Barbara J. Hamby

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Late Life Reverie

With less than two years of living before my eightieth birthday, I like to speculate about how many years I may possibly be around after that. I think 85 is quite likely, 90--maybe; after that, any extra years in reasonably good health, would be a great gift.  Actually, I’m living on borrowed time now, having survived colon cancer for nearly twenty years.

Each birthday reminds me how precious my remaining time is and how I tend to waste it with laziness and procrastination. After so many years of working hard, sleeping little, and attempting to please so many people, it’s’ a great luxury to spend time just thinking, reading, or napping--even watching television or movies.

However, I’m feeling slightly guilty today that I haven’t done much writing over the summer without the motivation of having to bring work to my critique group. We start our meetings again tomorrow and, at this moment, I’m empty handed. Unless, of course, I take some of my blog essays to share.

Perhaps my reflective speculation about my possible life expectancy could have a place in the memoir stories I’ve been working on. I suppose it’s a natural part of life at this age.

Some years ago a psychic told me that I would write mystery stories in later life. I replied that I wasn’t even reading them, at that time. Lately, I’ve had the urge to read fictional mysteries and true crime stories, along with biographies and autobiographies. I have done a lot of reading over the summer.

My only attempt at mystery writing failed, in my view, because of my lack of deviousness. I’m not sure that’s something one can learn by reading.

At any rate, I managed to get these words onto the blank white computer screen tonight. Perhaps there are more to come.

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