When Ed was in the hospital for a couple of nights recently, it was the first time in the past ten years that I’ve been at home alone. Seriously. I’m never here when he’s not here. I wasn’t interacting with someone—answering questions, asking them, or just generally being present to another person. And, I had a thought.

Well, lots of them. But one stood out.

I miss my girlfriends.

I miss going to lunch, laughing at our foibles, lamenting the current state of affairs, describing new shopping acquisitions, recommending a new book or TV show, complaining about newly discovered health issues, discussing relationships with loved ones, worrying about family members, talking about food we’ve eaten, weight we’ve gained or lost, and simply feeling understood.

Then there are projects. Handling them with my girlfriends is an entirely different experience. When I tackle a project with my husband, there’s always an element of something I never feel when I work with a girlfriend, whether it’s solving a puzzle, finding an address, gluing a broken object back together, reading directions, deciding whether to paint or replace, or finding the right light bulb.

With him, there’s always an element of competition involved (he grew up with a male sibling), and a need for some kind of hierarchy. “Who’s doing this—you or me?” Who’s the helper and who’s the doer. Who’s in charge. Who will be responsible if it isn’t right. Who will be blamed. (I’m an only child; there was no one else.)

With a girlfriend, we’re cooperating. We’re utilizing the strengths of both of us and laughter, always, is a part of the equation. If Charlene or Bobbi says, “You should have turned back there,” that statement out of her mouth is entirely different than it is from his.

With her, it’s comradery—cooperative play—a sense of being in an adventure together, a challenge met. The tone is, “Oops, we screwed up.” Emphasis on the “we.”

I miss that.

When we first moved here, I did try to make new friends. I attended a Meetup group for women over fifty. I ended up with a book group of five or so that lunched more than discussed the book, but that suited me fine. They were all interesting and open. It was fun. I met up with a couple of them individually at different times for lunch and had some intimate conversations that were fulfilling.

Covid happened, and we lost touch.

I went to the UU Fellowship a few Sundays ago but didn’t stick around for the coffee. The woman that checked in newcomers seemed like someone I would enjoy chatting with, but she didn’t stay for coffee either. It’s in Gainesville. Twenty miles. On Sundays. Getting myself up and dressed and driving a half hour seems to be more than I can handle right now.

Ed’s fine, by the way. Back home and with no lasting symptoms from Covid.

Everything is back to normal, not counting the ongoing construction in our bathroom. We’re putting in a new ADA approved vanity. But soon, that will be done and lovely, and I will still need to push myself to add some female perspective to my life.

Thanks for listening.

My children were determined to get their parents back into their home for Christmas. Their effort was Herculean, all-hands-on-deck, cleaning, moving boxes, transporting furniture from storage, more boxes from the place where we had been staying, and finally, late in the day, Ed’s chair and Ed back into our house. December 22.
We had scheduled gift giving for the 24th, since our paramedic son-in-law was working on Christmas day, so with two days to go, I finished my shopping and bought the groceries for Christmas dinner.
On Christmas Eve day the kids brought our fake tree and decorated it. Around 4, our son came and finished up a few chores he had left to accomplish. Our daughter brought glute-free food for Doug.
I made two lasagnas, Robyn and Renee brought a lovely salad, we had bottles of Prosecco, apple pie with vanilla ice cream and decided to open gifts while the food cooked.
One or two presents in, Ed, who had been fading noticeably, announced he needed to go to bed, so the “boys” helped him into the bedroom. We continued with the gifts, and then with dinner. Doug checked on Ed multiple times, finally announcing that if his father-in-law was his patient, he’d be taking him to the hospital. So, men in uniform came with a folding stretcher, and off they went. I was advised to stay home.
In time, I got the verdict: he had Covid and a touch of pneumonia.
I, in the meantime, thought I had caught a cold, so the next morning I used my last Covid test and found out that I, too, tested positive.
And that’s how we spent Christmas.
There’s more to the story, but I’m not ready to tell it yet.
Give me a minute.