The Joy of Living Alone

During dialysis I read the New Yorker.  This weekly magazine has lots of long articles which help to pass the three and a half hours that I am connected to the machine which pulls the blood out of my body and through a “dialyser” which cleans my blood before pumping it back into my arm. 

As I turn the pages – hard to do with my right hand while my left arm is strapped down – I pause to look at the cartoons.  In the midst of reading some serious stuff about Syria or politics, it is great to have something to laugh about.  

The January 5 issue has a cartoon titled “Living Alone.”   It pictures a man standing before the open door of a refrigerator and drinking milk straight out of the carton.  Below is the caption which reads “It’s just plain fun!”

I was reminded of this last week when I was alone after having visitors during the holidays.  It was wonderful having Richard and Karl here for Christmas.  My grandson Richard brought his cello (occupying its own seat beside him on the plane from Chicago).   He played a concert of Bach and Elgar for the old ladies who live in this retirement home.   It was a treat to spend Christmas with a grandchild for only the second time in 26 years.

It was also great to be with my son Karl for the first time in ten years.  He proved pleasantly cooperative about bedtime and meals, which he never did when he lived with me in my tiny house in Albuquerque.  He has a brusk, authoritative manner which annoys everyone.  This time he managed to spend a week without insulting any of my friends.  

Both bought stuff which I did not need or want.  Richard bought paper towels without looking under the sink, where I had five additional rolls.  With Karl it was cheesecake, when my cupboards already stored enough cookies to last me for two months.   After they left it took a week to distribute other unwanted food, wash sheets and towels, and get the apartment back in order. 

I realized how much I like living alone.  The joy of getting up in the middle of the night without worrying about disturbing someone else.  I do not drink milk out of cartons, but I do enjoy a nice cup of peppermint tea and watching reruns of Charlie Rose.  The walls are soundproof.  Also, my neighbors on either side, Everett and Herb, are both deaf and turn off their hearing aids when they go to bed. . They never hear my television blasting at 2 a.m. 

My husband John Durkalski was an easy man to live with.  He never did anything without asking me.  “I thought we might go to Europe in October.  Would you like to do that?”  He took wonderful care of me when I had breast cancer and was sick from chemo and radiation for most of 1990.  It seemed a little thing to sit beside him every afternoon watching the Chicago Cubs play baseball.  But I don’t think I have watched a single game since he died. 

Last week I went down the hall to visit my 92-year-old neighbor Vista.  She was watching television and turned it off when I sat down for a chat.  Vista was married to C. G. for 72 years (I cannot imagine being married to one man for that long.)  He took care of everything, paying all the bills and providing for someone to take care of her after he was gone.  When he died, Vista did not even know how to turn on the television. 

I said, “When my husband died, I got control of the remote.” 

Vista nodded agreement and laughed out loud..