Journal of a Living Lady #187

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

Some people are content to vegetate. Not this lady. There is more to life than sitting around watching the drapes fade. Maintaining a pulse is pretty important to me. So is keeping my mind active. Living Lady philosophy says that if something is growing, it can't be shrinking. Small minds are the bane of society. Wish I could remember where I put my keys.

 

My life has been filled with myriad adventures in learning: ornithology, antiquity, eschatology, and husbandry  just to name a few. After thirty-seven years, I still have much to learn about that last one. I recently sent Buddy, my perennial tinkerer, to get a quart of milk. He returned three hours later with some bolts and a quart of oil for the lawnmower. This is December. He has his interests. I have mine.

 

While Buddy likes tools, I like words. My curiosity for vocabulary began early. Mama  liked to brag that I was reading before it was fashionable to read in diapers. She exaggerated a little.

 

My favorite game is Scrabble though I seldom get to play. Before my dad passed way, he and I spent thousands of hours playing Scrabble. He held an edge on me because he  avidly worked crossword puzzles. My father  eagerly shared this extraneous vocabulary. He patiently taught me my ems and ens.  Though he only finished eighth grade, Dad was mentally sharp.  A prestigious Catholic high school offered him an academic scholarship, but times were hard during the depression. He opted to work. Dad always regretted his lack of formal schooling. Perhaps that is why he enthusiastically encouraged my education. He always believed I would make a great lawyer and/or writer. Guess we will never know.

 

My father once beat me in a Scrabble game because he used an expletive; he didn't want to do it, not with his daughter, but he was competitive and played to win. Dad put his wooden tiles down, counted the score and immediately turned them over to hide the word.

 

That was a memorable experience, seeing my father teeter on the pedestal I placed him on.  Hell is a legitimate word and it wasn't like I had never heard this utterance before. For a few uncomfortable moments, internal conflict waged war within my father. Conflict contorted his face. Dad wanted to win. Yet, he wanted to protect his daughter from foul language. Perhaps it was the first time in my life I recognized my father's humanness.

 

I think Dad would be proud of the new words I have learned this week. No agon will repeat. No qued will come from it. My father and I are still gemeled in spirit and I continue to seek any nugatory enquete.

 

Do you see the dichotomy? Though often solemn and serious, I enjoy that which is ultroneous and silly. May I practice my new proficiency in zetetics?

 

Y'et  t'de? Me neither. I am headed to the kitchen now.

 

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nancyk@alltel.net