How to Socialise as a Single?

It's been a long time since I've had to. Maybe I should say 'single and elderly'. I was over 50 years younger then — given that I had so little time between marriages that that hardly counts. And anyway, I knew the ropes back then.

Now ... well, I wrote a poem about all the pitfalls and surprises. Read more ...

It's been something of a revelation. So at first I was thinking I would have to learn new rules. 

And indeed, I guess I do have to be prepared for those differences I've now encountered. Although the wedding ring is back on my wedding finger, it doesn't look very obviously like a wedding ring. It's not the traditional plain gold band, but jewelled. Though I wouldn't have thought an overweight 73-year-old was much enticement to anyone, I was mistaken. The person concerned accepted that it was a misunderstanding and we're still friends, with no repercussions, but if it could happen once it could happen again. Do I have to be careful now not to give the wrong impression to others? I do hope not. 

Flattering, you think? I suppose so, but I don't feel particularly thrilled about that aspect, just that it's a nuisance and the last thing I want. (I wrote a poem about that, too. Read more ...) I begin to see the usefulness of a period of mourning, as in the past, when the widow wore black to signify not only bereavement but that she was still unapproachable to suitors. I can undertstand now why Queen Victoria wore it the rest of her long life after losing her beloved Albert.

As for the other thing, of being relegated to the society of other older single women, it happens that some of them are among the most interesting people I know. So that's only mildly irritating and largely amusing. 

I have met one new friend my age who wasn't in the least worried about having me meet her very nice husband too — but they are a European couple, perhaps more intelligent on such matters. And, as I said in one of the poems, the old friends aren't bothered either. 

So I have decided to do socialising just how I want to, pleasing myself. I've decided to do as I would if I were still part of a couple (and providing my partner was in good health; my darling's poor health did restrict our socialising in his final years).

I have friends who invite me for visits, where they would once have invited the two of us, and I have started issuing reciprocal invitations. No reason I can't entertain, I realise. I'm not much of a cook, but then I never was. That doesn't mean we can't eat well. It's a pleasure to plan these occasions and to get in delectable goodies for my friends to enjoy. 

And when there are outings that I think my friends — single or coupled — might enjoy sharing with me, I'll ask them.

Oh, a Bit of a Bad Day Today

I hurt my ankle, mislaid my car keys, and now am having a bout of heavy sneezing. And there's more.

I've had a day of intermittent weeping and howling over my loss, and about his last days/weeks/months. I was a bit surprised — there hasn't been so much of that lately. Finally it dawned on me why: anniversary reaction.

On the first of May a year ago Andrew was admitted to the first nursing home, the one where he was so unhappy (as described in my previous blog, Shifting Fog). I was very unhappy too as a result; it was a nightmare time for both of us.

After a fortnight he was well enough physically to come home, and deteriorating mentally because of his environment, so for both reasons I took him out of there. One of the best decisions I ever made! By the time a nursing home was needed again, we had found a lovely place which suited him much better.

Even if the first place had been wonderful, it would still have been a very confronting thing, putting one's beloved spouse into that kind of care. On that first day, a year ago, I believed he would never be able to come home again. I did a lot of crying that day too.

And yet, at the time we had no choice. It was the only place with a bed. For physical reasons he needed high care, but this was solely a high care facility. He had only mild Alzheimer's and was surrounded by people with advanced dementia — no-one to have a decent conversation with. He didn't receive bad care; it was just that the place was wrong for him.

At this distance, I can see that things really did work out for the best. He was cared for when he needed it, and if it had been a better place he might have stayed there until his death instead of coming home for several very special and precious months. And, if we'd found the better place initially, perhaps we would not have appreciated it as much as we did by comparison.

So it is for everything that happened. I can start to see, now, that — given his age and illness — the way all sorts of things came about was ultimately for the best. But it's one thing to be able to grasp that intellectually — it doesn't help my feelings right now. At the time that things were happening, it just wasn't possible to shed all the tears I had. So here they are, well and truly triggered, the ones that belong to this day a year ago.

Expressing Myself in Verse

I'm a poet, so I'm always doing that — even more so than usual, this last month. For the whole of April I responded to an annual challenge from Poetic Asides (a section of Writers Digest) to write a poem a day. (April is National Poetry Month in the United States, and some facets of it have spread to other countries.) Not only did my writing energy go there, but most of my widowhood chronicling too. There are some things I didn't include in the poems, which I'll catch up with here in the near future. Meanwhile, this link takes you to my April poems. Not all of them are on topic, but most are. Usually, when I confronted the keyboard, that was what was there to write, so I did. But there are also some pieces of light relief.

Play Room

So here I am in my new workroom, or rather play room, sitting at the desk by the window, looking out on the pretty street through the trees. The sun has moved around and would be pouring in the window at my left shoulder if I had the blind open. I don't, and it is pleasantly warm and not glary.

I realise that, although I have been thinking the room is now complete — as of this morning — I have given no thought to the placement of an electric fan, which will be essential. Andrew used it have his in the very corner where I am sitting, near the power points. I have not left a corner or even a bit of wall free to put one, so it will have to be in the middle of the room somewhere. I'll work it out. It probably won't be really necessary until summer.

He never had the blinds open, for fear of the heat damaging his computers, and also I suppose for privacy, especially at night. But it's nice to sit here and look out. The 8-year-old girl from across the road has a boy visiting her; he looks a bit older. That family usually has visitors to stay during school holidays, and it's nice to see them playing in the street. We are at the head of a quiet cul-de-sac, at the top of a hill, so it is safe for them to do that. The cars come slowly, so there is time for the kids to get out of the way, and time for the drivers to see the kids. 

The street itself feels friendly. I have a notion that it tunes in to the people who come here and takes our imprint, reading who we are. I think it likes me well enough.

I wanted to integrate this room into the rest of the house — not have it be that room with the closed door, up the end of the passage, where Andrew used to be.

When it was his office, it became more and more crowded. I realise now that this was because walking got harder and harder for him. Easer to have his filing cabinet in here rather than outside the door, in the passage. Easier to place his desk and the big old wooden table he used as a bench at right angles to each other so he could sit in one chair to work at both, merely swivelling it around. And all his boxes of notes and papers were accessible to him here, as they were not when out in the garage. I wish I'd taken a photo of that cluttered space, for a 'before' and 'after' comparison. 

Of course it doubled as spare room. At first it had the pull-out couch / double bed we'd used as a spare for some years, but that took up too much space. We swapped it for a singe bed. Everything was still a very close fit. When I had family visiting recently, I acquired a second spare bed to accommodate them all.  His desk and table are long gone; in fact the desk fell apart as I removed it. It had evidently been wedged into place by the table and that's what kept it functional! 

I am nodding off in this pleasant space. A minute ago my head nearly crashed on to the desk. Well, what do you know? There are two beds in here. It was my intention they should function as day beds between visitors. That causes a slight pang, as in the past the one that was here sometimes served as a day bed for Andrew — though not for so very long, as he became more and more unwell and spent a lot of time in our real bed. 

Ah well, that is the past. I have been making my home into what suits me now. I even spoke out loud to Andrew, as I finished the job this morning, inviting him to admire what I had done. (After all he has no need for an office any more.) So I'll just allow myself to succumb to sleep, and have a little snooze on one of the beds, with the warm sun coming in.