Alone Again

This title is misleading, because I'm really not alone all that much anymore.  There was a time in my married life when Jim traveled quite a bit, and then,  when he didn't, I did.  But for the past four or five years, neither one of us travels much without the other.


Due to a complicated set of circumstances (an unexpectedly very cheap airline ticket for him, and a long standing work committment for me) he's in Florida for the week and I'm here.


Except for the pups - which is not a small thing, really, since they are great company.

So let's be honest - sometimes being single sounds attractive, doesn't it?  No one snoring, no one hogging the bathroom or the wide screen TV, no one setting their alarm clock for some ungodly hour allowing it to wake you up before they turn it off and go back to sleep, no one asking "when's dinner?" and then making a phone call when you get it ready...

No one.

I'm a little bit surprised how lonely I feel.  It could be that there's just a bit of jealousy involved - after all, he gets to spend time with the children, and I don't. 

But mostly, it's feeling as if part of me is missing, as if I'm forgetting something very important in everything I do, as if one vital piece of the puzzle that is my life has been lost behind the refrigerator or (hideous thought!) thrown in the trash.

So I've been a bit aimless today, wandering a bit, moping a bit.  I cleaned house, walked the dogs, ate a salad for dinner and then drank a tad more than my alloted one glass of wine. 

I also watched a movie (on the wide screen TV!) that was simply adorable - Dan In Real Life.  If you haven't seen it, watch it.  Soon. You won't be sorry. 

I finished the novel I was reading - The Wednesday Sisters.  (I recommend that as well.)

And here I sit, writing this as a way of postponing crawling into my big king sized bed all alone (except for Magic and Molly, who, as I've said, are quite good company.  Molly even snores pretty well.)

When you've been with someone for 35 years, it's easy to become a bit complacent in your relationship.  You kid around about it sometimes, make jokes about being together so long.  It's kind of nice to know that you still miss each other when you're apart.  Sort of like that song in Fiddler on the Roof.  You know the one...Do You Love Me? Tevye asks his wife.  Do I love you? she replies sarcastically, and then proceeds to serenade him with a litany of things that prove her love for him. Twenty five years of cooking, washing, keeping house, sharing a bed...if that's not love, what is?

And then they finish the song in close harmony...

"It doesn't mean a thing, but even so...after twenty five's nice to know."

That it is.