Barbara J. Hamby

Living in the Slow Lane

This morning while the sun was drying the dew and warming us through the front windows, I decided to move the houseplants out of their summer location. The plant stand where they sat outside the front door is constructed of kindling like sticks, with air spaces between them. After I removed all the plants, I noticed a tiny frog hiding in a dead looking position at the back of the top shelf. He had turned the color of the wood and was difficult to see. Al came and looked and helped me decide he was alive and scared. He picked up the little guy gently and put him in a planter box of blooming wax begonias. He turned green again, making me wonder if he ‘d turn pink if placed on a pink blossom.

We live in an over-55 community of mobile/manufactured homes that range in age from thirty years to brand new ones just being set up The park is lovely and well maintained, with a large clubhouse and swimming pool. There are activities for seniors with varied interests, such as Bingo, Bridge, Poker, Billiards, ladies’ luncheons, and occasional dinners, sometimes with live entertainment. Among other advantages, the presence of children is limited to visits by grandchildren. There is a two-hour period each day in the summer when children are allowed in the swimming pool, when accompanied by their resident relative. Most noisy tools are not heard in the early morning or late evening, so quiet prevails much of the time.

While I am baffled by the affinity of older men for diesel pickups, their noise and odor are random and not too offensive. The major down side here is the frequent arrival of fire engines, emergency rescue vehicles, and ambulances, but they turn off their sirens inside the park.

Often, when we go shopping, we can walk to neighbors’ garage sales. Everyone in our age group is trying to get rid of excess belongings. Some are crafty and hold sales of gift items quite often. Our neighbor across the back fence makes candles and craft items, so yesterday I walked over to her sale intending to buy a little gift for my son and daughter-in-law for their new house. I came back with a nest of nine basket weave flower pots, lined in plastic. I rationalized that they might not suit my kids’ taste and used six of them myself. I will offer the rest to them, if they tickle their fancy.

Life moves a little more slowly in our quiet corner. We are mostly unruffled by the hiccups of Mt. St. Helens or the inhumanities of men in the world around us. We have lived long enough to take adversities in stride and accept the benefits we’ve earned gratefully.