Happy New Year

I am sitting in front of a roaring fire admiring its perfect log cabin construction. (One of the legacies of my eight years of overnight camp is my stellar fire building ability. That and learning how to smoke cigarettes my CIT year. Oh yeah, there’s also the copper ashtray I made in arts and crafts for my dad’s office. He was a doctor, believe it or not, but this was before the Surgeon-General’s report on the dangers of smoking.)

It’s the second day of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. If I were a kid back in Yeadon after services I’d be heading over to Loehmann’s in Drexel Hill with my mom to suss out the bargains. But instead, I am alone in my house in Maine trying to stay warm (it’s fucking freezing here!), listening to Jill Scott and contemplating my new year and new life, one without my mate, my life partner, my husband.

Steve is all over the house. I see him on the bench on the dock staring out at the lake, in the kitchen swiping pretzels out of the canister, in the back room trying to get the fucking TV to work. His camp pictures stare down at me from above the fireplace mantle. I hate that I feel so out of place here. I can’t wait to get back to Philadelphia but then I’m sad to think of leaving his presence behind. Will he be as lonely without me as I am without him?