Barbara J. Hamby

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I Can Still Remember What an Iron Looks Like

When you come to the end of a very busy day, at my age, you’re pooped. Adding extra watering because of increasingly hot weather just pumps up the workload on the few days I decide to do something useful. This morning while it was still quite cool I actually set up the ironing board. I expected it to be rusted shut, but no such luck. So I pressed a half dozen pairs of shorts.

In this wonderful climate, we spend as much time as possible lounging near a pool or under tall trees this time of year. Effort is confined to climbing in and out of pools and hot tubs and paddling around a bit now and then. Minimal energy is applied to securing sustenance.

I do spend time at the computer. Not as much as I should spend, is devoted to writing, but at least enough to read and answer email and keep up with some of the news.

This week I received news of the death of my father’s youngest brother, in his mid-nineties. The loss of his independence accompanied the loss of his driver’s license a couple of years ago and he seemed quite depressed when I saw him around that time. His wife, who is about the same age, does not drive so they became more dependent than suited him. Any of us who live to a ripe old age have that to look forward to. Most of us dread the prospect.

Saturday Floyd and I attended the annual gathering of member poets in the Oregon State Poets and Washington Poets Society (I hope I remember those titles correctly). I reconnected with four or five friends from Vancouver I’d not seen for at least four years and had a wonderful time. The picnic was at Vancouver Lake Park and attended by 20 to 30 people at various times. More than a dozen of us read our poetry to each other. A few more daring and mostly younger (with better memories) recited theirs. I was not among that select group.

Tomorrow we will be off to a cool pool to soak away heat predicted to be triple-digit. We are collecting the spoils of many years of hard work. The joys of retirement! 

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