The gentlemanly thing

We reversed the usual order of things: female life expectancy is greater than male, so we two, Wendy and I, only a few months apart in age, defied actuarial statistics. But as I go painstakingly and with frequently teary eyes through the voluminous paperwork and her more important personal and intimate belongings, I reflect again and again on the chivalrous salute, "Ladies First." By dying before me, she has been spared all this. From time to time I said and did things she chided me for, deploring my uncouth conduct. "No gentleman would ever do that!" she would say. Well, I did the gentlemanly thing by out-living her. Now her spirit watches gratefully as I go about this sad but essential work. It's punctuated by the pleasure of dipping into her diaries. Every day from the beginning of 1950 until some time in the spring of this year when her fingers would no longer do her bidding, she kept a daily diary. Often seemingly a banal account of cleaning, washing, mending, it tells me about her tremendous energy; and it's enlivened by lyrical descriptions (sometimes with sketches) of our many travels. While she lived, I never looked at these diaries. They were hers, her private, personal thoughts. I have found most but not all of them yet; when I get them in order I have much pleasurable reading ahead of me. Then there are her scrap-books, album-sized volumes in which she pasted theatre programs, brochures, all sorts of reminders of places she had been, things she had done, performances she had attended, usually with me. These are a wonderful record that I look forward to reading at leisure in coming months.