Journal of a Living Lady #66

Nancy White Kelly

 

 

It is June already. Where did May go? What happened to spring? My two favorite seasons of the year, spring and fall, seem to pass so quickly. I equally detest sizzling summers and frigid winters. Both are an endurance test for me.

 

A few years ago there was a classified ad in the Atlanta paper from a lady who wanted to escape the harsh Michigan winters. She was a widow and offered to help out around the house in exchange for room and board.  At the time our boys were about ten-years-old. No, we don’t have twins. We adopted our last foster child who is five months younger than Charlie.

 

I was working as a school principal and Buddy was still with the airlines. Having some domestic help and giving companionship to a lonely lady appeared to be a “win-win” situation. We even had a modest two-room apartment attached to the garage.

 

I wrote Lily Jean and learned that she had been married for over forty years to a union laborer and had been a stay-at-home mother and wife. Her children were all grown and she didn’t want to be stuck indoors for another dreary northern winter. 

 

She accepted our invitation to stay for three months. The day finally came for us to pick up our guest at the airport. The boys were excited. Buddy and I were apprehensive as we carefully studied each woman as they came into the terminal. We held a picture of a petite lady who appeared to be in  her late sixties. Lily Jean was the last passenger to disembark the plane and appeared anxious. When we introduced ourselves, she let out a high-pitched squeal of relief, happy that this wasn’t a hoax.

 

We learned much about Lily Jean over the next few weeks. She had never learned to drive, but was a serious walker. Though we offered to drive her anywhere she wanted to go, she seldom took us up on it. Almost daily Lily Jean would walk for miles, stopping to chat with willing neighbors in our sprawling suburb. Eventually she conversed with more people in our community than we had in over twenty years.

 

Lily Jean also enjoyed riding a bicycle. Buddy unhooked my fifty-ish Schwinn which had been hanging in the garage.  He removed the cobwebs, replaced a rotting tire, greased the gears, and added a mirror and a red horn.  Lily Jean became quite an attraction as she leisurely rode in the neighborhood tooting her ooga-horn while waving a tiny American flag.

 

Lily Jean loved attending the Heart-to-Heart Sunday School class I taught. She made new friends quickly. Though she had never been a serious church goer before, Lily Jean adored our young pastor and listened to his tapes over and over. Before going home, she was baptized one sunny Lord’s Day.

 

There was only one blight during her visit with us. Lily Jean and Buddy had differences concerning the discipline of our boys whom she spoiled. When he asked her to refrain from  taking up for the boys when he corrected them, it hurt her feelings. She never did warm up to Buddy again.  In her sight, Mr. Kelly was like a harsh winter, to be endured. I was clearly her favorite.

 

Try as I might, I never could get Lily Jean to call me “Nancy.” It was always, “Dr. Kelly,” this and that, a title I don’t encourage, though a few old colleagues and students still refer to me that way. She always put me on a pedestal I didn’t deserve and sometimes embarrassed me by exaggerating my personal qualities to others. When she started wearing a large button with my picture glued to it, I had to tell her what a poor, wretched creature I really was, though I am not sure she ever believed it.

 

We have kept in touch occasionally. Last year Lily Jean sadly wrote that she had been disappointed in love. I wondered how any suitor could spurn Lily Jean, that beautiful flower in my life who appeared for such a short season.

 

nancyk@alltel.net            www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly