Journal of a Living Lady #186

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

Fun!  Not a word we old-fogies consider much.  Survival, yes. Fun, no.

 

Recently Buddy and I tried to determine when was the last time we had some old-fashioned fun. Neither of us could think of an event. Back when we were younger, we did crazy things.

 

During the summer, Buddy and I  rode matching Vespa scooters up and down the Mississippi levee. We played motorized Hide and Seek. I was Harley. He was Davidson.

 

When it snowed in the winter, Buddy tied heavy burlap twine to a large trash can lid. Then he attached that aluminum top to the back of our old Ford pick-up. Within the safe confines of our neighborhood cul-de-sac, Buddy maneuvered the truck so it would slide sideways. Time and time again I tumbled off the circular sled as it whipped back and forth on the icy streets. When the pick-up got stuck in a ditch, as it often did,  a new batch of warmly bundled neighbors came out of their snug house. After giving the truck a shove, Buddy and I initiated boisterous snowball fights. Eventually we tired and retreated to our own little hovel. Hot chocolate thawed our half-frozen bodies. That was our definition of unfettered fun in the old days.

 

Today Buddy and I sometimes forget  our names. Yet, etched forever are the memories of  days gone by. Leisurely horse rides deep into the woods behind our home. The marathon all-night tennis matches with our friends. Good times were had by all. Now, many of the "alls" are gone and we aren't far behind.

 

A few days ago Buddy and I visited with the newly-weds, Charlie and Tori. They live in Cornelia, close to the cancer center where I get my monthly treatments. The early morning appointment with my doctor gave us a good excuse to spend the night with the high-spirited pair.  Though we only live about ninety minutes away, we don't see them nearly enough. Both are school teachers and very active in their church and community.

 

When we arrived at the younger Kelly household, Charlie gleefully led us to the master bedroom. He turned off the overhead light and shut the door. The ceiling came alive with glow-in-the-dark stars. He and Tori had found them the day before in a toy store.

 

Before the evening was over, Charlie completed his project. The entire bedroom ceiling was covered with luminous, celestial silhouettes. He darkened the room again. All four of us climbed on top of the double bed.

 

There we were, a full bed of warm bodies staring off into what seemed like outer space. Astronomy isn't my forte, but I identified the North Star. Buddy found the Big Dipper. The two young science teachers playfully argued with each other over the proper alignment of the planets.

 

Before long, we were shoving, laughing and re-ordering the universe. Charlie patiently adjusted God's creation to our textbook remembrance. As an afterthought, he glued a circular  piece of the fluorescent material to the ceiling fan. While the blades slowly turned in the darkness, it seemed as if a meteorite was swirling into the distant sky only to return at rocket speed. Occasionally a star would fall as if on cue.

 

We were all awe-struck children again, gazing and marveling at the heavens. No adults were around to scold us for rough-housing or warning us that the bed might break. Instead, for one short night, on top of a mattress in a tiny north Georgia town, a couple of old geezers and two members of Generation Y broke the time barrier.

 

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nancyk@alltel.net