All By Myself

For my 60th birthday, Liz and I rented a house on the Greek island of Sifnos and invited five of my friends and five of hers to spend the week with us. Best of all, Liz and I along with Abby and Asha stayed on for another week of pleasure. One night, the two philippino women who cooked and cleaned and who lived in a tiny room in the lowest level of the house, invited us to have a karaoke night together. While the four of us howled with laughter as we watched each other do our best Madonna or Diana Ross imitations, the two maids approached their turns at the microphone with the greatest seriousness. They chose sad ballads and sang them with real sweetness as scenes from the Philippines flashed on the TV screen in front of them. Ever since that evening, whenever I hear Celine Dion sing “All by Myself” I think of those two little women, virtual prisoners in that big house, serenading their families so far, far away.

So here I am today after everyone has gone back to the city all by myself in my cabin in Maine. And strange to say, I am feeling much better. I like moving around the house, straightening up, putting away the laundry or just sitting on the deck and breathing in the clean Maine air. I need this time alone to feel like this house belongs to me, all by myself.

Memorial Day

The weekend is over and I have survived. It’s been tough though. I’m beginning to realize that it will take some time before I truly feel comfortable here in Maine without Steve. His presence is everywhere here—on the porch, in the house, at the tennis court, the bocce court and most of all in my head. Somehow in Philadelphia, it’s easier to look forward and not get overwhelmed by the past. But here in Maine the loss feels so much fresher, the pain that much rawer. I know it will get better. It will just take time to make new memories so the old ones won’t hurt as much.

Back Home

I had forgotten how beautiful it is here in Maine in the early spring. The leaves on the tree are a pale green, “a hopeful green” as Marlene said as we drove from the airport. Lilacs, white and purple, punctuate the road from Casco to our house and delicate lilies of the valley march along the shoulders. The ferns are just beginning to unfurl themselves. It’s so quiet on the lake, just the sound of the waves and the wind. And as a special gift, it’s warm and sunny.

I’m fine here, thank goodness. I’ve been really anxious about returning to the house but I knew as soon as I walked in it would be all right. Habit just takes over. I unpacked all my bags, cleaned the mouse droppings out of my drawers, rearranged the kitchen shelves, even did a load of laundry.

Everyone comes tomorrow but I am grateful to have this time when it’s just me and Bob and Jane. We’ll eat dinner together here tonight, watch the basketball game, maybe even play some poker. And we will all be thinking of Steve and how much we miss and love him.

I Love This Picture!

Much love to my BFF and my sistah.

Going Back

This morning it occurred to me that in my former life I was supposed to spend this entire month in Italy. In other words I should be drinking fresh blood orange juice for breakfast, taking long hikes up the crete siennese past the ferocious sheep dogs, eating Marcella's incredible hand rolled pasta and watching the sun set over the Tuscan hills while enjoying a glass or two of prosecco.

Instead I am here in Philadelphia. But at least I am now ensconced in my new digs where I can still watch the sun set, albeit over West Philly, with a glass of prosecco in hand. I really miss being in Italy and I will go back. I just know it will be a different experience on my own, not worse, not better, just different.

Next week I am heading up to Maine. It won't be my first time alone in the house. I went back right after Steve died but somehow coming up by myself at the start of the summer feels like a new and different experience. I think I am doing all the right things to make my return a good one. The house will be filled with people who I love and who love me. I plan to play tennis, go for a run on the road and, yes, at sunset sit on the dock with a glass of prosecco and watch the sun disappear into the lake.

Moving Up

I am loving, loving, loving my newly renovated bathroom. Calling it a bathroom definitely does that space a disservice. It is now a very sexy, sophisticated boudoir featuring a plush white sofa to loll in, something I've been doing a lot of lately. All I need to complete the look is to buy myself a diaphanous negligee trimmed in marabou, of course, and matching white satin mules so I can swish around the space in style.

The move back upstairs after nearly three months sleeping in my downstairs guest bedroom has made me happy and sad at the same time. That seems to be the story of my life right now. The space where Steve and I shared our most intimate moments is gone. All that is left is his picture on the mantle.

Reality Check

It suddenly occurred to me today that I am no longer middle aged. Whew! That's a powerful and potentially depressing thought. I don't know what to call this time of life. I'm not really old but I'm definitely not young any more. And 70 is a lot closer than 50. Any suggestions?