Barbara J. Hamby

sign-up for our email list

Black Holes

There are periods in my memory that are black holes. They represent times when my life was so busy I didn’t have time to notice television shows, popular songs, movies, or books. I know the words to hundreds of songs from the ‘40s, few from the ‘50’s. Some of the folk songs from the ‘60’s I’ve learned in my 70’s, by joining a folk singing group.

For one year of my life, as a student at the University of Washington, I had a slight interest in college football. So-called “professional sports” never attracted me.

Obviously I’d make a lousy Jeopardy contestant. Quite often I know the answer to the Final Jeopardy question, but I probably wouldn’t make it that far. When I was younger, I might have done well on Wheel of Fortune, but now I can’t think fast enough. Sometimes, at home, I can beat the contestants to the answers, but I’d probably be too nervous to think if I were actually there.

Tomorrow I hope to celebrate my birthday by writing and writing some more. I’m far behind on revisions of memoir sections. I also have a poem that needs some major work. Writing prose poetry is a challenge. I didn’t encounter that style of poetry until mid-life, so it’s tougher for me to do than metered, rhyming verses.

Al has removed sections of a neighboring hedge that were strangling two trees we’d like to keep around. One is our tree; one belongs to the neighbor’s place. That home is vacant at present, so there’s no one to object. Our yard is shaping up.