as  I grew older the season became less of a favorite. When we had children at home, it meant keeping them busy for long hot days. Busy, not as in work, but busy as in entertainment. Sure, we got a little grass cutting out of the boys and some dish washing out of the girls, but not much more. I mean, how dare we ask anything else? This was the liberated 1970’s and 80’s. Vegetables came from the supermarket, not the garden. Milk came in plastic jugs. Yard work was considered punishment.

 I can’t blame the children for praying, “Deliver us from labor.” It was and is the subtle mantra of most children.  Pac-Man reigned supreme in those days. Buddy and I did most of the house and yard work ourselves,  at least as much as we could manage between day jobs and 7/24 parenting.

Our failures haunt us, but there were successes. Buddy and I tried. We really did. Our children, all twelve of them, birth, foster, and adopted,  were ferried back and forth to lessons of one kind or another. Art lessons for Bobby. Karate for Charlie. Sewing for Susan. Tennis for Tina and Frank. Swimming for Melissa and Johnny. Piano lessons for David.

My brother, Bob. and sister, Sunnie Anne, were stork surprises. Being so close in age to the children in our household, they became welcomed summer additions. Each June, July, and August, the Kelly household had an interesting brood of youngsters, often with as many as eight different last names.

Attending church Sunday mornings, Sunday nights and Wednesday evenings was a given. Summers always included at least two neighborhood Vacation Bible Schools, sometimes three.

Our personal flock made innumerable trips to the library and the local swimming pool to get a break from the sweltering heat. We camped a lot because the trees were cool and the leisure was cheap.

Most of  the children took part in community sports. Thanks to summer camps like Camp Chilwowee, Camp Joy, and the Wilds, Buddy and I occasionally got a break from some of the older children, but never the sweltering temperatures. Oscillating fans continually blew the hot air around the house. With raised windows, a noisy attic fan brought some relief in the evenings as the whirling blades created a stir of cooler air.

Now the calendar declares summer once again. June, 2001. These long, lazy days evoke mostly fond memories. I shall never like the heat, but gratefully can retreat to the coolness of modern air conditioning. Further comfort comes in knowing that this season too shall pass. Hopefully summer will not fade before I get a fast boat ride on the lake and another opportunity to observe the incessant waves of the ocean.

 

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